dying father, she left off listening to the courtiers below, and began
looking at the sistrum which Bartja himself had put into her hand, and
which she had brought on to the balcony with her, as if seeking comfort
there. And she found what she sought; for it seemed to her as if the
sound of its sacred rings bore her away into a smiling, sunny landscape.

That faintness which so often comes over people in decline, had seized
her and was sweetening her last hours with pleasant dreams.

The female slaves, who stood round to fan away the flies, said afterwards
that Tachot had never looked so lovely.

She had lain about an hour in this state, when her breathing became more
difficult, a slight cough made her breast heave, and the bright red blood
trickled down from her lips on to her white robe. She awoke, and looked
surprised and disappointed on seeing the faces round her. The sight of
her mother, however, who came on to the veranda at that moment, brought a
smile to her face, and she said, "O mother, I have had such a beautiful
dream."

"Then our visit to the temple has done my dear child good?" asked the
queen, trembling at the sight of the blood on the sick girl's lips.

"Oh, yes, mother, so much! for I saw him again." Ladice's glance at the
attendants seemed to ask "Has your poor mistress lost her senses?" Tachot
understood the look and said, evidently speaking with great difficulty:
"You think I am wandering, mother. No, indeed, I really saw and spoke to
him. He gave me my sistrum again, and said he was my friend, and then he
took my lotus-bud and vanished. Don't look so distressed and surprised,
mother. What I say is really true; it is no dream.--There, you hear,
Tentrut saw him too. He must have come to Sais for my sake, and so the
child-oracle in the temple-court did not deceive me, after all. And now I
don't feel anything more of my illness; I dreamt I was lying in a field
of blooming poppies, as red as the blood of the young lambs that are
offered in sacrifice; Bartja was sitting by my side, and Nitetis was
kneeling close to us and playing wonderful songs on a Nabla made of
ivory. And there was such a lovely sound in the air that I felt as if
Horus, the beautiful god of morning, spring, and the resurrection, was
kissing me. Yes, mother, I tell you he is coming soon, and when I am
well, then--then--ah, mother what is this? . . . I am dying!"

Ladice knelt down by her child's bed and pressed her lips in burning
kisses on the girl's eyes as they grew dim in death.

An hour later she was standing by another bedside--her dying husband's.

Severe suffering had disfigured the king's features, the cold
perspiration was standing on his forehead, and his hands grasped the
golden lions on the arms of the deep-seated invalid chair in which he was
resting, almost convulsively.

When Ladice came in he opened his eyes; they were as keen and intelligent
as if he had never lost his sight.

"Why do not you bring Tachot to me?" he asked in a dry voice.

"She is too ill, and suffers so much, that . . ."

"She is dead! Then it is well with her, for death is not punishment; it
is the end and aim of life,--the only end that we can attain without
effort, but through sufferings!--the gods alone know how great. Osiris
has taken her to himself, for she was innocent. And Nitetis is dead too.
Where is Nebenchari's letter?"

"Here is the place: 'She took her own life, and died calling down a heavy
curse on thee and thine. The poor, exiled, scorned and plundered oculist
Nebenchari in Babylon sends thee this intelligence to Egypt. It is as
true as his own hatred of thee.' Listen to these words, Psamtik, and
remember how on his dying bed thy father told thee that, for every drachm
of pleasure purchased on earth by wrong-doing, the dying bed will be
burdened by a talent's weight of remorse. Fearful misery is coming on
Egypt for Nitetis' sake. Cambyses is preparing to make war on us. He will
sweep down on Egypt like a scorching wind from the desert. Much, which I
have staked my nightly sleep and the very marrow of my existence to bring
into existence, will be annihilated. Still I have not lived in vain. For
forty years I have been the careful father and benefactor of a great
nation. Children and children's children will speak of Amasis as a great,
wise and humane king; they will read my name on the great works which I
have built in Sais and Thebes, and will praise the greatness of my power.
Neither shall I be condemned by Osiris and the forty-two judges of the
nether world; the goddess of truth, who holds the balances, will find
that my good deeds outweigh my bad."--Here the king sighed deeply and
remained silent for some time. Then, looking tenderly at his wife, he
said: "Ladice, thou hast been a faithful, virtuous wife to me. For this I
thank thee, and ask thy forgiveness for much. We have often misunderstood
one another. Indeed it was easier for me to accustom myself to the Greek
modes of thought, than for a Greek to understand our Egyptian ideas. Thou
know'st my love of Greek art,--thou know'st how I enjoyed the society of
thy friend Pythagoras, who was thoroughly initiated in all that we
believe and know, and adopted much from us. He comprehended the deep
wisdom which lies in the doctrines that I reverence most, and he took
care not to speak lightly of truths which our priests are perhaps too
careful to hide from the people; for though the many bow down before that
which they cannot understand, they would be raised and upheld by those
very truths, if explained to them. To a Greek mind our worship of animals
presents the greatest difficulty, but to my own the worship of the
Creator in his creatures seems more just and more worthy of a human
being, than the worship of his likeness in stone. The Greek deities are
moreover subject to every human infirmity; indeed I should have made my
queen very unhappy by living in the same manner as her great god Zeus."

