In the ninth year of his rule Chosroes Nushirvan, the conqueror of
kingdoms, sat one day on his gem-incrusted throne, surrounded by all
the symbols of earthly majesty. The room was the famous,
star-bespangled hall of state in his celebrated palace at Ctesiphon,
his capital, an edifice so large that on this occasion the entire
division of his dreaded "fifty thousand golden spears" were required
to draw a cordon around its enclosure in the heart of that splendid
city on the bank of the Tigris. Dazzling jewels, exquisite art, weird
magnificence, and incalculable wealth characterized the imperial
scene. The golden throne stood on a prodigious carpet of silk,
embroidered in imitation of a semi-tropical garden,--plant, leaf and
blossom being artistically reproduced in gems of all hues, from the
emerald to the sparkling diamond and sapphire. The vaulted hall
represented a miniature firmament adorned with golden spheres
responding by an operation of machinery to the motions of the planets
and the signs of the zodiac. Chosroes was enclosed in a brilliant coat
of mail, and his hand rested on a sword bedecked with jewels of untold
value. His crown was so heavy that in order to sustain its priceless
weight, a golden chain held it suspended over the head of Iran's
invincible lord. On a lower seat at his right hand sat the venerable
_Zarathustrotema_, the primate of all the sun-worshippers, the
high-priest of the high-priests; while before the throne stood in
servile attitude the chiefs and servitors of his court, prepared to
sink prostrate at the nod of the autocrat.
As many eyes as there were in the hall threw furtive glances at the
contracted brows of the arbitrary monarch, whose discordant mood was
evident. Whether it was anger, melancholy, or despair, remained to be
seen; there was no beam in his face to relieve the gloom. Why that
ill-humor on a day dedicated to festive joy? For it was the seventh
day after the birth of a royal babe, the day set for the naming and
blessing of his new-born child. But the mighty lord of Iran had for
six days and nights been stirred by the vivid picture of a dream which
caused his blood to run cold as often he recalled its horrifying
incidents. His vision was unlike that of Nebuchadnezzar, who saw a
human form fashioned of various metals shattered by a fragment of
rock. Chosroes thought that he was roaming through one of his
delightful gardens, teeming with singing birds and delicious fruits,
musing over the great victories he had won, and the hoards which
filled his vaults with enormous wealth, enabling him to rival the
Great Mughul in the luxuries of his court. His only worthy enemy was
Rome, and even her power seemed to bend to his will. Might, pomp,
royal ease and love were his,--what remained for him to attain but the
rule of the entire world? "First Rome, then India!" cried he. But lo!
what is that? A grim _tower of silence_ so near his marble palace,
how did it come there? He had never seen it there ere this. The towers
of silence, where the fire-worshippers expose their dead to be denuded
of flesh by carrion vultures, earth being too sacred to be polluted by
the decay of human flesh, are usually located in remote groves,
preferably on hills haunted by the carnivorous bird; here was one in
the vicinity of the royal palace,--since when?--and by whose order
built?
Chosroes turned his eyes toward the top of the dismal building to
account for the voracious swarm of vultures that circled around it, as
though a corpse had been there deposited, and great was his horror to
see the flock make towards him. In his confusion he tore a twig from a
tree to beat off the pest; blood flowed from the tree thus wounded;
the obscene swarm disappeared, the tower vanished, and when he looked
at the twig in his hand, he soon accounted for its great weight by
finding it to be a sceptre of gold, adorned by leaves of resplendent
stones. Then he became conscious of a ravening hunger, which to
satisfy, Chosroes put forth his arm to pick the nearest fruit; his
touch petrified it into a transparent jewel. Repeated attempts had the
same result. Tormented by hunger, the king sent his eye in every
direction in the hope of help. Redoubled terror seized him on
perceiving that the entire garden turned into a wilderness of blinding
glitter. A lamenting breeze passed through the lifeless masses of
stiffened green frozen into stone,--tree, fruit and blossom fiercely
reflecting the glare of the sun. The wind was the only thing that
moved, whining like a ghost that passed to eternal perdition. Thirst
followed hunger; the deluded victim turned to a cool spring to find
the precious liquid therein crystalized into solid diamonds.
"_Ahura-Mazda_, if this be an evil work of the _devas_, then send
_Vohu Mano_, _Ashem_ and _Armaiti_ to lead me into thy light! O, thou
who didst create my being in accordance with thy wisdom!" prayed the
humbled Shah, consumed by the double torment of hunger and thirst.
