Creation (54 page)

The court during Darius’ last years was lively—and dangerous—with plots and counterplots. I can’t say I remember that aspect of those days with much pleasure. For one thing, I had nothing to do. After being complimented on my work as king’s eye, I was relieved of my duties and given no new post. Yet I was never out of favor. I was still Darius’ son-in-law. I still bore the title king’s friend. What had happened was what so often happens at a court. I was no longer of any use to the sovereign. Also, I think that whenever Darius saw me in attendance, he was reminded of those cows that he had once dreamed of—and now would never herd. No one enjoys being reminded of all that he has
not
accomplished in his life.

It was apparent to the court that the age of Darius was drawing to an end. That is, in theory we realized that he would not live much longer, but in fact none of us could conceive of a world without him. Darius had been Great King all our lives. We had known no other. Even Xerxes could not really imagine himself in Darius’ place, and it could never be said that Xerxes lacked confidence in his own majesty.

Atossa continued to dominate the harem. She had done her best to forward the eastern policy; and she had failed. But then, no adventurous scheme was apt to appeal to Darius in those last years. He spent most of his time with his inner council. Daily he saw the guards commander Aspathines and the treasurer Baradkama. Darius was putting his house in order.

The sudden death of Gobryas cleared the air. In fact, some weeks after Gobryas’ death, the former crown prince Artobazanes retired from court and moved to Sidon. He never came up to Susa again. Atossa had now lived long enough to witness the total defeat of the Gobryas faction.

Although the Greeks were less in evidence than usual, Demaratus had become an intimate of Darius. No doubt Lais’ witchcraft had been more than usually effective. Certainly, it was to her credit that he was now much cleaner than before, and no longer smelled like a caged fox. The other Greeks were either dead or out of favor.

Xerxes continued to build palaces. There was nothing else for him to do except, secretly, to assemble the men and eunuchs that he would need to serve him once Darius was dead. It was at about this time that Xerxes took up with Artabanus, a young Persian officer distantly related to the Otanes clan. Artabanus was poor; and he was ambitious. In due course Xerxes would give him the command of his personal guard, while from the second room of the chancellery Xerxes took as personal chamberlain Aspamitres, a eunuch of unusual charm.

Xerxes and Mardonius were once again as close as—I was going to say brothers, but in a royal family, kinship is apt to beget not loyalty but blood. In any case, they were friends once more and it. was understood that Mardonius would be Xerxes’ chief general. So, with great subtlety and much care, Xerxes selected the men who would contrive his ruin. Even with hindsight, I cannot say that any of
his
appointments was wrong in itself. Ultimately, there is good luck and bad luck. My friend’s luck was bad—something he knew at the time, but I did not.

During the last year of Darius’ life, I met several times with the Egibis in order to send out a private caravan to India. But something always went wrong. At about this time, I received a message from Caraka. He had sent a second convoy of iron from Magadha to Persia. Unfortunately, somewhere between Taxila and Bactra, the caravan vanished. I assume that the Scythians seized it. Before I left India, Caraka and I had worked out a private code. As a result, I was able to learn from what looked to be a sober commercial report that Koshala no longer existed, that Virudhaka was dead, that Ajatashatru was the master of the Gangetic plain. Since Prince Jeta was in good favor with Ajatashatru, my wife and two sons—the second child was a boy, too—were safe. Beyond that, I knew nothing. I missed Ambalika, particularly on those rare occasions when I was with Parmys.

Five years after Fan Ch’ih’s departure, he sent me a message. He was still not in Cathay. But he said that the caravan was making progress. He had found a new approach to Cathay, and he had high hopes of opening up a silk road between Cathay and Persia. I read the letter to Xerxes, who was sufficiently interested to send on a copy to the Great King. A month later I received a formal acknowledgment from the councilor for the east, then—silence.

In a sense, Mardonius was responsible for the death of Darius. As Mardonius regained his health, he became once more the center of what was left of the Greek faction at court. He was particularly wooed by Demaratus. Incidentally, I forbade Lais to receive any Greek in my house. While I was home, she obeyed me. But whenever I was away from Susa, every Greek hanger-on at court converged upon my house and there was nothing that I could do about it, short of expelling Lais—not the sort of thing one does to a Thracian witch.

Mardonius wanted a final Greek war, while Xerxes wanted a victory in the field, any field. Mardonius tempted Xerxes with glory. Together, they would conquer Greece. Xerxes would be overall commander; Mardonius his second in command. Since there was no longer any talk of India, I was excluded from their councils. I was not unhappy. I had always disapproved of the Greek wars because I knew the Greeks. Xerxes did not.