At these words the king smiled, and then went on: "And what has given
rise to this? The Hellenic love of beauty in form, which, in the eye of a
Greek, is superior to every thing else. He cannot separate the body from
the soul, because he holds it to be the most glorious of formed things,
and indeed, believes that a beautiful spirit must necessarily inhabit a
beautiful body. Their gods, therefore, are only elevated human beings,
but we adore an unseen power working in nature and in ourselves. The
animal takes its place between ourselves and nature; its actions are
guided, not, like our own, by the letter, but by the eternal laws of
nature, which owe their origin to the Deity, while the letter is a device
of man's own mind. And then, too, where amongst ourselves do we find so
earnest a longing and endeavor to gain freedom, the highest good, as
among the animals? Where such a regular and well-balanced life from
generation to generation, without instruction or precept?"

Here the king's voice failed. He was obliged to pause for a few moments,
and then continued: "I know that my end is near; therefore enough of
these matters. My son and successor, hear my last wishes and act upon
them; they are the result of experience. But alas! how often have I seen,
that rules of life given by one man to another are useless. Every man
must earn his own experience. His own losses make him prudent, his own
learning wise. Thou, my son, art coming to the throne at a mature age;
thou hast had time and opportunity to judge between right and wrong, to
note what is beneficial and what hurtful, to see and compare many things.
I give thee, therefore, only a few wholesome counsels, and only fear that
though I offer them with my right hand, thou wilt accept them with the
left.

"First, however, I must say that, notwithstanding my blindness, my
indifference to what has been going on during the past months has been
only apparent. I left you to your own devices with a good intention.
Rhodopis told me once one of her teacher AEsop's fables: 'A traveller,
meeting a man on his road, asked him how long it would be before he
reached the nearest town.' 'Go on, go on,' cried the other. 'But I want
to know first when I shall get to the town.' 'Go on, only go on,' was the
answer. The traveller left him with angry words and abuse; but he had not
gone many steps when the man called after him: 'You will be there in an
hour. I could not answer your question until I had seen your pace.'

"I bore this fable in my mind for my son's sake, and watched in silence
at what pace he was ruling his people. Now I have discovered what I wish
to know, and this is my advice: Examine into everything your self. It is
the duty of every man, but especially of a king, to acquaint himself
intimately with all that concerns the weal or woe of his people. You, my
son, are in the habit of using the eyes and ears of other men instead of
going to the fountain-head yourself. I am sure that your advisers, the
priests, only desire what is good; but . . . Neithotep, I must beg you to
leave us alone for a few moments."

When the priest was gone the king exclaimed "They wish for what is good,
but good only for themselves. But we are not kings of priests and
aristocrats only, we are kings of a nation! Do not listen to the advice
of this proud caste alone, but read every petition yourself, and, by
appointing Nomarchs devoted to the king and beloved by the people, make
yourself acquainted with the needs and wishes of the Egyptian nation. It
is not difficult to govern well, if you are aware of the state of feeling
in your land. Choose fit men to fill the offices of state. I have taken
care that the kingdom shall be properly divided. The laws are good, and
have proved themselves so; hold fast by these laws, and trust no one who
sets himself above them; for law is invariably wiser than the individual
man, and its transgressor deserves his punishment. The people understand
this well, and are ready to sacrifice themselves for us, when they see
that we are ready to give up our own will to the law. You do not care for
the people. I know their voice is often rude and rough, but it utters
wholesome truths, and no one needs to hear truth more than a king. The
Pharaoh who chooses priests and courtiers for his advisers, will hear
plenty of flattering words, while he who tries to fulfil the wishes of
the nation will have much to suffer from those around him; but the latter
will feel peace in his own heart, and be praised in the ages to come. I
have often erred, yet the Egyptians will weep for me, as one who knew
their needs and considered their welfare like a father. A king who really
knows his duties, finds it an easy and beautiful task to win the love of
the people--an unthankful one to gain the applause of the great--almost
an impossibility to content both.