A diabolical laugh made the nightmare hideous; it came from a
monstrous shape hidden behind a tree, a winged dragon with the head
of a man, the head of one in the royal family. Recoiling from that
frightful apparition, Chosroes tried to flee, but was intercepted by
the same flock of carrion fowl who, returning, lighted on him like so
many fiends, lifting him bodily from the ground, and carried him to
the funereal grating on the top of the tower of silence, which seemed
to have again cropped up from the ground. The agony of being torn to
pieces roused him from the horrid nightmare, breathing heavily and
trembling all over.
The first object that met his eyes was the court master-of-ceremonies,
who, with arms folded and head inclined, informed his majesty of a new
royal birth. Shirin, the envied and most favored sultana of his
thousands of wives, had the selfsame night been delivered of a female
child, as beautiful as is the blushing cheek of _Arustra_. The
coincidence of a child's birth with what he could not help accepting
as a portent of some catastrophe to come was not to be dismissed by a
Zarathustrian to whom the whole universe was one vast battlefield
contested by the hostile armies of Ormuzd the good, and Ahriman the
evil. Yet instead of consulting the wisdom of the Magi, high-priests
unerring in their interpretations of dreams and casting of nativities,
Chosroes had concluded to wait until the seventh day after the
confinement when it is the custom of the votaries of Zarathustra to
have the child named by a priest, and its horoscope cast. That there
might be no preconcerted deception practiced by the shrewd Magi, a
secret order had been issued by the king to three different
fire-temples, far apart, for the head of the local priesthood to
report at court on a day named, and the Zarathustrotema received a
call of a similar nature. Thus did it come about that the throne-hall
of Chosroes Nushirvan wore that awful solemnity of pregnant suspense
which passed down from the head of the empire to those who stood
uninformed and powerless at the foot of his throne.
"Know thou, great head of Iran's light-worship, whom Ahura-Mazda
illumined, that my calling thee hither has a high purpose to be
presently divulged. From the fire-temples of Ardashir and Kanjak I
had the wisest _dasturs_ summoned to appear before me this day to read
the stars in behalf of a little daughter to be named Arzemia. Chosroes
Nushirvan ordains it that his daughter's horoscope be cast this hour
by three of the wisest Magi, each one unknown to and unenlightened by
the other. Thy presence, Zarathustrotema, shall wisdom add to wisdom,
should some deep remain unfathomed," spoke the ruler in a nervous
voice.
Hereupon a venerable priest was ushered into the royal presence. After
paying the proper homage, the Magian unrolled a parchment bedecked
with hieroglyphics, drew various lines thereon with a rod in his hand,
then, with his eyes turned toward the zodiacal figures set in motion
on the firmament of the hall, he began:
"The god-stars under whose auspices thy new-born child came to this
world show me a field of light on a background of impenetrable night.
I see a career of strength and beauty, beams of sunshine swallowed by
seas of darkness. The god-stars favor Arzemia, O king, with more than
woman's grace and royal fame. Among immortal queens thy daughter will
stand high; but length of years _Mazda_ denies her; lest she rule and
build, like Semiramis, Ninevehs, Babylons, hanging gardens, and towers
piercing the skies. With her, Iran's might and fame will blossom new,
but there is a floating chaos back of all,--red lightning, bleeding
armies, wrecked kingdoms and fallen thrones. The god-stars reveal an
era of triumph, drawing up one of crime, tears, woe, blood and ruin."
The next horoscoper assumed the air of one entranced by the
adumbrations of his dark prophecy, which ran thus: "The powers of
_Angro Maniyush_ stand arraigned against the seed of Chosroes
Nushirvan. Born under Cleopatra's constellation, the child named
Arzemia will exceed Egypt's enchantress in the quality which makes
woman sovereign, and the witchery which makes kings her slaves. A dark
veil hides the rest; let it remain unlifted.--Iran's destiny breaks on
my vision in streaks of splendor dimmed by thunder-clouds rising from
the eternal abyss."
"Arzemia's fate," cried the third prophet of evil, "is intertwined
with that of the Sasanian dynasty. Like Tadmor's queen, she will rule
over a mighty empire in combat with one yet mightier. But not like
Zenobia's will be the end of her career. Trembling seizes me as I
behold Iran's great tragedy, which _Ahura-Mazda_ wrote in the book of
fate, preceded by an era of triumphs unequalled in the Orient's tale.