It is my impression that Darius wanted peace. Although, at the time, he had been angry with Datis for failing to destroy Athens, he certainly did not brood over the matter. After all, Darius never took Athens or any other Greek city seriously. How could he, when their leading men were forever coming up to Susa to beg him to help them betray their native cities? Although Darius admired the Greeks as soldiers, he was deeply bored by their quarrels with one another. Finally he said, “Two campaigns are enough.” The first had been an unqualified success, while the second had been not only inconclusive but expensive. There was no need for a third campaign.

But that did not stop Mardonius. He brought pressure to bear on everyone, including Queen Atossa, who agreed, finally, that the time had come for Xerxes to take the field. The retirement of Artobazanes had done much to allay her fears, and Xerxes seemed to have no rival. These combined pressures on Darius proved to be disastrously successful.

The Great King summoned us to the hall of seventy-two columns at Susa. Although I had no presentiment that this would be Darius’ last public appearance, I do remember thinking how changed he was from the vigorous young conqueror that I had first seen in that same hall. Where once a lion had moved amongst us, a fragile old man now crept toward the throne. The Great King was in his sixty-fourth year.

Democritus wants to know how old Xerxes was at the time. Xerxes, Mardonius and I were all thirty-four. Herodotus thinks that Xerxes was only eighteen. So much for what is called history. Although our youth had left us, old age was as far away as childhood.

As Xerxes helped his father into the high gold throne, every eye was on the failing sovereign and his successor. Darius wore the spiked war crown. In his right hand he clutched the gold sceptre. As discreetly as possible, Xerxes picked up his father’s useless left arm and placed it on the arm of the throne.

Xerxes stepped down from the throne. “The king of kings,” he said in a voice that carried throughout the hall. “The Achaemenid!”

We stood erect, hands in our sleeves. Looking at the row of young princes and nobles, I thought of Xerxes and Mardonius and myself and Milo so many years ago. Now a new set of youths had replaced us, just as Xerxes would soon replace the diminished figure on the throne. There is nothing like the unchanging court of Persia to remind one of time’s impartial passage.

When Darius spoke, the voice was weak but carefully pitched. “The Wise Lord requires us to punish the Athenians who burned our holy temples at Sardis.”

This was the formula that the chancellery always used to justify any expedition against the western Greeks. More than once, I remonstrated with the chamberlain. I also spoke to Xerxes. I did everything possible to get them to change the formula, but the chancellery is like the proverbial mountain which cannot be budged. When I told them that the Wise Lord would have wanted those temples destroyed by the Greeks or by anyone else, no one at the chancellery paid the slightest attention to me. I also got no help from the Zoroastrian community. In order to be the most honored priests at court, they were—and are—quite happy to be the most ignored. They have long since disregarded my grandfather’s command to convert all those who follow the Lie. To be honest, so have I. Only the community at Bactra is still relatively pure, and militant.

“We have ordered six hundred triremes to be built. We are levying troops from every part of the empire. We are increasing the tribute that each of the satrapies must pay.”

Darius pointed the sceptre at Baradkama, who then read the tax roll. There was a soft sighing sound in the hall as each of the nobles noted those tax increases that affected him or his estates. Although the Persian clans are exempt from taxes of any kind, they are expected to provide those troops that form the core of the Persian army. In a sense, it is the Persians who pay most dearly when the Great King goes to war.

Once the treasurer was finished, Darius resumed. “Our son and heir Xerxes will lead the expedition.” Xerxes had been waiting all his life for such a command; yet his face did not change expression.

“Our nephew Mardonius will command the fleet.”

This was a surprise. Everyone had expected Mardonius to be appointed second in command. Perhaps the post of admiral implied as much; perhaps it did not. The Great King chose not to elaborate. I looked at Mardonius, who stood to the right of the throne. Mardonius’ lips curved beneath his sculptured beard. He was happy. I was not. I would go to Greece with Xerxes. If I survived the campaign, I might one day return to India and visit Ambalika and our sons. I confess that I was deeply depressed. I saw no future for Persia in the west. More to the point, I saw no future for me except in the east. The collapse of my marriage to Parmys had made Ambalika seem all the more desirable to me. Democritus wants to know why I never took other wives. The answer is simple: I lacked the money. Also, in the back of my mind, I had always thought that one day I would either settle in Shravasti with Ambalika or bring her and—most important—my sons back to Persia.