"Do not forget,--I say it again,--that kings and priests exist for the
people, and not the people for their kings and priests. Honor religion
for its own sake and as the most important means of securing the
obedience of the governed to their governors; but at the same time show
its promulgators that you look on them, not as receptacles, but as
servants, of the Deity. Hold fast, as the law commands, by what is old;
but never shut the gates of your kingdom against what is new, if better.
Bad men break at once with the old traditions; fools only care for what
is new and fresh; the narrowminded and the selfish privileged class cling
indiscriminately to all that is old, and pronounce progress to be a sin;
but the wise endeavor to retain all that has approved itself in the past,
to remove all that has become defective, and to adopt whatever is good,
from whatever source it may have sprung. Act thus, my son. The priests
will try to keep you back--the Greeks to urge you forward. Choose one
party or the other, but beware of indecision--of yielding to the one
to-day, to the other to-morrow. Between two stools a man falls to the
ground. Let the one party be your friends, the other your enemies; by
trying to please both, you will have both opposed to you. Human beings
hate the man who shows kindness to their enemies. In the last few months,
during which you have ruled independently, both parties have been
offended by your miserable indecision. The man who runs backwards and
forwards like a child, makes no progress, and is soon weary. I have till
now--till I felt that death was near--always encouraged the Greeks and
opposed the priests. In the active business of life, the clever, brave
Greeks seemed to me especially serviceable; at death, I want men who can
make me out a pass into the nether regions. The gods forgive me for not
being able to resist words that sound so like a joke, even in my last
hour! They created me and must take me as I am. I rubbed my hands for joy
when I became king; with thee, my son, coming to the throne is a graver
matter.--Now call Neithotep back; I have still something to say to you
both."

The king gave his hand to the high-priest as he entered, saving: "I leave
you, Neithotep, without ill-will, though my opinion that you have been a
better priest than a servant to your king, remains unaltered. Psamtik
will probably prove a more obedient follower than I have been, but one
thing I wish to impress earnestly on you both: Do not dismiss the Greek
mercenaries until the war with the Persians is over, and has ended we
will hope--in victory for Egypt. My former predictions are not worth
anything now; when death draws near, we get depressed, and things begin
to look a little black. Without the auxiliary troops we shall be
hopelessly lost, but with them victory is not impossible. Be clever; show
the Ionians that they are fighting on the Nile for the freedom of their
own country--that Cambyses, if victorious, will not be contented with
Egypt alone, while his defeat may bring freedom to their own enslaved
countrymen in Ionia. I know you agree with me, Neithotep, for in your
heart you mean well to Egypt.--Now read me the prayers. I feel exhausted;
my end must be very near. If I could only forget that poor Nitetis! had
she the right to curse us? May the judges of the dead-may Osiris--have
mercy on our souls! Sit down by me, Ladice; lay thy hand on my burning
forehead. And Psamtik, in presence of these witnesses, swear to honor and
respect thy step-mother, as if thou wert her own child. My poor wife!
Come and seek me soon before the throne of Osiris. A widow and childless,
what hast thou to do with this world? We brought up Nitetis as our own
daughter, and yet we are so heavily punished for her sake. But her curse
rests on us--and only on us;--not on thee, Psamtik, nor on thy children.
Bring my grandson. Was that a tear? Perhaps; well, the little things to
which one has accustomed one's self are generally the hardest to give
up."

......................

Rhodopis entertained a fresh guest that evening; Kallias, the son of
Phoenippus, the same who first appeared in our tale as the bearer of news
from the Olympic games.

The lively, cheerful Athenian had just come back from his native country,
and, as an old and tried friend, was not only received by Rhodopis, but
made acquainted with the secret of Sappho's marriage.

Knakias, her old slave, had, it is true, taken in the flag which was the
sign of reception, two days ago; but he knew that Kallias was always
welcome to his mistress, and therefore admitted him just as readily as he
refused every one else.

The Athenian had plenty to tell, and when Rhodopis was called away on
business, he took his favorite Sappho into the garden, joking and teasing
her gaily as they looked out for her lover's coming. But Bartja did not
come, and Sappho began to be so anxious that Kallias called old Melitta,
whose longing looks in the direction of Naukratis were, if possible, more
anxious even than those of her mistress, and told her to fetch a musical
instrument which he had brought with him.

