Creation (12 page)

There was a sudden clatter of drums and cymbals. The carved cedar doors opposite the throne were flung open and Darius stood in the doorway. He wore the cidaris, a high round felt hat that only the Great King and the crown prince may wear. At the base of the cidaris, Darius wore the blue-and-white fillet of sovereignty that had belonged to Cyrus and before him to the ten successive kings of Media.

I got no more than a quick glimpse of the Great King as I prostrated myself on the floor. Although the royal princes and high nobles remained standing, each bowed low to the Great King and kissed his own right hand. Needless to say, like everyone else, I kept furtive eyes on the Great King, even though it is a serious offense to look upon him without his permission.

Darius was then thirty-eight years old. Although not tall, he was beautifully proportioned, and his sinewy legs were shown to advantage by the tight scarlet trousers that he wore beneath a purple Median robe on which had been embroidered, in gold, a falcon about to strike. As he approached the throne, I noticed that his saffron-dyed leather shoes were buttoned with lumps of amber.

In Darius’ right hand, he carried a slender golden rod, emblem of his power to guide the state. In the left hand, he held a golden lotus with two buds, the universal symbol of immortality.

The Great King’s undyed beard was long and naturally curly, and glistened like the sleek fur of the red fox, while the face was beautifully painted. The dark lines drawn about the eyelids made brilliant the sky-blue eyes. The legendary Cyrus was reported to have been the handsomest man in Persia. If Darius was not the most beautiful of the Persians, he was certainly a dazzling sight as he moved between the twenty-two columns of the apadana—rather like a lion, stalking.

Darius was followed by his turbaned cupbearer and by the court chamberlain, who carries the Great King’s personal napkin and fly whisk. He was also accompanied by Hystaspes, and by the father of the child that he had just married, and by his eldest son, Artobazanes, a sturdy young man of twenty whose natural beard was almost as red as his grandfather Gobryas’ disastrously dyed beard. Artobazanes was already a commander on the northern frontier.

As Darius approached the throne he playfully flicked Gobryas with the golden scepter; then he made a gesture for the older man to embrace him. This was a sign of special favor. With eyes cast down and arms folded so that each hand would be hidden in the opposite sleeve, Gobryas kissed Darius. Incidentally, no one may show his hands to the Great King unless in obeisance or in some normal business that has nothing to do with the court. The reason for this is obvious. Since no one may enter the presence of the Great King bearing arms, courtiers and supplicants are searched before they attend him. Then, to be doubly safe, they are obliged to hide their hands from him. This ancient Median custom was adopted, like so many others, by Cyrus.

At the foot of the lion throne, Darius clapped his hands. Everyone stood up straight, ready for the styling of the sovereign. As often as I have heard this ancient ceremony, I never cease to be thrilled by it—not that I am apt ever to hear it again.

As first of The Six, Gobryas was first to hail the Great King. “The Achaemenid!” Gobryas’ harsh voice sounded almost hostile; doubtless an inadvertent reflection of his true feelings.

Next was Hystaspes. “By the grace of the Wise Lord,” he shouted, “Great King!” This was meant as a challenge to the Magians who follow the Lie, a majority of the Magians in the hall that day. Although I could not see the Magians from where I was standing, I was told later that when they heard the Wise Lord’s name, they made secret signs to one another.

One by one, from different parts of the room, the brothers of Darius proclaimed his titles. By four wives, Hystaspes had twenty sons who were all living at this time and, presumably, they were all present in Ecbatana that day. Fortunately, Darius had a great many titles. After the naming of each title there was a rattling of drums, a striking of cymbals.

Darius’ eldest brother declaimed, “King of Persia!” The next brother: “King of Media!” The next brother: “King of Babel!”—a title discarded by Xerxes when he was obliged to dissolve forever that ancient kingdom. Then, from the opposite end of the room: “Pharaoh of Egypt!,” followed by Darius’ Egyptian name. Like Cambyses before him, Darius pretended that he was the earthly incarnation of the Egyptian god Ra, and so the legitimate god-king of Egypt. I am afraid that Darius proved to be every bit as opportunistic in religious matters as Cyrus. But Cyrus had never acknowledged that he had got the world as a gift from the Wise Lord while Darius had publicly declared that if it had not been for the Wise Lord, he would never have been Great King. Then Darius proceeded to tell the Egyptians that his ancestor Ra was a greater god than the Wise Lord! I am happy to say that I was able to persuade Xerxes not to style himself pharaoh. As a result, Egypt is now a satrapy like any other, and gone forever are those devilish god-kings of the Nile valley.

