KING OF KINGS
That evening the Prince, accompanied by Athura, ascended the narrow
stairs leading to the flat top of the castle-tower and, seated on the
low parapet that surrounded it, watched the sun set in golden splendor.
They found an altar of heavy stones, rudely squared, in the center of
the roof. It bore marks of long usage. But the fire which had blazed on
it for years was dead. Only ashes remained.
The evening was pleasant. The sky was a deep, blue dome. The wide plain
to the south, surrounded on all sides by hills, the high mountains to
the north and east, with their sharp crags and peaks, with Elwend and
her snow in the east and Demavend far to the northeast, a diamond point
of eternal white, were of entrancing beauty. The Prince for a time
forgot battles and marches. Athura forgot the long years of waiting and
watching. They were lovers now, rank and royalty forgotten, man and
maid, each glorified by the other’s love. The sun stood still in the
heavens and the hills rolled up and concealed him. Darkness enveloped
them, and they were oblivious of all else than themselves. The stars
appeared, brilliant points in the depths of space. The moon rose and
drove the shadows from the hilltops into the depths of canyon and
gulch. A great owl winged his way slowly about the tower and, alighting
on the altar, peered at them suspiciously. When they moved he flapped
away into the shadows of the hills. Bats flitted hither and thither
like restless spirits. A wolf howled in the distant mountains. The low
hum of conversation came up from the soldiers gathered about camp-fires
in the courtyard. In such surroundings, the royal lovers again took
up and tied the broken threads of life and renewed their vows to each
other.
Morning brought with it activity. The castle was abandoned. The army
marched to Hamadan. A special guard of gayly-caparisoned officers rode
near the litter in which the Princess was borne, or followed the horse
on which, at times, she chose to ride by the side of the Prince. There
was no organized opposition to the march. Bands of soldiers, which were
riding to the aid of the false King, returned to their homes, stunned
by the sudden overthrow of their leader. Gaumata’s head was borne aloft
on a pike-staff; and, in every hamlet and village, a crier called the
people together and told them of the false King’s deception and death.
So it came about that the cavalry under the Prince and the infantry
under the King of Iran came together near Hamadan, entered the city
without encountering resistance, and relieved Captains Arios and
Mardux, not only of their danger but also of their soft living in the
palace of the Great King. But in appreciation of their valiant service,
they were promoted to higher grades in the Imperial Guard and later
they became chief officers of the Guard.
On the day that they entered Hamadan, Athura became the wife of the
Prince of Iran. The marriage feast was held in the palace. After the
feast, the great nobles of Iran were called into the throne room by
King Hystaspis, who, sitting on the throne in state, addressed them
thus:
“Nobles of the Aryan race, I have called you hither to ask what is
your will concerning the throne left by Cyrus and Cambyses. By right of
birth, I, the head of the Achæmenian family, am entitled to reign in
Iran. I am King of Iran. But while Iran rules the world, the victories
of Cyrus established such rule and his authority was paramount to mine.
I am old and desire to live the few years that may be mine in ease.
I desire not to assume the burden that must be borne by the King of
Kings. For I foresee that some of the conquered provinces will rebel
and that wars will come. The line of Cyrus is dead, all save the
Princess who this day has become the wife of my son. It is my command
that all here speak freely.”
Otanes stepped forth and looked about him a moment in silence. Then his
eyes rested upon the Prince of Iran and his beautiful bride, who sat at
the right hand of King Hystaspis. He bowed low before them.
“There can be but one choice, O King,” he said gravely. “The royal
power has ever been in the Achæmenian family. As long as there are men
of that royal line, none others may dare to aspire to the throne. If
you, Sire, refuse to reign, there stands the well-beloved Prince, your
son, whose wisdom and valor are far beyond his years, whose name is on
every soldier’s tongue, as the hero of his race! By him stands Athura,
most beautiful, most royal in birth. Has not your family and the family
of Cyrus united? Let Darius Hystaspis be King of Kings and Athura, the
daughter of Cyrus, be his Queen! Thus will all the peoples be contented
and the world be blest. What say you, nobles of Iran?”
A roar of assent was the response.
“Let the crown of Cyrus be brought hither!” commanded the King.
A double crown, one part of which was silver and the other of gold,
studded with gems, was brought forth. The King gravely rose from his
throne and, addressing his son, said:
“You have heard the choice of the nobles of Iran, my beloved son! In
the presence of these men, I now renounce in your behalf the supreme
rule of the world. Here and now I crown you King of Kings and Lord of
Lords. Rule wisely and well. As King of Iran, I acknowledge you supreme
Lord and will support your throne forever!”
The Prince, much affected, knelt at his father’s feet and received upon
his head the double crown, which the great Cyrus had made as a symbol
of his everlasting dominion over the kings of the world. Then he rose
and sat down upon the throne, with Athura at his right hand and his
father at his left. The great lords of Persia came and did obeisance to
him and bent their right knees before him. Thus Darius Hystaspis became
the Great King, and proved to be the wisest and greatest of them all.
For, to the military ability of the heroic Cyrus, he added the wisdom
of a statesman, the greatest of his age; and, in addition, he was a
lover of art and science.
On the following day, at noon, in response to the call of public
criers, a vast concourse of people gathered in and around the public
square or market-place in Hamadan. Soldiers of the Persian army were
massed at one side. The nobility, men of note and strangers, were
massed on the other. In the midst, the public criers’ tower arose forty
feet in air, and from it, the people understood, announcement would be
made concerning the accession of Darius Hystaspis to the throne as King
of Kings.