In the distance I hear the evil spirits whisper things to come, which
my lips shall not articulate. Why conjure night while the sun is at
his zenith?--Rome is not thy deadliest foe, O, Chosroes Nushirvan;
beware of a serpent in thy bosom."
The echo of "in thy bosom" vibrated in the monarch's ear, the silence
of the throne-hall being unbroken by a breath, so fearful was the
impression left by the weird astrologers. With ill-disguised alarm
Chosroes turned his look on the face of the Zarathustrotema, whose
mien betrayed evidence of anxiety.
"Why sees the one not what the other sees, the god-stars being there
unchanged? They prophesy a queenship like three others and
unlike,--where the congruity? Lift up the veil, that certainty dispel
all doubt. If Persia's downfall be decreed on high let the horoscope
be unambiguous; give me truth," commanded the autocrat.
"When, since Zarathustra's blessed age, did _Ahura-Mazda_ bestow of
his purest light on a mortal, O, king of kings? The god-stars
foreshadow our fate, they do not unequivocally foretell it; and man
may well be grateful for the doubt that leaves hope to feed his
dreams. Horoscopy shows that the zodiacal signs under which Arzemia
beheld light indicate qualities of sovereignty common to those three
famous queens, leaving much unsolved to cherish bright probabilities.
Benign _Mazda_, lest impending evil mar the joy of the happier hour,
withholds the secrets of futurity from our eye. Let not, I beseech
thee, future events overcast thy glorious horizon. Proceed with thy
triumphant march, while we, guardians of the sacred fires, pray for
the success of thy arms. If fall we must, then let us fall great. Let
thine empire grow with Arzemia, her mind be irradiated by the wisdom
of Zarathustra, and her heart be stirred by the emulation of
Babylon's immortal queen," closed the primate of Iran appealingly.
With an irrepressible presentiment dominating his being, Chosroes
sought relief in the vortex of a reckless activity, and his still
swelling tide of fortune began to weaken the apprehension that he was
laboring under the frown of unauspicious god-stars. His cupidity
seemed to grow with the incessant influx of treasure sent by the
chiefs of his victorious armies, largely engaged against the forces of
the Roman emperor, Heraclius, and nothing was too costly which tended
to gratify his fondness for display.
The dreaded auxiliaries of the Persian army were several cohorts of
drilled elephants. Each division of troops had its elephantine
accompaniment, but the fifty thousand "golden spears" relied for
effective pioneer work on fifty of those prodigious tramplers led by a
white mammoth called Mahmud, the same who, in times bygone, carried
the Ethiopian king, Abraba, when he invaded Mecca. Mahmud was elevated
to the rank of a general, and he acted his part with a dignity and a
foresight worthy of a distinguished strategist. His command was
trained to follow their chief in all he did, to eject volumes of water
and mud, stored up for the purpose in their capacious receptacles,
into the eyes of the enemy; to use the proboscis to good advantage, to
crush out life and to break the serried files of an advancing foe.
Mahmud's onslaughts paved the way for many a victory, and no officer
of Iran's great army enjoyed more consideration and affection than
that intelligent brute. Whether at home or in the camp, Mahmud's
quarters and attendants were as sumptuous as those of the other
generals, while his gold-bestrewed robe was of the finest silk, and
embroidered with precious stones.
With this inbreaking engine, of a resistless momentum, as a wedge for
an enormous host, swelled by new levies and animated by dashing
generals, Chosroes Nushirvan not only wrested Asia Minor from the
Roman grip, but had his banner carried as far as Libya, Egypt and
Carthage. In the ample vaults of his white palace the insatiate king
received and hoarded the spoils of nations, exhibiting only valueless
trophies for the edification of the populace and a disaffected
nobility. In his domestic relations the lord of Iran was an unjust
father, a tyrant, a poltroon, and a pompous braggart, owing his power
and prestige to the bravery of his generals; but conspiracy was
lurking where he least suspected it.
The stir and clash of armies and the overthrow of kingdoms did not
disturb the early childhood of Arzemia, who, in the retreats of the
imperial harem, blossomed into adorable maidenhood, endowed with
talents of the highest order and a thirst for knowledge seldom heard
of in Oriental courts. Infatuated with his charming daughter, Chosroes
lavished treasures in surrounding her with all the luxuries of a
queen, and provided a staff of wise heads to imbue her with the
essence of Zarathustrian, not less than secular, wisdom. At the age of
sixteen Arzemia astonished the court by her appearance at her father's
side in the hall of audience. Robed in a purple dress, with a blaze of
gems in the shape of a heart on her left breast, and a sparkling
tiara on her head, the enthroned princess looked more like a goddess
than a maiden prematurely developed. To the courtiers at the foot of
the throne she appeared an image of a dream, perfect in form,
ineffably beautiful, and divinely self-sufficient, her eyes darting
those arrows which strike the incurable wound.