One by one, Darius’ titles were shouted—and in triumph! Why not? Between Cyrus and Darius most of the world was Persian and our Great King is known to everyone not only as one king of many but as king of this great earth far and wide.

To everyone’s surprise it was Darius’ eldest son, Artobazanes, who stepped forward and proclaimed, in a low voice, that unique title, “King of kings.”

The fact that Artobazanes had been chosen to declaim—no matter how softly—the ultimate title was taken as a sign of singular favor, and the cause of Queen Atossa promptly received a setback.

I looked at Gobryas. Grimly, through fire-red whiskers, he was smiling.

Then the Great King sat in the lion throne.

LAIS BEGAN HER AFFAIR WITH HISTIAEUS shortly after we settled into the palace at Ecbatana. Histiaeus was a swarthy man who never ceased to frown. I cannot say that I ever liked him. He was a most unhappy man who spread gloom about him in a most aggressive way. Admittedly, he had every reason to be unhappy. At the height of his glory as tyrant of Miletus, he was ordered to come up to Susa as a guest of the Great King. That is to say, he was made a prisoner. Meanwhile the wealthy city of Miletus was governed by his son-in-law Aristagoras.

Whenever Lais received a man, she was always attended by two eunuchs. Since Lais’ pair of eunuchs were not only very old but remarkably ugly, she was confident that her obvious discretion in the choice of eunuchs made her peculiar widowhood entirely respectable in the eyes of the harem ladies. Actually, Lais need not have worried about her reputation. From the beginning she was regarded by the court as entirely alien, and the usual laws of the harem were never applied to her. After Atossa, she was the freest lady at court, and no one minded what she did since she was in no way related to the Great King. Lais was also careful never to antagonize any of the wives. Finally, as mother of Zoroaster’s grandson, she occupied a sort of religious place at court, a situation she was not above exploiting. She enjoyed wearing mysterious costumes that were neither Greek nor Persian. In public she affected an other-worldly air; in private, she let it be known that, for a price, she would cast horoscopes, make love philters, administer slow-acting poisons. She was very popular.

At Ecbatana, Histiaeus’ head was shaved because he was in mourning for Sybaris, a city closely connected to Miletus; earlier that year Sybaris had been entirely destroyed by the army of Croton.

Scowling, Histiaeus would sit in a wooden chair opposite the folding stool on which Lais perched in the tiny courtyard of her apartment while the decrepit eunuchs dozed in the sun. Occasionally I was allowed to join Histiaeus and Lais; my presence was supposed to lend an air of respectability to their goings-on—not that I was often with Lais. I spent most of that first summer at Ecbatana with the royal princes, being trained as a soldier.

“You are lucky to be at school here.” Histiaeus always made an effort to talk to me. “Later in life there’ll be no post that you won’t be able to fill.”

“He already has a post. He is to be head of the Zoroastrian order, and archpriest of all Persia.” In those days Lais was dedicated to securing for me this high, unwanted, not to mention entirely imaginary office. There is no Zoroastrian archpriest of all Persia. We comprise not a priesthood but an order.

“In case he decides not to, he can be a satrap, a councilor of state, anything.” Histiaeus had the Ionian Greek’s contempt for all religion. “But no matter what you do in life,” he said gravely, “never forget your mother’s language.”

Since we always spoke Greek with Histiaeus, this seemed a needless injunction. “I speak Greek to Milo,” I said helpfully. “We’re not supposed to, but we do.”

“Milo, son of Thessalus?”

I nodded. “He is my best friend.”

“Well, I have done what I could for that family.” Histiaeus looked more than ever grim. “I’ve told the Great King that he should send a fleet to Athens
before
the old landowners call in the Spartan army, which they will. Certainly it’s better to help Hippias while he’s still tyrant rather than later when it will be too late. Persia must act now, but unfortunately—” Histiaeus stopped. He could not, directly, criticize the Great King. “I’ve even offered to go myself, as admiral. But ...” There was a long pause. We listened to the soft snoring of the eunuchs. Lais and I knew what everyone else knew: Darius did not trust Histiaeus out of his sight.