The people were restive. A bitter factional feeling had arisen during
the reign of the false Bardya. The followers of the Magi, being in
favor, had lorded it over the more orthodox Medes and Persians, had
even prohibited their worship, and had taken away from their priests
the revenues on which they lived. When Gaumata fell and the Persian
army entered the capital, the persecuted ones in turn had come forth
and assumed a haughty spirit towards the Magians. In all parts of
Medea, as well as in the capital city, was the same unrest. Men hated
their neighbors on account of religion, the most deadly hatred that
men may entertain, and were ready to slay each other. It needed only
the excitement of a great gathering to set afire the smoldering embers
of hate. The eyes of all turned often to the gruesome spectacle of
an earless head on the top of a pole planted near the tower in such
position that the populace could see it. A squad of soldiers guarded
it from being overthrown by the pressure of the crowd. It was the
distorted and blackened face of Gaumata.
At noon there issued from the palace a company consisting of the Great
King, his Queen, his father, and the nobles of Iran, and they rode
between massed lines of soldiers to a position near the tower. They
were received with loud acclaim and clashing of weapons. A trumpet
pealed forth from the tower, and a deep silence fell upon the people.
Then Prexaspes appeared, accompanied by Gobryas and two armed guards.
Prexaspes was carefully dressed. His hair and whiskers were curled and
perfumed. His rich Medean cloak was gracefully parted so as to display
to advantage his jeweled vestments. He was at once recognized, and a
subdued murmur of wonder passed through the crowd. He raised his hand
in graceful gesture, and said in a loud voice:
“Behold me, Prexaspes, most unhappy of men! I am about to die and let
my death, suffered righteously, attest the truth of my words!”
He paused a moment, to let his hearers grasp his meaning. Then he told
the story of the plots by which the Magi had influenced Cambyses to
order the death of Bardya and how he himself had slain the Prince with
their aid; how they had then conspired against Cambyses and caused his
overthrow and death; how they had set up Gaumata, the earless one, to
be King, falsely representing him to be Bardya, and had placed the
Magian on the throne of the world; and, finally, how the false King had
been overthrown.
For the first time the populace knew that the Magi had slain Bardya and
that a pretender had through their plots usurped the royal power. Every
man looked at his fellow and laid his hand on the dagger at his belt.
Hatred, fanned by the speaker’s revelations, blazed up; and a growl of
anger passed throughout the vast crowd. Prexaspes ceased at last and
for a moment stood in silence. Then he added:
“I have told you all! There, on yonder pole, is the head of false
Gaumata! My hand is red with the blood of an Achæmenian Prince, and by
the law I must die! By the grace of the mighty King of Kings, Darius,
son of Hystaspis, who is this day your King, I die as I choose. I
salute you, O King! May you live forever!”
He bowed towards the King, who sat still on his horse, sorrowfully
contemplating the speaker. Then Prexaspes calmly opened his cloak and
drew a long, keen dagger from his belt. He poised the dagger in air
an instant, then drove it to the hilt in his breast. For a moment he
stood smiling down upon the King, then his knees gave away and he fell,
headlong, from the tower to the foot of the pole on which the hideous
head of Gaumata leered. A murmur of horror ran through the vast throng.
It increased in volume as the people spoke to each other. It rose to a
vast roar in a moment and its burden was: “The Magi! They slew Bardya!
Down with the Magi! Slay the Magi!”
There was a movement in the great throng. Here and there daggers and
swords flashed. Screams of agony arose. The crowd swayed hither and
thither. Then it scattered, and broke into groups under self-elected
leaders who chased the frightened Magi and slew them wherever found.
A riot of bloodshed and slaughter ran throughout the country such as
Medea had not seen since that day, hundreds of years ago, when the
Scythians had been massacred. Every man who had a Magian neighbor
assaulted him. The house of every Magian priest was broken open and
pillaged and its occupants slain or chased into the hills. It is said
that a hundred thousand Magians died, before the King, with the aid of
unwilling Persian soldiers, succeeded in stopping the slaughter. So
deep-seated was the hatred of the orthodox Aryans towards the Magians
that on the anniversary of this day hereafter it was the practice to
slay every one of that sect that was found on the highway. The King
made a decree that on such anniversary no Magian should leave his house
and that if he did so and was killed, his slayer would not be punished.
But the remainder of our story is history. The kingdom of the Medes
and Persians, or rather, the Kingdom of Iran, the rule of the Aryans,
reached its zenith of power and glory under Darius Hystaspis, called
Darius the Great. Well did he deserve the title “Great.” For he made
laws for all the world save Greece and Rome. His coinage became the
world standard. The provinces of his empire were ruled by kings. His
public roads and rapid messenger service enabled him personally to
supervise the general welfare of all his provinces. He invited men
of letters to his court. He engraved his history on tablets and on
the great rocks at Behistun and Persepolis. He brought architects and
builders from Egypt, Palestine, and Phœnicia, and made for himself
and his Queen a palace at Persepolis, whose stately ruins are yet
mute witnesses of his power and magnificence. He had to reconquer
many of the nations of Asia, which, because he was a young man and
because religious feuds had torn Iran into factions, thought to free
themselves. He redeemed his promise to Belteshazzer, the great Daniel
of the Hebrew scriptures, and caused Jerusalem to be rebuilt, and he
restored the Jews to their country. He restored the ancient religion
of the Aryans and banished the false religion of the Magi, the Lie,
from his empire. He worshiped God, whether named Jehovah by the Jew or
Ahura-Mazda by his own people. His religion was pure and lofty.
But most of all did he love and honor his Queen, Athura, whose praises
the world sang in those days, and whose fame has been preserved in
various narratives, none of which agree except that all ascribe to her
great wisdom and beauty. Together they ruled their empire many years,
and their reign was the golden age of the Aryan race.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.