It was a rather large lute, made of gold and ivory, and as he handed it
to Sappho, he said, with a smile: "The inventor of this glorious
instrument, the divine Anakreon, had it made expressly for me, at my own
wish. He calls it a Barbiton, and brings wonderful tones from its
chords--tones that must echo on even into the land of shadows. I have
told this poet, who offers his life as one great sacrifice to the Muses,
Eros and Dionysus, a great deal about you, and he made me promise to
bring you this song, which he wrote on purpose for you, as a gift from
himself.

"Now, what do you say to this song? But by Hercules, child, how pale you
are! Have the verses affected you so much, or are you frightened at this
likeness of your own longing heart? Calm yourself, girl. Who knows what
may have happened to your lover?"

"Nothing has happened,--nothing," cried a gay, manly voice, and in a few
seconds Sappho was in the arms of him she loved.

Kallias looked on quietly, smiling at the wonderful beauty of these two
young lovers.

"But now," said the prince, after Sappho had made him acquainted with
Kallias, "I must go at once to your grandmother. We dare not wait four
days for our wedding. It must be to-day! There is danger in every hour of
delay. Is Theopompus here?"

"I think he must be," said Sappho. "I know of nothing else, that could
keep my grandmother so long in the house. But tell me, what is this about
our marriage? It seems to me . . ."

"Let us go in first, love. I fancy a thunder-storm must be coming on. The
sky is so dark, and it's so intolerably sultry."

"As you like, only make haste, unless you mean me to die of impatience.
There is not the slightest reason to be afraid of a storm. Since I was a
child there has not been either lightning or thunder in Egypt at this
time of year."

"Then you will see something new to-day," said Kallias, laughing; for a
large drop of rain has just fallen on my bald head, "the Nile-swallows
were flying close to the water as I came here, and you see there is a
cloud coming over the moon already. Come in quickly, or you will get wet.
Ho, slave, see that a black lamb is offered to the gods of the lower
world."

They found Theopompus sitting in Rhodopis' own apartment, as Sappho had
supposed. He had finished telling her the story of Zopyrus' arrest, and
of the journey which Bartja and his friends had taken on his behalf.

Their anxiety on the matter was beginning to be so serious, that Bartja's
unexpected appearance was a great relief. His words flew as he repeated
the events of the last few hours, and begged Theopompus to look out at
once for a ship in sailing order, to convey himself and his friends from
Egypt.

"That suits famously," exclaimed Kallias. "My own trireme brought me from
Naukratis to-day; it is lying now, fully equipped for sea, in the port,
and is quite at your service. I have only to send orders to the steersman
to keep the crew together and everything in sailing order.--You are under
no obligations to me; on the contrary it is I who have to thank you for
the honor you will confer on me. Ho, Knakias!--tell my slave Philomelus,
he's waiting in the hall,--to take a boat to the port, and order my
steersman Nausarchus to keep the ship in readiness for starting. Give him
this seal; it empowers him to do all that is necessary."

"And my slaves?" said Bartja.

"Knakias can tell my old steward to take them to Kallias' ship," answered
Theopompus.

"And when they see this," said Bartja, giving the old servant his ring,
"they will obey without a question."

Knakias went away with many a deep obeisance, and the prince went on:
"Now, my mother, I have a great petition to ask of you."

"I guess what it is," said Rhodopis, with a smile. "You wish your
marriage to be hastened, and I see that I dare not oppose your wish."

"If I'm not mistaken," said Kallias, "we have a remarkable case here. Two
people are in great peril, and find that very peril a matter of
rejoicing."

"Perhaps you are right there," said Bartja, pressing Sappho's hand
unperceived. And then, turning to Rhodopis again, he begged her to delay
no longer in trusting her dearest treasure to his care,--a treasure whose
worth he knew so well.