It was a great gala day. Among the trophies laid before the throne,
was the true cross brought by the famous general who had taken
Jerusalem; and a slip-shod envoy from the interior of Arabia was to be
heard,--the main object, however, being the debut of Shirin's adorable
daughter.
"Is it homage or tribute that thou bringest hither from my slaves in
Arabia?" asked Chosroes of an uncombed Bedouin in sluttish habit.
In lieu of answer, the Arab impassively delivered a missive in
writing, and gave no sign that the splendor of the scene overawed him.
Translated, the message read: "In the name of the most merciful God!
Mohammed, son of Abdallah and apostle of God, to Chosroes Nushirvan,
king of Persia--"
"Hold, fool! What do I hear! Does a savage slave of the desert dare
put his name before mine in writing?" cried the autocrat in great
anger, seizing the document and tearing it to pieces.--"Get this dog
out of my sight, and write to my satrap in Yemen that there lives a
madman in Medina who claims to be a prophet; if he cannot cure him,
let him send me his head."
With this incident closed a scene that had been fraught with vast
consequence for Iran, and with not less significance for Arzemia.
Henceforth visions different from those that haunted her brain in the
harem's privacy invaded her imagination. There had been eyes in the
hall of a glow and a sympathy so passionately contagious that the
entire being seemed irrevocably absorbed in that enchanting look. It
was a woman's first passion, which she was unable to analyze. Before
that event her active spirit, if not engaged in fathoming the
mysteries of Zarathustra, delighted in the weaving of fantastic
tissues, with heroes and heroines as the forerunners of her future
greatness. Destined by the god-stars to wear a crown, what, with Iran
as her heritage, could prevent her from eclipsing the achievements of
Semiramis? The entire world then lay prostrate at her feet; kings and
Cæsars would worship her. Why not rather be a goddess than the mate of
a mortal, even if he be a Ninus, an Antony, or an Odenatus? Why not
shine like blessed _Mithra_, who illumines the heavens unmated? "Be
one man's inferior companion rather than the awe and adoration of the
great world? This was thy folly, ill-fated Cleopatra, and thine,
nobler Zenobia; but the child of Derceto proved herself worthy of her
divine mother, and Arzemia shall not be less than Semiramis, with no
Ninus to divide her empire," were the last words of a reverie
overheard by Shirin. And the sultana thought it high time to draw the
budding maiden into the open world. Her period of childhood was ended.
"Thou knowest, my lord, that our child's angelic beauty is far
exceeded by the brilliancy of her mind; that she has mastered the
languages spoken by the great nations, and the wisdom taught by the
Magi; but since, obeying thy behest, I cautiously gave her some
intimation of her horoscope, I perceive a change in her demeanor which
gives me much concern. Seeking the lonely haunts of our gardens,
Arzemia acts as though she held communion with spirits, discoursing on
the hollowness of love, and dreaming of a superhuman destiny reserved
for her by the god-stars. _Ahura-Mazda_ has granted us the blessed
child to cheer our later years. Our daughter is a harp strung to charm
discord and to scatter gloom, not to be untuned by disuse. May the
fearful _devas_ pass her, who roams in realms too visionary to be
safe!" prayed the scheming sultana, sure of her game.
"What wouldst thou have me do, Shirin? Give her in marriage to the man
whom Chosroes honors most?" asked the father imperiously, early
marriage being compatible with Zarathustra's moral teachings.
"Not now, my lord; let the child see the court, the court see her,
before the question of love is broached," suggested the emboldened
sultana.
"Sultana, it was my pleasure that exalted thee above the fairest of
my harem, and thy son above his brothers; it is love's triumph, and
thy daughter, favored by the god-stars, shall be favored more than
ever princess was. Arrayed like _Arustra_, she shall receive her first
homage at my side," promised the autocratic sire. And so did Shirin
once more triumph over her rivals in royal grace.
