Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  “I remember,” said Nehushta, somewhat relieved at the queen’s tone. “Of course I have now and then seen processions in Ecbatana, but Daniel would not let me go to the temple. They say Ecbatana is very much changed since the Great King has not gone there in summer. It is very quiet — it is given over to horse-merchants and grain-sellers, and they bring all the salted fish there from the Hyrcanian sea, so that some of the streets smell horribly.”

  Atossa laughed at the description, more out of courtesy than because it amused her.

  “In my time,” she answered, “the horse-market was in the meadow by the road toward Zagros, and the fish-sellers were not allowed to come within a farsang of the city. The royal nostrils were delicate. But everything is changed — here, everywhere. We have had several — revolutions — religious ones, I mean of course, and so many people have been killed that there is a savour of death in the air. It is amazing how much trouble people will give themselves about the question of sacrificing a horse to the sun, or a calf to Auramazda, or an Ethiopian to Nabon or Ashtaroth! And these Magians! They are really no more descendants of the priests in the Aryan home than I am a Greek. Half of them are nearly black — they are Hindus and speak Persian with an accent. They believe in a vast number of gods of all sizes and descriptions, and they sing hymns, in which they say that all these gods are the same. It is most confusing, and as the principal part of their chief sacrifice consists in making themselves exceedingly drunk with the detestable milkweed juice of which they are so fond, the performance is disgusting. The Great King began by saying that if they wished to sacrifice to their deities, they might do so, provided no one could find them doing it; and if they wished to be drunk, they might be drunk when and where they pleased; but that if they did the two together, he would crucify every Magian in Persia. His argument was very amusing. He said that a man who is drunk naturally speaks the truth, whereas a man who sacrifices to false gods inevitably tells lies; wherefore a man who sacrifices to false gods when he is drunk, runs the risk of telling lies and speaking the truth at the same time, and is consequently a creature revolting to logic, and must be immediately destroyed for the good of the whole race of mankind.”

  Nehushta had listened with varying attention to the queen’s account of the religious difficulties in the kingdom, and she laughed at the Megoeric puzzle by which Darius justified the death of the Magians. But in her heart she longed to see Zoroaster, and was weary of entertaining her royal guest. By way of diversion she clapped her hands, and ordered the slaves who came at her summons to bring sweetmeats and sherbet of crushed fruit and snow.

  “Are you fond of hunting?” asked Atossa, delicately taking a little piece of white fig-paste.

  “I have never been allowed to hunt,” answered Nehushta. “Besides, it must be very tiring.”

  “I delight in it — the fig-paste is not so good as it used to be — there is a new confectioner. Darius considered that the former one had religious convictions involving the telling of lies — and this is the result! We are fallen low indeed when we cannot eat a Magian’s pastry! I am passionately fond of hunting, but it is far from here to the desert and the lions are scarce. Besides, the men who are fit for lion-hunting are generally engaged in hunting their fellow-creatures.”

  “Does the Great King hunt?” inquired Nehushta, languidly sipping her sherbet from a green jade goblet, as she lay among her cushions, supporting herself upon one elbow.

  “Whenever he has leisure. He will talk of nothing else to you—”

  “Surely,” interrupted Nehushta, with an air of perfect innocence, “I shall not be so far honoured as that the Great King should talk with me?”

  Atossa raised her blue eyes and looked curiously at the dark princess. She knew nothing of what had passed the night before, save that the king had seen Nehushta for a few moments, but she knew his character well enough to imagine that his frank and, as she thought, undignified manner might have struck Nehushta even in that brief interview. The idea that the princess was already deceiving her flashed across her mind. She smiled more tenderly than ever, with a little added air of sadness that gave her a wonderful charm.

  “Yes, the Great King is very gracious to the ladies of the court,” she said. “You are so beautiful and so different from them all that he will certainly talk long with you after the banquet this evening — when he has drunk much wine.” The last words were added with a most special sweetness of tone.