Rhodopis rose, she laid her right hand on Sappho's head and her left on
Bartja's, and said: "There is a myth which tells of a blue lake in the
land of roses; its waves are sometimes calm and gentle, but at others
they rise into a stormy flood; the taste of its waters is partly sweet as
honey, partly bitter as gall. Ye will learn the meaning of this legend in
the marriage-land of roses. Ye will pass calm and stormy-sweet and bitter
hours there. So long as thou wert a child, Sappho, thy life passed on
like a cloudless spring morning, but when thou becam'st a maiden, and
hadst learnt to love, thine heart was opened to admit pain; and during
the long months of separation pain was a frequent guest there. This guest
will seek admission as long as life lasts. Bartja, it will be your duty
to keep this intruder away from Sappho, as far as it lies in your power.
I know the world. I could perceive,--even before Croesus told me of your
generous nature,--that you were worthy of my Sappho. This justified me in
allowing you to eat the quince with her; this induces me now to entrust
to you, without fear, what I have always looked upon as a sacred pledge
committed to my keeping. Look upon her too only as a loan. Nothing is
more dangerous to love, than a comfortable assurance of exclusive
possession--I have been blamed for allowing such an inexperienced child
to go forth into your distant country, where custom is so unfavorable to
women; but I know what love is;--I know that a girl who loves, knows no
home but the heart of her husband;--the woman whose heart has been
touched by Eros no misfortune but that of separation from him whom she
has chosen. And besides, I would ask you, Kallias and Theopompus, is the
position of your own wives so superior to that of the Persian women? Are
not the women of Ionia and Attica forced to pass their lives in their own
apartments, thankful if they are allowed to cross the street accompanied
by suspicious and distrustful slaves? As to the custom which prevails in
Persia of taking many wives, I have no fear either for Bartja or Sappho.
He will be more faithful to his wife than are many Greeks, for he will
find in her what you are obliged to seek, on the one hand in marriage, on
the other in the houses of the cultivated Hetaere:--in the former,
housewives and mothers, in the latter, animated and enlivening
intellectual society. Take her, my son. I give her to you as an old
warrior gives his sword, his best possession, to his stalwart son:--he
gives it gladly and with confidence. Whithersoever she may go she will
always remain a Greek, and it comforts me to think that in her new home
she will bring honor to the Greek name and friends to our nation, Child,
I thank thee for those tears. I can command my own, but fate has made me
pay an immeasurable price for the power of doing so. The gods have heard
your oath, my noble Bartja. Never forget it, but take her as your own,
your friend, your wife. Take her away as soon as your friends return; it
is not the will of the gods that the Hymenaeus should be sung at Sappho's
nuptial rites."

As she said these words she laid Sappho's hand in Bartja's, embraced her
with passionate tenderness, and breathed a light kiss on the forehead of
the young Persian. Then turning to her Greek friends, who stood by, much
affected:

"That was a quiet nuptial ceremony," she said; "no songs, no torch-light!
May their union be so much the happier. Melitta, bring the bride's
marriage-ornaments, the bracelets and necklaces which lie in the bronze
casket on my dressing-table, that our darling may give her hand to her
lord attired as beseems a future princess."

"Yes, and do not linger on the way," cried Kallias, whose old
cheerfulness had now returned. "Neither can we allow the niece of the
greatest of Hymen's poets to be married without the sound of song and
music. The young husband's house is, to be sure, too far off for our
purpose, so we will suppose that the andronitis is his dwelling.

[The Hymenaeus was the wedding-song, so called because of its
refrain "Hymen O! Hymenae' O!" The god of marriage, Hymen, took
his origin and name from the hymn, was afterwards decked out richly
with myths, and finally, according to Catullus, received a seat on
Mount Helikon with the Muses.]

[A Greek bride was beautifully adorned for her marriage, and her
bridesmaids received holiday garments. Homer, Odyss. VI. 27.
Besides which, after the bath, which both bride and bridegroom were
obliged to take, she was anointed with sweet-smelling essences.
Thucyd. II. 15. Xenoph. Symp. II. 3.]

"We will conduct the maiden thither by the centre door, and there we will
enjoy a merry wedding-feast by the family hearth. Here, slavegirls, come
and form yourselves into two choruses. Half of your number take the part
of the youths; the other half that of the maidens, and sing us Sappho's
Hymenaeus. I will be the torch-bearer; that dignity is mine by right. You
must know, Bartja, that my family has an hereditary right to carry the
torches at the Eleusinian mysteries and we are therefore called Daduchi
or torch-bearers. Ho, slave! see that the door of the andronitis is hung
with flowers, and tell your comrades to meet us with a shower of
sweetmeats as we enter. That's right, Melitta; why, how did you manage to
get those lovely violet and myrtle marriage-crowns made so quickly? The
rain is streaming through the opening above. You see, Hymen has persuaded
Zeus to help him; so that not a single marriage-rite shall be omitted.
You could not take the bath, which ancient custom prescribes for the
bride and bridegroom on the morning of their wedding-day, so you have
only to stand here a moment and take the rain of Zeus as an equivalent
for the waters of the sacred spring. Now, girls, begin your song. Let the
maidens bewail the rosy days of childhood, and the youths praise the lot
of those who marry young."