Thus drawn into publicity at her mother's initiative, Arzemia dazzled
the court with her houri-like graces not less than her imperial
bearing. Here it was, however, that the girl's heart received the
winged arrow from love's unerring bow, shattering all foregone
imaginings as a spire smitten by lightning. It was as though a curtain
had risen to reveal a magic scene with one fascination greater than
all the others--and he a man whose like could well account for love
like Zenobia's, and madness like Cleopatra's. In frame but little
above the average, otherwise a figure reminiscent of the war-god whom
the Olympians feared; unhandsome, but imposing; complexion olive, nose
aquiline, eyes deep, black, flashing but mild; chin hidden by a beard,
raven black; heavy hair and mustache harmonizing with the beard;
thick, arched eyebrows; a curling, sensuous lip; shapely feet,
shapelier hands; the whole in the attire of a Persian general. Such
was Shahrbaraz to whose talents Chosroes was largely indebted for his
most valuable conquests. Covered with glory, cumbered with royal
favors, flattered by the courtier, idolized by the army, and lionized
by the people, the general had hardly anything to wish for when
Arzemia's eye met his; then all other ambitions paled before the one,
all-devouring passion to kneel in tender worship before her who looked
so much more divine than human.
That was Arzemia's day of destiny, and it did not close without an
incident which alarmed both king and court. The cause was a sealed
document found before the celebrated grand portal of Chosroes
Nushirvan's white palace, warning the monarch that a plot was ripe to
overthrow him by a sudden blow, and that the bodyguard was implicated
in the nefarious conspiracy. Prompt action was urgent, and Chosroes,
frightened out of his wits, summoned his bravest general to take
temporary charge of his capital and palace. Shahrbaraz pledged himself
to continued vigilance until the conspirators should be brought to
grief--"Within the walls of Ctesiphon are twelve thousand golden
spears; twenty-five thousand more are within the courier's call; let
not thy peace be disturbed, oh, my sovereign; Shahrbaraz will not
sleep," spoke the resourceful strategist with an inward laugh, and
proceeded to arrange matters to suit himself.
Unaware of the cause which stirred the authorities of the court, the
people wondered at the feverish activity of the military. Large bodies
of troops moved out, larger ones moved into the fortifications of the
splendid city, so that with the descent of night every access to the
palace was under strong guard, and Ctesiphon presented the aspect of a
besieged place, prepared to repel an aggressive enemy. What was going
to happen that night?
As to Arzemia, untouched by this wave of commotion, she abandoned
herself to an overmastering passion, burning to the core of her fiery
nature; and, succumbing to the fever of her soul, she fled the
confinement of her sumptuous bed-chambers to seek the cooling breeze
in the garden, a separate enclosure within the royal park. It was
night, and the darkness was hardly broken by the thin crescent of the
new moon, when the princess nimbly picked her way to a sequestered
nook on a terrace whence in daylight an extensive view of the
pleasure-ground was afforded. Here in a recess was an arbor furnished
exquisitely, and here, in the posture of supplication, the maiden
invoked the help of Zarathustra's revealed Power--_Ahura-Mazda_.
"Thou, eternal _Ahura-Mazda_, the god of gods, the creator of light,
who furtherest throughout all space the good and the true, the holy
and the beautiful,--and ye bright ministers, who yearn to do his
bidding,--if what I feel as fire burning in my heart is love by heaven
kindled, then let no barrier stand between the one for whom I burn and
me,--yea, no longer than the time required for two wind-lashed flames
to rush together and melt in one celestial blaze. Messengers of
_Ahura-Mazda_, my message carry to him whom fate has named my lord;
bend ye walls, be deaf ye watchmen, that he who loves Arzemia fly
hither unhindered!"
There had been a mysterious gleam on the lower balconies of the
palace; it flared up, vanished, reappeared again, and once more; and
then nothing was seen or heard save at the postern of the garden,
where the signal must have been looked for and understood. Swift as a
hind there sped from the mazes of the darkened palace a human figure
athwart the semi-tropic thickets of the grounds, admitted another one
through the rear-gate, whispered a few syllables, and returned to the
white pile of a thousand apartments hushed in perfect silence. The
intruder, obviously informed of the whereabouts of his object, glided
like a ghost toward Arzemia's retreat, and stood enchanted by the
voice which articulated the essence of his highest felicity. Hardly
did the last word die on her lip when the problematic person sank on
his knees and, inclining his head as in adoration, spoke in a tone
thrilling with passion, "Divine child, whom _Ahura-Mazda_ graces with
the light of his countenance, grant me the privilege to worship at
thy feet, an humble supplicant, my heart being thine, my soul
thine--forever thine."
