An Egyptian Princess. Georg Ebers
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revel. When the Pharaoh ceased to speak, he accosted Croesus suddenly with the following question: “I would know, Lydian, whether the snow still covered the mountains, when ye left Persia.”
Smiling, and a little surprised at this strange speech, Croesus answered: “Most of the Persian mountains were green when we started for Egypt four months ago; but there are heights in the land of Cambyses on which, even in the hottest seasons, the snow never melts, and the glimmer of their white crests we could still perceive, as we descended into the plains.”
The Spartan’s face brightened visibly, and Croesus, attracted by this serious, earnest man, asked his name. “My name is Aristomachus.”
“That name seems known to me.”
“You were acquainted with many Hellenes, and my name is common among them.”
“Your dialect would bespeak you my opinion a Spartan.”
“I was one once.”
“And now no more?”
“He who forsakes his native land without permission, is worthy of death.”
“Have you forsaken it with your own free-will?”
“Yes.”
“For what reason?”
“To escape dishonor.”
“What was your crime?”
“I had committed none.”
“You were accused unjustly?”
“Yes.”
“Who was the author of your ill-fortune?”
“Yourself.”
Croesus started from his seat. The serious tone and gloomy face of the Spartan proved that this was no jest, and those who sat near the speakers, and had been following this strange dialogue, were alarmed and begged Aristomachus to explain his words.
He hesitated and seemed unwilling to speak; at last, however, at the king’s summons, he began thus:
“In obedience to the oracle, you, Croesus, had chosen us Lacedaemonians, as the most powerful among the Hellenes, to be your allies against the might of Persia; and you gave us gold for the statue of Apollo on Mount Thornax. The ephori, on this, resolved to present you with a gigantic bronze wine-bowl, richly wrought. I was chosen as bearer of this gift. Before reaching Sardis our ship was wrecked in a storm. The wine-cup sank with it, and we reached Samos with nothing but our lives. On returning home I was accused by enemies, and those who grudged my good fortune, of having sold both ship and wine-vessel to the Samians. As they could not convict me of the crime, and had yet determined on my ruin, I was sentenced to two days’ and nights’ exposure on the pillory. My foot was chained to it during the night; but before the morning of disgrace dawned, my brother brought me secretly a sword, that my honor might be saved, though at the expense of my life. But I could not die before revenging myself on the men who had worked my ruin; and therefore, cutting the manacled foot from my leg, I escaped, and hid in the rushes on the banks of the Furotas. My brother brought me food and drink in secret; and after two months I was able to walk on the wooden leg you now see. Apollo undertook my revenge; he never misses his mark, and my two worst opponents died of the plague. Still I durst not return home, and at length took ship from Gythium to fight against the Persians under you, Croesus. On landing at Teos, I heard that you were king no longer, that the mighty Cyrus, the father of yonder beautiful youth, had conquered the powerful province of Lydia in a few weeks, and reduced the richest of kings to beggary.”
Every guest gazed at Aristomachus in admiration. Croesus shook his hard hand; and Bartja exclaimed: “Spartan, I would I could take you back with me to Susa, that my friends there might see what I have seen myself, the most courageous, the most honorable of men!”
“Believe me, boy,” returned Aristomachus smiling, “every Spartan would have done the same. In our country it needs more courage to be a coward than a brave man.”
“And you, Bartja,” cried Darius, the Persian king’s cousin, “could you have borne to stand at the pillory?” Bartja reddened, but it was easy to see that he too preferred death to disgrace.
“Zopyrus, what say you?” asked Darius of the third young Persian.
“I could mutilate my own limbs for love of you two,” answered he, grasping unobserved the hands of his two friends.
With an ironical smile Psamtik sat watching this scene—the pleased faces of Amasis, Croesus and Gyges, the meaning glances of the Egyptians, and the contented looks with which Aristomachus gazed on the young heroes.
Ibykus now told of the oracle which had promised Aristomachus a return to his native land, on the approach of the men from the snowy mountains, and at the same time, mentioned the hospitable house of Rhodopis.
On hearing this name Psamtik grew restless; Croesus expressed a wish to form the acquaintance of the Thracian matron, of whom AEsop had related so much that was praiseworthy; and, as the other guests, many of whom had lost consciousness through excessive drinking, were leaving the hall, the dethroned monarch, the poet, the sculptor and the Spartan hero made an agreement to go to Naukratis the next day, and there enjoy the conversation of Rhodopis.
CHAPTER VI.
On the night following the banquet just described, Amasis allowed himself only three hours’ rest. On this, as on every other morning, the young priests wakened him at the first cock-crow, conducted him as usual to the bath, arrayed him in the royal vestments and led him to the altar in the court of the palace, where in presence of the populace he offered sacrifice. During the offering the priests sang prayers in a loud voice, enumerated the virtues of their king, and, that blame might in no case light on the head of their ruler, made his bad advisers responsible for every deadly sin committed in ignorance.
They exhorted him to the performance of good deeds, while extolling his virtues; read aloud profitable portions of the holy writings, containing the deeds and sayings of great men, and then conducted him to his apartments, where letters and information from all parts of the kingdom awaited him.
Amasis was in the habit of observing most faithfully these daily-repeated ceremonies and hours of work; the remaining portion of the day he spent as it pleased him, and generally in cheerful society.
The priests reproached him with this, alleging that such a life was not suited to a monarch; and on one occasion he had thus replied to the indignant high-priest: “Look at this bow! if always bent it must lose its power, but, if used for half of each day and then allowed to rest, it will remain strong and useful till the string breaks.”
Amasis had just signed his name to the last letter, granting the petition of a Nornarch—[Administrator of a Province]—for money to carry on different embankments rendered necessary by the last inundation, when a servant entered, bringing a request from the crown-prince Psamtik for an audience of a few minutes.
Amasis, who till this moment had been smiling cheerfully at the cheering reports from all parts of the country, now became suddenly serious and thoughtful. After long delay he answered: “Go and inform the prince that he may appear.”
Psamtik appeared, pale and gloomy as ever; he bowed low and reverentially, on entering his father’s presence.
Amasis nodded silently in return, and then asked abruptly and sternly: “What is thy desire? my time is limited.”
“For your son, more than for others,” replied the prince with quivering lips. “Seven times have I petitioned for the great favor, which thou grantest for the first time to-day.”
“No reproaches! I suspect the reason of thy visit. Thou desirest an answer to thy doubts as to the birth of thy sister Nitetis.”
“I have no curiosity;