Five well-practised treble voices now began to sing the chorus of virgins
in a sad and plaintive tone.

Suddenly the song was hushed, for a flash of lightning had shone down
through the aperture beneath which Kallias had stationed the bride and
bridegroom, followed by a loud peal of thunder. "See!" cried the
Daduchus, raising his hand to heaven, "Zeus himself has taken the
nuptial-torch, and sings the Hymenaeus for his favorites."

At dawn the next morning, Sappho and Bartja left the house and went into
the garden. After the violent storm which had raged all night, the garden
was looking as fresh and cheerful in the morning light as the faces of
the newly-married pair.

Bartja's anxiety for his friends, whom he had almost forgotten in the
excitement of his marriage, had roused them so early.

The garden had been laid out on an artificial hill, which overlooked the
inundated plain. Blue and white lotus-blossoms floated on the smooth
surface of the water, and vast numbers of water-birds hovered along the
shores or over the flood. Flocks of white, herons appeared on the banks,
their plumage gleaming like glaciers on distant mountain peaks; a
solitary eagle circled upward on its broad pinions through the pure
morning air, turtle-doves nestled in the tops of the palm-trees; pelicans
and ducks fluttered screaming away, whenever a gay sail appeared. The air
had been cooled by the storm, a fresh north-wind was blowing, and,
notwithstanding the early hour, there were a number of boats sailing over
the deluged fields before the breeze. The songs of the rowers, the
plashing strokes of their oars and the cries of the birds, all
contributed to enliven the watery landscape of the Nile valley, which,
though varied in color, was somewhat monotonous.

Bartja and Sappho stood leaning on each other by the low wall which ran
round Rhodopis' garden, exchanging tender words and watching the scene
below, till at last Bartja's quick eye caught sight of a boat making
straight for the house and coming on fast by the help of the breeze and
powerful rowers.

A few minutes later the boat put in to shore and Zopyrus with his
deliverers stood before them.

Darius's plan had succeeded perfectly, thanks to the storm, which, by its
violence and the unusual time of its appearance, had scared the
Egyptians; but still there was no time to be lost, as it might reasonably
be supposed that the men of Sais would pursue their fugitive with all the
means at their command.

Sappho, therefore, had to take a short farewell of her grandmother, all
the more tender, however, for its shortness,--and then, led by Rartja and
followed by old Melitta, who was to accompany her to Persia, she went on
board Syloson's boat. After an hour's sail they reached a
beautifully-built and fast-sailing vessel, the Hygieia, which belonged to
Kallias.

He was waiting for them on board his trireme. The leave-taking between
himself and his young friends was especially affectionate. Bartja hung a
heavy and costly gold chain round the neck of the old man in token of his
gratitude, while Syloson, in remembrance of the dangers they had shared
together, threw his purple cloak over Darius' shoulders. It was a
master-specimen of Tynan dye, and had taken the latter's fancy. Darius
accepted the gift with pleasure, and said, as he took leave: "You must
never forget that I am indebted to you, my Greek friend, and as soon as
possible give me an opportunity of doing you service in return."

"You ought to come to me first, though," exclaimed Zopyrus, embracing his
deliverer. "I am perfectly ready to share my last gold piece with you; or
what is more, if it would do you a service, to sit a whole week in that
infernal hole from which you saved me. Ah! they're weighing anchor.
Farewell, you brave Greek. Remember me to the flower-sisters, especially
to the pretty, little Stephanion, and tell her her long-legged lover
won't be able to plague her again for some time to come at least. And
then, one more thing; take this purse of gold for the wife and children
of that impertinent fellow, whom I struck too hard in the heat of the
fray."

The anchors fell rattling on to the deck, the wind filled the sails, the
Trieraules--[Flute-player to a trireme]--took his flute and set the
measure of the monotonous Keleusma or rowing-song, which echoed again
from the hold of the vessel. The beak of the ship bearing the statue of
Hygieia, carved in wood, began to move. Bartja and Sappho stood at the
helm and gazed towards Naukratis, until the shores of the Nile vanished
and the green waves of the Hellenic sea splashed their foam over the deck
of the trireme.




CHAPTER XII.