  Nehushta’s face flushed a little as she drank more sherbet before she answered. Then, letting her soft dark eyes rest, as though in admiration, upon the queen’s face, she spoke in a tone of gentle deprecation:

  “Shall a man prefer the darkness of night to the glories of risen day?

  Or shall a man turn from the lilies to pluck the lowly flower of the field?”

  “You know our poets, too?” exclaimed Atossa, pleased with the graceful tone of the compliment, but still looking at Nehushta with curious eyes. There was a self-possession about the Hebrew princess that she did not like; it was as though some one had suddenly taken a quality of her own and made it theirs and displayed it before her eyes. There was indeed this difference, that while Atossa’s calm and undisturbed manner was generally real, Nehushta’s was assumed, and she herself felt that, at any moment, it might desert her at her utmost need.

  “So you know our poets?” repeated the queen, and this time she laughed lightly. “Indeed I fear the king will talk to you more than ever, for he loves poetry, I daresay Zoroaster, too, has repeated many verses to you in the winter evenings at Ecbatana. He used to know endless poetry when he was a boy.”

  This time Nehushta looked at the queen, and wondered how she, who could not be more than two or three and twenty years old, although now married to her third husband, could speak of having known Zoroaster as a boy, seeing that he was past thirty years of age. She turned the question upon the queen.

  “You must have seen Zoroaster very often before he left Shushan,” she said. “You know him so well.”

  “Yes — every one knew him. He was the favourite of the court, with his beauty and his courage and his strange affection for that old — for the old Hebrew prophet. That is why Cambyses sent them both away,” added she with a light laugh. “They were far too good, both of them, to be endured among the doings of those times.”

  Atossa spoke readily enough of Cambyses. Nehushta wondered whether she could be induced to speak of Smerdis. Her supposed ignorance of the true nature of what had occurred in the last few months would permit her to speak of the dead usurper with impunity.

  “I suppose there have been great changes lately in the manners of the court — during this last year,” suggested Nehushta carelessly. She pulled a raisin from the dry stem, and tried to peel it with her delicate fingers.

  “Indeed there have been changes,” answered Atossa, calmly. “A great many things that used to be tolerated will never be heard of now. On the whole, the change has been rather in relation to religion than otherwise. You will understand that in one year we have had three court religions. Cambyses sacrificed to Ashtaroth — and I must say he made a most appropriate choice of his tutelary goddess. Smerdis” — continued the queen in measured tones and with the utmost calmness of manner— “Smerdis devoted himself wholly to the worship of Indra, who appeared to be a convenient association of all the most agreeable gods; and the Great King now rules the earth by the grace of Auramazda. I, for my part, have always inclined to the Hebrew conception of one God — perhaps that is much the same as Auramazda, the All-Wise. What do you think?”

  Nehushta smiled at the deft way in which the queen avoided speaking of Smerdis by turning the conversation again to religious topics. But fearing another lecture on the comparative merits of idolatry, human sacrifice, and monotheism, she manifested very little interest in the subject.

  “I daresay it is the same. Zoroaster always says so, and that was the one point that Daniel could never forgive him. The sun is coming through those p
lants upon your head — shall we not have our cushions moved into the shade at the other end?” She clapped her hands and rose languidly, offering her hand to Atossa. But the queen sprang lightly to her feet.

  “I have stayed too long,” she said. “Come with me, dearest princess, and we will go out into the orange gardens upon the upper terrace. Perhaps,” she added, adjusting the folds of her mantle, “we shall find Zoroaster there, or some of the princes, or even the Great King himself. Or, perhaps, it would amuse you to see where I live?”

  Nehushta received her mantle from her slaves, and one of them brought her a linen tiara in place of the gauze veil she had twisted about her hair. But Atossa would not permit the change.

  “It is too beautiful!” she cried enthusiastically. “So new! you must really not change it.”