At the end of the audience, Darius used his right arm to push himself to his feet. For a moment he stood, swaying slightly; the weight of the Great King’s body rested entirely on the right leg. When Xerxes made a move to help him, Darius gestured for him to stand back. Then Darius began the slow, hesitant, painful descent from the throne.

On the last step of the dais, Darius swung the weakened left leg forward onto what he took to be the floor. But he had miscalculated. There was still one more step. Rather like a tall gilded door slamming shut, the Great King swung toward us on his right leg and slowly—very slowly, so it seemed to the stunned court—he fell face down upon the floor. Although he still clasped in one hand the sceptre, the crown fell off and I saw, with horror, that the hoop of lethal gold was rolling straight toward me.

I threw myself on my belly. Since there was no precedent for what had happened, we all played dead, did not dare stir as Xerxes and the court chamberlain helped Darius to his feet.

As the Great King was half carried, half dragged past me, I could hear his heavy breathing and I could see upon the dull redwash floor a trail of bright fresh blood. He had cut his lip; he had broken his good arm. The Great King had begun to die.

There was no Greek war that year or the next. The war was postponed not because of Darius’ disability but because Egypt chose to go into rebellion rather than pay the new tax levies. And so the army that the Great King had raised for the conquest of Greece was now to be used for the pacification and punishment of Egypt. From one end of the earth to the other, heralds proclaimed that Darius would lead the army in the spring, and Egypt would be destroyed.

But three months later, when the court was at sultry Babylon and Susa was buried beneath the worst blizzard in anyone’s memory, the Great King died at the age of sixty-four. He had reigned for thirty-six years.

Death took Darius in—of all places—Queen Atossa’s bedchamber. They had quarreled. That is, he had wanted to quarrel with Atossa, or so she said. “I tried to keep the peace, as always.”

I was in her private apartment at Babylon. This was the day before we were all to go to Pasargada for Darius’ funeral and Xerxes’ coronation. “I knew how ill he was. He did, too. Even so, he was in a terrible rage, supposedly at me but really at himself. He could not bear his own weakness, and I couldn’t blame him for that. I can’t bear mine, either. Anyway, he came to me, secretly, in a lady’s litter with curtains drawn. He could no longer walk. He was incontinent. He was in pain. He lay
there
.”
Atossa pointed to a place between her chair and me. “I knew he was dying. But I don’t think he knew. One doesn’t, you know. At a certain point when one is ill, all notion of time stops and you think you’ll never die because you’re still here, not dead. You
are
,
and that is all. Nothing will change.

“I tried to divert him. We used to play at riddles when we were young. Oddly enough, he liked word games, the more elaborate the better. So I tried to distract him, proposed several games. But he was not—to be distracted. He criticized Xerxes. I said nothing. He criticized me. I said nothing. I know my place.” Atossa was given to exaggeration for effect.

“Then Darius praised our son Ariamenes. ‘He is the best of all my satraps. Thanks to him the northern tribes were driven out of Bactra.’ You know how Darius liked to carry on about those savages. ‘I want Ariamenes to lead the army into Egypt. I’ve sent for him.’ I’m afraid I couldn’t keep still at that point. ‘Xerxes was promised the spring command,’ I said. ‘And Xerxes is your heir.’ Then Darius started to cough. I can still hear that awful sound.”

To my surprise, tears were streaming down Atossa’s face; yet the voice was perfectly steady. “I should like to say that our last meeting was peaceful. But it was not. Darius could never forget that the only legitimacy he had on this earth was through me, and he hated his dependency. I can’t think why. He may have got the crown through cunning, but with the crown he got me, too, and because of me he was the father of Cyrus’ grandson. What more could the man want? I don’t know. I always found him hard to fathom. But then, I saw very little of him these last years. Of course, his mind was unsettled by illness. I could see that. Even so, I never thought that he would send for Ariamenes. ‘You’ll start a civil war,’ I said. ‘Ariamenes will want to succeed you. But
we
won’t let him. That is a promise,’ I said. Oh, I was hard. And Darius was furious. He tried to threaten me, but could not. The coughing had left him without any breath. But he glared at me, and made the sign of a knife cutting a throat. That gesture so infuriated me that I threatened
him
.
‘If you encourage Ariamenes, I swear to you that I shall go myself to Pasargada. I shall raise with my own hands the standard of the Achaemenid. I shall summon the clans and
we
will make the eldest grandson of Cyrus our Great King.’ Then ...”