Our young bride and bridegroom had not travelled farther than Ephesus,
when the news reached them that Amasis was dead. From Ephesus they went
to Babylon, and thence to Pasargadae, which Kassandane, Atossa and
Croesus had made their temporary residence. Kassandane was to accompany
the army to Egypt, and wished, now that Nebenchari had restored her
sight, to see the monument which had lately been built to her great
husband's memory after Croesus' design, before leaving for so long a
journey. She rejoiced in finding it worthy of the great Cyrus, and spent
hours every day in the beautiful gardens which had been laid out round
the mausoleum.

It consisted of a gigantic sarcophagus made of solid marble blocks, and
resting like a house on a substructure composed of six high marble steps.
The interior was fitted up like a room, and contained, beside the golden
coffin in which were preserved such few remains of Cyrus as had been
spared by the dogs, vultures, and elements, a silver bed and a table of
the same metal, on which were golden drinking-cups and numerous garments
ornamented with the rarest and most costly jewels.

The building was forty feet high. The shady paradises--[Persian
pleasure-gardens]--and colonnades by which it was surrounded had been
planned by Croesus, and in the midst of the sacred grove was a
dwelling-house for the Magi appointed to watch over the tomb.

The palace of Cyrus could be seen in the distance--a palace in which he
had appointed that the future kings of Persia should pass at least some
months of every year. It was a splendid building in the style of a
fortress, and so inaccessibly placed that it had been fixed on as the
royal treasure-house.

Here, in the fresh mountain air of a place dedicated to the memory of the
husband she had loved so much, Kassandane felt well and at peace; she was
glad too to see that Atossa was recovering the old cheerfulness, which
she had so sadly lost since the death of Nitetis and the departure of
Darius. Sappho soon became the friend of her new mother and sister, and
all three felt very loath to leave the lovely Pasargadm.

Darius and Zopyrus had remained with the army which was assembling in the
plains of the Euphrates, and Bartja too had to return thither before the
march began.

Cambyses went out to meet his family on their return; he was much
impressed with Sappho's great beauty, but she confessed to her husband
that his brother only inspired her with fear.

The king had altered very much in the last few months. His formerly pale
and almost noble features were reddened and disfigured by the quantities
of wine he was in the habit of drinking. In his dark eyes there was the
old fire still, but dimmed and polluted. His hair and beard, formerly so
luxuriant, and black as the raven's wing, hung down grey and disordered
over his face and chin, and the proud smile which used so to improve his
features had given way to an expression of contemptuous annoyance and
harsh severity.

Sometimes he laughed,--loudly, immoderately and coarsely; but this was
only when intoxicated, a condition which had long ceased to be unusual
with him.

He continued to retain an aversion to his wives; so much so that the
royal harem was to be left behind in Susa, though all his court took
their favorite wives and concubines with them on the campaign. Still no
one could complain that the king was ever guilty of injustice; indeed he
insisted more eagerly now than before on the rigid execution of the law;
and wherever he detected an abuse his punishments were cruel and
inexorable. Hearing that a judge, named Sisamnes, had been bribed to
pronounce an unjust sentence, he condemned the wretched man to be flayed,
ordered the seat of justice to be covered with his skin, appointed the
son to the father's vacant place and compelled him to occupy this fearful
seat.--[Herodot. V. 25.]--Cambyses was untiring as commander of the
forces, and superintended the drilling of the troops assembled near
Babylon with the greatest rigor and circumspection.

The hosts were to march after the festival of the New Year, which
Cambyses celebrated this time with immense expense and profusion. The
ceremony over, he betook himself to the army. Bartja was there. He came
up to his brother, beaming with joy, kissed the hem of his robe, and told
him in a tone of triumph that he hoped to become a father. The king
trembled as he heard the words, vouchsafed his brother no answer, drank
himself into unconsciousness that evening, and the next morning called
the soothsayers, Magi and Chaldaeans together, in order to submit a
question to them. "Shall I be committing a sin against the gods, if I
take my sister to wife and thus verify the promise of the dream, which ye
formerly interpreted to mean that Atossa should bear a future king to
this realm?"

The Magi consulted a short time together. Then Oropastes cast himself at
the king's feet and said, "We do not believe, O King, that this marriage
would be a sin against the gods; inasmuch as, first: it is a custom among
the Persians to marry with their own kin; and secondly, though it be not
written in the law that the pure man may marry his sister, it is written
that the king may do what seemeth good in his own eyes. That which
pleaseth thee is therefore always lawful."