The frightened maiden would have screamed for help had not the voice
she heard recalled a succession of notes that were still ringing in
her ears. In a second she realized what she trembled to believe
possible.
"And who art thou, most daring of men, who fearest not to invade the
inviolable privacy of Chosroes Nushirvan's daughter?" cried the maiden
in fluttering apprehension, dreading the realization of her prayer.
"Forgive! I am not what I was before thine eye smote me with madness
to be thy votary--thy slave,--or not to be at all," was the answer.
"_Ahura-Mazda!_ thou the man whom Iran honors--thou, Shahrbaraz?"
cried the girl.
"Thy servitor, thy slave in eternity," was the appealing reiteration.
"The auspicious god-stars brought thee hither. Oh! but humble not
Arzemia in thus humbling thyself; the god-stars have linked our fates
and, come what may, I am thine, yea, and thou art mine in eternity!"
exclaimed the enraptured maiden.
"My heaven!" was the laconic ejaculation of the great soldier who,
leaping to his feet, embraced her rapturously, pressing her to his
heart.
As if in hymeneal sympathy with love's delicious union, the bulbul
poured forth a stream of soul-stirring song, the sweet cadence calling
forth responsive notes from the thick of sylvan recesses. Tears flowed
from the eyes of Arzemia and fell on the face of her lover, who raised
her like an infant in his mighty arms, covering her cheeks with
passionate kisses.
"Thy tears of bliss will make the angels weep in paradise, sweet
goddess," whispered Persia's world-renowned hero.
"The bulbul!--I never heard the bulbul sing so sad, so sweet, so
prophetic; ah! it seems to sigh and weep and speak to my heart of
things words cannot express! Some spirit moves it to move our hearts,"
breathed Arzemia with emotion.
"Thou art creation's sympathetic harp, responsive to spiritual
harmonies lower natures fail to realize; the bird's melody is to me an
unmeaning song, but in thy voice I hear _Mazda's_ music which moves
the heavenly spheres," said Shahrbaraz softly.
"It is bliss to receive tribute from the lip of love; but what a thing
am I, compared with thee, Iran's pride, who smote the Roman and took
his holy city! Who has done a greater deed? If the armies of Chosroes
were thine, wouldst thou not conquer the world?"
"I have conquered earth and heaven, star of my felicity; thou being
mine, what remains in all the worlds to wish for? To smite the Roman
and take his holy city was less an achievement than to come near to
thee, the pearl of beauty, reached at greater hazard than he faces who
dives into the ocean's abyss in quest of treasure," affirmed the
general.
"Alas, thou art right! O, gods!--Thy life, thy dear life--shouldst
thou be found at this hour with me at this place! Dearest, what power
enabled thee to pass the guards, whose heads would answer for thy
presence where the king alone has right?--Go hence, O, my soul's
adorer, my heart's adored, go hence, lest the _devas_ thwart our
happiness! I hear the friendly spirits whisper--depart," urged
Arzemia, awaking to the danger that beset her lover under the
circumstances.
"Thy prayer, child of light, that bade the walls to bend and the
watchmen to be deaf,--yea, and love, whom Orpheus followed to the
world of shades, have leveled my pathway hither, fearless of fate.
They who enter heaven laugh death to scorn. Thy presence renders me
invulnerable to mortal steel. Ah! waste no second, cherub, in the
thought of death or danger," cried Shahrbaraz ardently.
"Forbid it, _Ahura-Mazda_, that Iran's glory be smitten by a
treacherous hand!--Yet play not with the envious fates, lest they grow
jealous of Arzemia's bliss, who would no heaven take for what is here
on earth," cried the girl appealingly.
"Let all thy cares henceforth be mine, divine Arzemia. My 'golden
spears' hold every fort and gate, and have no will but that of thy
Shahrbaraz, who could be king this hour were he inclined. To come near
thee I had to act my part unfair or fair; love knows no scruples. A
scheme devised by me and taken seriously by the king gave me control
of Ctesiphon and court," explained the strategist.
"The god-stars rule that I be queen one day and thou my king; my Ninus
thou, I thy Semiramis, with Rome and Iran prostrate at our feet!--Ah,
there a light!" exclaimed the girl in alarm, her eyes having caught a
glimmer in the palace.
