"But look you, O Myron, you must be an old man of fifty. How could you survive such a rigorous journey?"
"First, I am not yet fifty, albeit near enough to it. Second, I have kept up my physique in our little gymnasium in Shushan."
"Wearing a breechclout so as not to shock our Persian modesty, I trust," said Bessas with a grin. The first attempts of the Hellenes of Shushan to keep up their athletic customs had caused a mighty scandal, because of the innocent Greek attitude towards nudity.
"And third," continued Myron, "I was in condition to run all the way from the palace to the drill field this morning, to rescue you from the spike. Lastly, who else in his right mind would accompany you at all, let alone seek to do so?"
"You have a point," rumbled Bessas, "and I admit you are cleverer than I in many ways. Even if you weren't, I could hardly deny the man who has just saved my life. Still and all—"
"Furthermore, your mother urged this course upon me."
"Oh. That's different. No paint or powder!" he commanded the attendants. "But put on more of that scent. By the claws of the Corpse Fiend, 'twill take a quart of perfume to cover the prison stench!"
As the attendants rubbed more salve on his hairy chest, Bessas went on: "Well, our next step is to find ways and means. Who is to pay for this daft jape?"
"Rise!" said the king.
Having slept and rightly arrayed himself, Xerxes was now more impressive than he had been at the meeting before the dawn. Over a purple shirt with white dots he wore his best robe, the great purple-dyed kandys, heavy with golden embroidery representing gryphons and other monsters in combat. Rumor said that this garment, woven by the most skilled embroiderers of Babylon, had cost twelve thousand talents. Jewels winked from the golden earring in his left ear and from the rings on his fingers. A tiara of thin gold, adorned with a circle of upright golden feathers, rose from his head.
"May the gods give the Great King life!" said Myron. "Your slave has explained to Bessas the conditions of the commutation of his sentence."
"Do you accept, O Bessas?" asked the king, popping his still bloodshot eyes at the Bactrian.
"Your slave accepts," said Bessas.
Xerxes smiled a wry little smile. "And think not to flee, once you are over the borders of the Empire. I hold your mother as security for your return."
"You—" Bessas started to burst out violently but choked back his words. His lips writhed and the veins stood out on his forehead with passion. Myron feared for a moment that Xerxes would punish the Bactrian for lese-majesté, so patent were his feelings even though he spoke not a word.
Then Bessas' pock-pitted face fell. Myron, keenly watching, was sure that Bessas had had some such plan of escape in mind.
"Your slave understands," the young man choked out at last. "But how are the costs of this journey to be met? Whereas Lord Sataspes is rich, I have nought but my pay as troop leader."
Xerxes frowned. "I thought you possessed an estate in Bactria."
"Nay, Majesty. The Toktarians overran that part of the land when they slew my father."
"Oh, I see. Your father was that Phraates. Well, My Majesty will authorize you to draw ten darics from the treasurer."
"Ten? That will not take us far, sire. You speak of a journey of thousands of leagues."
"Well, fifteen then, but no more."
"Great King!" said Myron, terrified at his own daring. "My master truly wishes this expedition to succeed, does he not? Well, no obstacle is so great as inability. What good will it do to struggle through hundreds of leagues of wild, exotic lands, only to be stranded for want of resources? To be safe, we shall require at least fifty—"
"Twenty-five, and not a shekel more," said Xerxes. "If Bessas succeed, I will not only pardon him; I will also see that he gets back his father's barony. And I will give him a document to this effect. By presenting this document he can borrow such further sums as he needs from the bankers of Babylon, putting up the estate as security."
"But sire!" said Bessas. "To recover our lands would take an army—"
"Do you question the Great King's power, sirrah? Anyway, even if it prove impracticable, I can always give you life tenure to an equivalent tract from the crown lands, to provide for your needs. Nay, not another word of this. Is the King of All Kings a Tyrian haggler?
"Now go your ways. Aspamitres shall furnish you with documents to commend you to the satraps and authorize you to draw food and fodder from the royal stores. May God befriend you; for you will need the favor of Auramazda on this journey."
The Daduchid mansion stood near the base of the great platform of Persepolis. As torches flared against the dark of the evening, the lordly owners sat in their counting room. Costly hangings covered the walls, and weapons hung from the undraped strips between the hangings. Yellow lamplight winked from jewels and golden filigree on the hilts of swords and daggers. A rich rug, whose pattern depicted the hero Haoshyaha destroying the wizards of Hyrkania, covered the floor.
Bagabyxas, ranking member of the clan, commander of one of the six army corps, member of the Council of Seven, and fourth most powerful man in the Empire, was about Myron's age. He was a lean, sinewy man with a sharp, narrow face, who moved with smooth control. Although he painted his face in the manner of a Persian gentleman, he gave the impression of hardness, shrewdness, and immense controlled power.
Zopyrus son of Bagabyxas was much like his sire, albeit younger and heavier. He ran his fingers through the curls of his beard as he spoke:
"You may talk of temporizing and accepting an indemnity, Father. Were Tamyra a grown woman who had enticed that blackguard, I might be so persuaded. But a child of eleven! Nay, this is a matter of honor—of my honor and the clan's. I should count myself worse than a woman, did I not strive to sunder these men's god-detested souls from their stinking bodies."
"They may both perish on their expeditions," said Bagabyxas. "Why not leave it to the gods—"
"Because, by the hairs of Auramazda's beard, I want revenge!" roared Zopyrus. Leaping up, he paced like a captive leopard. "I am fain to see their blood flow, to relish their screams of pain, to play stick-and-ball with their heads, to hang their fresh-flayed hides on the wall. If fate prevent me from putting them to the torture myself, I will work through others. Now do you understand?"
"Aye. But how will you catch the departed Sataspes? A stern chase is a long chase."
"I know one in Shushan who can overcome the barriers of time and distance."
"Mean you Ardigula of Baghdad?"
"Aye. Know you him?"
"I have heard of him and not to his credit. We risk our souls in dealing with this demon-worshiper."
"I fear neither man nor demon."
"He who hugs hot coals to his bosom will surely have his raiment scorched," persisted the older man. "Were it not better to wait until Sataspes be on his way back and hire men to waylay him?"
The younger Persian snorted. "How could we post men at the right time and place, not knowing when or whence the man will come? Nay, tins is the only way left to restore the honor of the house of Daduchus." Zopyrus seated himself again, held a pomegranate to his nose, and inhaled. "What stirs my bile the most is the king's letting these scum off without even sending word to us. If Xerxes—Ahriman smite him!—had not given the scoundrels these tasks to perform, I had sought them out and slain them myself. As it is, I shall make arrangements to dispose of Master Bessas on my way to Shushan."