one.”
“But if Bartja should not be guilty, and Darius...”
“You dare to question the justice of my sentence?”
“That be far from me. Whatever the king does is good, and cannot be gainsaid; but still...”
“Be silent! I will not hear the subject mentioned again. You are to be pitied as a father; but have these last few hours brought me any joy? Old man, I grieve for you, but I have as little power to rescind his punishment as you to recall his crime.”
“But if Bartja really should not be guilty—if the gods...”
“Do you think the gods will come to the help of perjurers and deceivers?”
“No, my King; but a fresh witness has appeared.”
“A fresh witness? Verily, I would gladly give half my kingdom, to be convinced of the innocence of men so nearly related to me.”
“Victory to my lord, the eye of the realm! A Greek is waiting outside, who seems, to judge by his figure and bearing, one of the noblest of his race.”
The king laughed bitterly: “A Greek! Ah, ha! perhaps some relation to Bartja’s faithful fair one! What can this stranger know of my family affairs? I know these beggarly Ionians well. They are impudent enough to meddle in everything, and think they can cheat us with their sly tricks. How much have you had to pay for this new witness, uncle? A Greek is as ready with a lie as a Magian with his spells, and I know they’ll do anything for gold. I’m really curious to see your witness. Call him in. But if he wants to deceive me, he had better remember that where the head of a son of Cyrus is about to fall, a Greek head has but very little chance.” And the king’s eyes flashed with anger as he said these words. Hystaspes, however, sent for the Greek.
Before he entered, the chamberlains fastened the usual cloth before his mouth, and commanded him to cast himself on the ground before the king. The Greek’s bearing, as he approached, under the king’s penetrating glance, was calm and noble; he fell on his face, and, according to the Persian custom, kissed the ground.
His agreeable and handsome appearance, and the calm and modest manner in which he bore the king’s gaze, seemed to make a favorable impression on the latter; he did not allow him to remain long on the earth, and asked him in a by no means unfriendly tone: “Who are you?”
“I am a Greek nobleman. My name is Phanes, and Athens is my home. I have served ten years as commander of the Greek mercenaries in Egypt, and not ingloriously.”
“Are you the man, to whose clever generalship the Egyptians were indebted for their victories in Cyprus?”
“I am.”
“What has brought you to Persia?”
“The glory of your name, Cambyses, and the wish to devote my arms and experience to your service.”
“Nothing else? Be sincere, and remember that one single lie may cost your life. We Persians have different ideas of truth from the Greeks.”
“Lying is hateful to me too, if only, because, as a distortion and corruption of what is noblest, it seems unsightly in my eyes.”
“Then speak.”
“There was certainly a third reason for my coming hither, which I should like to tell you later. It has reference to matters of the greatest importance, which it will require a longer time to discuss; but to-day—”
“Just to-day I should like to hear something new. Accompany me to the chase. You come exactly at the right time, for I never had more need of diversion than now.”
“I will accompany you with pleasure, if...”
“No conditions to the king! Have you had much practice in hunting?”
“In the Libyan desert I have killed many a lion.”
“Then come, follow me.”
In the thought of the chase the king seemed to have thrown off all his weakness and roused himself to action; he was just leaving the hall, when Hystaspes once more threw himself at his feet, crying with up-raised hands: “Is my son—is your brother, to die innocent? By the soul of your father, who used to call me his truest friend, I conjure you to listen to this noble stranger.”
Cambyses stood still. The frown gathered on his brow again, his voice sounded like a menace and his eyes flashed as he raised his hand and said to the Greek: “Tell me what you know; but remember that in every untrue word, you utter your own sentence of death.”
Phanes heard this threat with the greatest calmness, and answered, bowing gracefully as he spoke: “From the sun and from my lord the king, nothing can be hid. What power has a poor mortal to conceal the truth from one so mighty? The noble Hystaspes has said, that I am able to prove your brother innocent. I will only say, that I wish and hope I may succeed in accomplishing anything so great and beautiful. The gods have at least allowed me to discover a trace which seems calculated to throw light on the events of yesterday; but you yourself must decide whether my hopes have been presumptuous and my suspicions too easily aroused. Remember, however, that throughout, my wish to serve you has been sincere, and that if I have been deceived, my error is pardonable; that nothing is perfectly certain in this world, and every man believes that to be infallible which seems to him the most probable.”
“You speak well, and remind me of... curse her! there, speak and have done with it! I hear the dogs already in the court.”
“I was still in Egypt when your embassy came to fetch Nitetis. At the house of Rhodopis, my delightful, clever and celebrated countrywoman, I made the acquaintance of Croesus and his son; I only saw your brother and his friends once or twice, casually; still I remembered the young prince’s handsome face so well, that some time later, when I was in the workshop of the great sculptor Theodorus at Samos, I recognized his features at once.”
“Did you meet him at Samos?”
“No, but his features had made such a deep and faithful impression on Theodorus’ memory, that he used them to beautify the head of an Apollo, which the Achaemenidae had ordered for the new temple of Delphi.”
“Your tale begins, at least, incredibly enough. How is it possible to copy features so exactly, when you have not got them before you?”
“I can only answer that Theodorus has really completed this master-piece, and if you wish for a proof of his skill would gladly send you a second likeness of...”
“I have no desire for it. Go on with your story.”
“On my journey hither, which, thanks to your father’s excellent arrangements, I performed in an incredibly short time, changing horses every sixteen or seventeen miles...”
“Who allowed you, a foreigner, to use the posthorses?”
“The pass drawn out for the son of Croesus, which came by chance into my hands, when once, in order to save my life, he forced me to change clothes with him.”
“A Lydian can outwit a fox, and a Syrian a Lydian, but an Ionian is a match for both,” muttered the king, smiling for the first time; “Croesus told me this story—poor Croesus!” and then