We were joined by Democedes, who always said that he was teaching Lais medicine. I now suspect that she was teaching him magic, if the two are not the same. When the tyrant of Samos was put to death by the Persian satrap at Sardis, his physician Democedes was enslaved. Later, when Darius came to Sardis, he fell from his horse and tore the muscles of the right foot. Despite a lifetime in the field, the Great King was not a good horseman.

Egyptian physicians were summoned. As a result of their elaborate ministrations and melodious chants, Darius’ right foot was entirely crippled. He was furious.

Someone then recalled that the celebrated physician Democedes was a slave at Sardis, working in a warehouse. Now, Democedes was a bold as well as a crafty man. He knew that if Darius discovered that he was a master of medicine, he would never be able to buy his freedom and go home to Croton in Sicily. When sent for, he denied any knowledge of medicine. “That was not I,” he declared. “That was another Democedes.”

Darius ordered branding irons and pincers. Boldness promptly gave way to craft, and Democedes took on the case. He put Darius to sleep for two days. During this time he massaged the foot; practiced his art. On the third day Darius was cured, and Democedes’ worst fears were realized. He was appointed physician to the entire imperial family. He was even allowed the unique privilege of being able to attend the ladies in the harem at any time of day or night, without the presence of eunuchs.

It was Democedes who saved the life of Queen Atossa. When a large painful growth on one of her breasts began to spread, Democedes neatly removed the breast. To everyone’s amazement, Atossa recovered. The chagrin of the Egyptian physicians was equalled only by that of the Great King’s other wives.

Although not happy about the loss of a breast, Atossa realized that had she followed the usual Egyptian cure (a paste of mare’s milk, serpent’s venom and ground ivory which, when applied to the diseased part, kills the patient more swiftly than any sword), she would have died. The fact that she was now able to live to a great old age changed not only my life—a small matter—but that of the world, a great matter. Had Atossa died then, her son Xerxes would not have succeeded his father. It is no secret that the elevation of Xerxes to the throne was entirely his mother’s work.

One curious thing. After the removal of the breast, Atossa began to grow hairs on her face. Although she removed them daily with Egyptian depilatories, the hairs kept growing back. Finally she took to enameling her face with white lead to disguise the raw redness from the depilatories. The result looked very odd indeed. My mother always said that after the mutilation, Atossa was more man than woman.

Shortly after Democedes saved Atossa’s life, he arranged to be sent to Italy on the Great King’s business. At Tarentum he skipped ship; and hurried home to his native city of Croton where he married the daughter of Milo, the Greek world’s most famous wrestler and—yes, another winner at the Olympic games. This same Milo was also the general who commanded the army that destroyed Sybaris.

But Democedes was soon bored by life in his native Croton. After all, most of his life had been spent at glittering courts. He had served Pisistratus at Athens, Polycrates in Samos, and the Great King himself at Susa. He was used to palace life. He could not bear provincial life. Meekly Democedes asked Darius if he might return to Susa, with his bride. The Great King was pleased to forgive him, and Democedes returned to Persia, where he was honored by everyone except his old friend Atossa. She could not bear Democedes’ wife, which was odd. Since the girl was never able to speak more than a few words of Persian, she could not have unduly bored the queen. Lais thinks that Atossa was jealous. If this was the case, then the rumor that she had had an affair with the physician who removed her breast must be true.

After Democedes had bowed low to the former tyrant of Miletus, the two men kissed on the lips, as Persian men do when they greet a friend who is also an equal. A friend of inferior rank is offered only a cheek to be kissed. Strictly speaking, Histiaeus should have offered a cheek—as tyrant of Miletus he outranked Democedes. But fellow Greeks who are guests of the Great King tend to ignore differences in rank.

Democedes was also an eager partisan of Hippias. “I have known Hippias since he was a boy. He was always most unusual. He is both profound and just. That’s a rare combination—for a tyrant.” Democedes smiled a toothless smile. “In our day, only Athens and Miletus are happy with their tyrants.”

“
Were
happy.” Histiaeus was like a dark cloud full of rain. “Have you talked to the Great King about Hippias?”