  She put her arm around Nehushta affectionately and led her towards the door of the inner staircase. Then suddenly she paused, as though recollecting herself.

  “No,” she said, “I will show you the way I came. It is shorter and you should know it. It may be of use to you.”

  So they left the balcony by the little door that was almost masked by one of the great pillars, and descended the dark stairs. Nehushta detested every sort of bodily inconvenience, and inwardly wished the queen had not changed her mind, but had led her by an easier way.

  “It is not far,” said the queen, descending rapidly in front of her.

  “It is dreadfully steep,” objected Nehushta, “and I can hardly see my way at all. How many steps are there?”

  “Only a score more,” answered the queen’s voice, farther down. She seemed to be hurrying, but Nehushta had no intention of going any faster, and carefully groped her way. As she began to see a glimmer of light at the last turn of the winding stair, she heard loud voices in the corridor below. With the cautious instinct of her race, she paused and listened. The hard, quick tones of an angry man dominated the rest.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  ZOROASTER HAD SAT for nearly an hour, his eyes fixed on the blue sky, his thoughts wandering in contemplation of things greater and higher than those of earth, when he was roused by the measured tread of armed men marching in a distant room. In an instant he stood up, his helmet on his head, — the whole force of military habit bringing him back suddenly to the world of reality. In a moment the same heavy curtain, from under which Atossa had issued two hours before, was drawn aside, and a double file of spearmen came out upon the balcony, ranging themselves to right and left with well-drilled precision. A moment more, and the king himself appeared, walking alone, in his armour and winged helmet, his left hand upon the hilt of his sword, his splendid mantle hanging to the ground behind his shoulders. As he came between the soldiers, he walked more slowly, and his dark, deep-set eyes seemed to scan the bearing and accoutrements of each separate spearman. It was rarely indeed, in those early days of his power, that he laid aside his breastplate for the tunic, or his helmet for the tiara and royal crown. In his whole air and gait the character of the soldier dominated, and the look of the conqueror was already in his face.

  Zoroaster strode forward a few paces, and stood still as the king caught sight of him, preparing to prostrate himself, according to the ancient custom. But Darius checked him by a gesture; turning half round, he dismissed the guard, who filed back through the door as they had come, and the curtain fell behind them.

  “I like not these elaborate customs,” said the king. “A simple salutation, the hand to the lips and forehead — it is quite enough. A man might win a battle if he had all the time that it takes him to fall down at my feet and rise up again, twenty times in a day.”

  As the king’s speech seemed to require no answer, Zoroaster stood silently waiting for his orders. Darius walked to the balustrade and stood in the full glare of the sun for a moment, looking out. Then he came back again.

  “The town seems to be quiet this morning,” he said. “How long did the queen tarry here talking with thee, Zoroaster?”

  “The queen talked with her servant for the space of half an hour,” answered Zoroaster, without hesitation, though he was astonished at the suddenness and directness of the question.

  “She is gone to see thy princess,” continued the king.

  “The queen told her servant it was yet too early to see Nehushta,” remarked the warrior.

  “She is gone to see her, nevertheless,” asserted Darius, in a tone of conviction. “Now, it stands in reason that when the most beautiful woman in the world has been told that another woman is come who is more beautiful than she, she will not lose a moment in seeing her.” He eyed Zoroaster curiously for a moment, and his thick black beard did not altogether hide the smile on his face. “Come,” he added, “we shall find the two together.”

  The king led the way and Zoroaster gravely followed. They passed down the staircase by which the queen had gone, and entering the low passage, came to the small door which she had bolted behind her with so much difficulty. The king pushed his weight against it, but it was still fastened.

  “Thou art stronger than I, Zoroaster,” he said, with a deep laugh. “Open the door.”

  The young warrior pushed heavily against the planks, and felt that one of them yielded. Then, standing back, he dealt a heavy blow on the spot with his clenched fist; a second, and the plank broke in. He put his arm through the aperture, and easily slipped the bolt back, and the door flew open. The blood streamed from his hand.