Cambyses sent the Magi away with rich gifts, gave Oropastes full powers
as regent of the kingdom in his absence, and soon after told his
horrified mother that, as soon as the conquest of Egypt and the
punishment of the son of Amasis should have been achieved, he intended to
marry his sister Atossa.

At length the immense host, numbering more than 800,000 fighting men,
departed in separate divisions, and reached the Syrian desert in two
months. Here they were met by the Arabian tribes whom Phanes had
propitiated--the Amalekites and Geshurites--bringing camels and horses
laden with water for the host.

At Accho, in the land of the Canaanites, the fleets of the Syrians,
Phoenicians and Ionians belonging to Persia, and the auxiliary ships from
Cyprus and Samos, won by the efforts of Phanes, were assembled. The case
of the Samian fleet was a remarkable one. Polykrates saw in Cambyses'
proposal a favorable opportunity of getting rid of all the citizens who
were discontented with his government, manned forty triremes with eight
thousand malcontent Samians, and sent them to the Persians with the
request that not one might be allowed to return home.--[Herod. III. 44.]

As soon as Phanes heard this he warned the doomed men, who at once,
instead of sailing to join the Persian forces, returned to Samos and
attempted to overthrow Polykrates. They were defeated, however, on land,
and escaped to Sparta to ask help against the tyrant.

A full month before the time of the inundation, the Persian and Egyptian
armies were standing face to face near Pelusium on the north-east coast
of the Delta.

Phanes' arrangements had proved excellent. The Arabian tribes had kept
faith so well that the journey through the desert, which would usually
have cost thousands of lives, had been attended with very little loss,
and the time of year had been so well chosen that the Persian troops
reached Egypt by dry roads and without inconvenience.

The king met his Greek friend with every mark of distinction, and
returned a friendly nod when Phanes said: "I hear that you have been less
cheerful than usual since the death of your beautiful bride. A woman's
grief passes in stormy and violent complaint, but the sterner character
of a man cannot so soon be comforted. I know what you feel, for I have
lost my dearest too. Let us both praise the gods for granting us the best
remedy for our grief--war and revenge." Phanes accompanied the king to an
inspection of the troops and to the evening revel. It was marvellous to
see the influence he exercised over this fierce spirit, and how calm--nay
even cheerful--Cambyses became, when the Athenian was near.

The Egyptian army was by no means contemptible, even when compared with
the immense Persian hosts. Its position was covered on the right by the
walls of Pelusium, a frontier fortress designed by the Egyptian kings as
a defence against incursions from the east. The Persians were assured by
deserters that the Egyptian army numbered altogether nearly six hundred
thousand men. Beside a great number of chariots of war, thirty thousand
Karian and Ionian mercenaries, and the corps of the Mazai, two hundred
and fifty thousand Kalasirians, one hundred and sixty thousand
Hermotybians, twenty thousand horsemen, and auxiliary troops, amounting
to more than fifty thousand, were assembled under Psamtik's banner;
amongst these last the Libyan Maschawascha were remarkable for their
military deeds, and the Ethiopians for their numerical superiority.

The infantry were divided into regiments and companies, under different
standards, and variously equipped.

[In these and the descriptions immediately following, we have drawn
our information, either from the drawings made from Egyptian
monuments in Champollion, Wilkinson, Rosellini and Lepsius, or from
the monuments themselves. There is a dagger in the Berlin Museum,
the blade of which is of bronze, the hilt of ivory and the sheath of
leather. Large swords are only to be seen in the hands of the
foreign auxiliaries, but the native Egyptians are armed with small
ones, like daggers. The largest one of which we have any knowledge
is in the possession of Herr E. Brugsch at Cairo. It is more than
two feet long.]

The heavy-armed soldiers carried large shields, lances, and daggers; the
swordsmen and those who fought with battle-axes had smaller shields and
light clubs; beside these, there were slingers, but the main body of the
army was composed of archers, whose bows unbent were nearly the height of
a man. The only clothing of the horse-soldiers was the apron, and their
weapon a light club in the form of a mace or battle-axe. Those warriors,
on the contrary, who fought in chariots belonged to the highest rank of
the military caste, spent large sums on the decoration of their
two-wheeled chariots and the harness of their magnificent horses, and
went to battle in their most costly ornaments. They were armed with bows
and lances, and a charioteer stood beside each, so that their undivided
attention could be bestowed upon the battle.