"It is the signal for me to begone," said Shahrbaraz, and a moment
later the postern closed behind him, having given and received the
kiss that is a taste of Elysian rapture.
The clandestine intercourse between the greatest general and the
fairest princess of Iran was thus carried on for a time, when
revolutionary changes threw Ctesiphon into confusion. Chosroes
Nushirvan's court was a hotbed of intrigue, and his harem a seething
caldron, overflowing with all the vices and evils engendered by
arbitrary rule. Among the host of jealous females under the roof of
the palace, Shirin, the Christian sultana, had the upper hand, having
charmed her lord to the extent of disinheriting and imprisoning
Kavadh, the legitimate heir to the throne, in favor of her son
Mardanshah. But a turn of the wheel gave Kavadh the reins of
government, and his first act was to drag his wretched father into his
vaults of uncounted treasures, and let him perish there of hunger.
Seventeen brothers were next executed to insure the rule of the
monstrous parricide. These fearful crimes were inspired less by
vengeance than--who would have dreamed it?--by Kavadh's vehement
passion for Shirin. But the distracted sultana recoiled with loathing
from the murderer of her husband and her son, and when the miscreant
resorted to force he held a bleeding corpse in his arms, the sultana
having ended her life by a self-inflicted wound. Arzemia was her only
surviving child, and Shahrbaraz knew how to provide for the safety of
his worshipped princess. Shortly after Kavadh fell.
During the chaotic conditions which followed the fall of Kavadh,
Shahrbaraz matured a plot for the usurpation of Iran's sovereignty.
Sustained by his fifty thousand golden spears, and favored by
Arzemia's friends, the dashing general entered Ctesiphon in triumph,
and had himself crowned in the palace of the voluptuous Chosroes. When
it transpired that Arzemia not alone favored the usurper, but was
going to be wedded to him in the imperial fire-temple, her many
suitors combined in organizing a conspiracy, headed by Faruch-Zad, the
mighty satrap of Khorassan, who was desperately in love with the
princess. Shahrbaraz was assassinated on the day set for his wedding,
his body was mutilated and dragged by an ass through the streets of
Ctesiphon. Arzemia's horror was scarcely exceeded by her sorrow and
her vengeance; and her opportunity was not slow in coming, being
called to the succession of her father's throne, when Faruch-Zad urged
his suit with obtrusive audacity. Policy forced her to smile on the
man she hated, while her armies were engaged in the fateful struggle
against the now all-conquering hordes of overflowing Islam. Impatient
of delay and tortured by uncertainty, the satrap of Khorassan resolved
to take by force what was denied him by favor. But the queen's
friends learned of the plot; Faruch-Zad's followers were overpowered
at the portal of the palace, and he was arraigned as a traitor before
the one whose hatred for him could hardly be surpassed by his love for
her. Arzemia blessed the gods for the chance thus afforded her to
avenge the murder of Shahrbaraz. She apostrophized the culprit with
bitter contumely, and had him executed under most cruel circumstances.
Faruch-Zad was not dead an hour when tidings from the battlefield
spread consternation in the court. The golden lances, long held to be
invincible, sustained a crushing defeat at the hands of Islam's
votaries, and among the slain was Mahmud, the intelligent elephant,
who bled to death through a wound struck at the extremity of his
trunk. Mahmud's fall was generally accepted as prophetic of worse
things to follow, and Arzemia, seeing her empire crumbling, turned to
the Magi for an ungarbled version of her horoscope which was kept for
reference in the royal archives. With fatalistic resignation the
youthful queen listened to the dark prophecies associated with her
birth, and insisted on having her father's dream read to her, it
having been kept on record with the documents of her nativity. Deeply
impressed by the fearful purport of her sire's vision on the night of
her coming into this world, and remembering its ghastly realization in
subsequent developments, Arzemia exclaimed resignedly, "It is
_Ahura-Mazda's_ immutable decree that Iran's ancient glories fade with
me at whose birth the god-stars frowned. Were it not better for
Arzemia not to have been born?"
The queen had hardly uttered these words when an ominous noise in the
royal courtyard caused her armed guard to rush toward the entrance of
the palace. Here they were met by a desperate band of conspirators led
by a relative of Faruch-Zad. The encounter was short and decisive.
Arzemia fell into the hands of the avenger of the dead satrap, was
tortured with refined cruelty, and put to death ignominiously.
Thus perished the noblest and most virtuous sovereign lady of one of
the greatest empires which succumbed to the sword of Islam.