  “That is well done,” said Darius as he entered. His quick eye saw something white upon the stone bench in the dusky corner by the door. He stooped and picked it up quickly. It was the sealed scroll Atossa had left there when she needed both her hands to draw the bolt. Darius took it to one of the narrow windows, looked at it curiously and broke the seal. Zoroaster stood near and wiped the blood from his bruised knuckle.

  The contents of the scroll were short. It was addressed to one Phraortes, of Ecbatana in Media, and contained the information that the Great King had returned in triumph from Babylon, having subdued the rebels and slain many thousands in two battles. Furthermore, that the said Phraortes should give instant information of the queen’s affairs, and do nothing in regard to them until further intimation arrived.

  The king stood a moment in deep thought. Then he walked slowly down the corridor, holding the scroll loose in his hand. Just at that instant Atossa emerged from the dark staircase, and as she found herself face to face with Darius, she uttered an exclamation and stood still.

  “This is very convenient place for our interview,” said Darius quietly. “No one can hear us. Therefore speak the truth at once.” He held up the scroll to her eyes.

  Atossa’s ready wit did not desert her, nor did she change colour, though she knew her life was in the balance with her words. She laughed lightly as she spoke:

  “I came down the stairs this morning — —”

  “To see the most beautiful woman in the world,” interrupted Darius, raising his voice. “You have seen her. I am glad of it. Why did you bolt the door of the passage?”

  “Because I thought it unfitting that the passage to the women’s apartments should be left open when so many in the palace know the way,” she answered readily enough.

  “Where were you taking this letter when you left it at the door?” asked the king, beginning to doubt whether there were anything wrong at all.

  “I was about to send it to Ecbatana,” answered Atossa with perfect simplicity.

  “Who is this Phraortes?”

  “He is the governor of the lands my father gave me for my own in Media. I wrote him to tell him of the Great King’s victory, and that he should send me information concerning my affairs, and do nothing further until he hears from me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I thought it possible that the Great King would spend the summer in Ecbatana, and that I should therefore be there myself to give my own directions. I forgot the letter because I had to take both hands to draw the bolt, and I was coming
back to get it. Nehushta the princess is with me — she is now upon the staircase.”

  The king looked thoughtfully at his wife’s beautiful face.

  “You have evidently spoken the truth,” he said slowly. “But it is not always easy to understand what your truth signifies. I often think it would be much wiser to strangle you. Say you that Nehushta is near? Call her, then. Why does she tarry?”

  In truth Nehushta had trembled as she crouched upon the stairs, not knowing whether to descend or to fly up the steps again. As she heard the queen pronounce her name, however, she judged it prudent to seem to have been out of earshot, and with quick, soft steps, she went up till she came to the lighted part, and there she waited.

  “Let the Great King go himself and find her,” said Atossa proudly, “if he doubts me any further.” She stood aside to let him pass. But Darius beckoned to Zoroaster to go. He had remained standing at some distance, an unwilling witness to the royal altercation that had taken place before him; but as he passed the queen, she gave him a glance of imploring sadness, as though beseeching his sympathy in what she was made to suffer. He ran quickly up the steps in spite of the darkness, and found Nehushta waiting by the window higher up. She started as he appeared, for he was the person she least expected. But he took her quickly in his arms, and kissed her passionately twice.

  “Come quickly, my beloved,” he whispered. “The king waits below.”

  “I heard his voice — and then I fled,” she whispered hurriedly; and they began to descend again. “I hate her — I knew I should,” she whispered, as she leaned upon his arm. So they emerged into the corridor, and met Darius waiting for them. The queen was nowhere to be seen, and the door at the farther extremity of the narrow way was wide open.

  The king was as calm as though nothing had occurred; he still held the open letter in his hand as Nehushta entered the passage, and bowed herself before him. He took her hand for a moment, and then dropped it; but his eyes flashed suddenly and his arm trembled at her touch.