Creation (55 page)

Atossa sat back in her chair. “Darius raised his right arm and made a fist. Then the arm fell on the side of the litter. He opened his eyes very wide. Looked at me the way he used to look at strangers. Remember? Polite, but ever so distant. Then he stopped breathing, all the while staring at me, ever so politely.”

Atossa blinked eyes that were now sand-dry. Then she was all business. “Ariamenes is on the march to Susa. There will be civil war.”

But thanks to Xerxes, there was no civil war. The day after Darius’ death, Xerxes left Babylon at the head of the ten thousand immortals. He took possession of the palace at Susa, and the treasury. From Susa he sent his father-in-law Otanes to confer with Ariamenes. I have never known the full details of that meeting. I do know that Ariamenes was won over without bloodshed. I assume that he was heavily bribed. In any case, as a proof of good will, he agreed to attend the coronation of Xerxes at Pasargada. I must say that it is very much to Xerxes’ credit that he did not put to death his presumptuous brother. In these matters, leniency is usually a mistake, since the man who can forgive the man who forgives him is rare indeed. But Ariamenes proved to be an exception. He was loyal to his brother. Later he died a hero’s death in the Greek wars.

At the beginning Xerxes understood men; and their vanity.

ON A BRIGHT COLD DAY THE BODY OF Darius was placed in the rock tomb next to old Hystaspes and the unfortunate Parmys—whose remains were soon to be removed at Atossa’s urgent request.

Dressed as a simple warrior, Xerxes entered the small fire temple that stands just opposite the tomb of Cyrus. The rest of us waited outside. I have never been so cold. It was the sort of icy day that makes the hairs in one’s nostrils freeze, while the sun blazes with the sort of intense light that gives no heat. I remember that the sky was perfectly clear except for the white plumes of smoke that rose from the fires where a thousand bulls would soon be offered up to the Wise Lord.

Inside the temple, Magians presented Xerxes with a simple dish of sour milk, herbs, dates. After he had tasted the traditional food, he put on the gold-embroidered Median cloak of Cyrus. Then Ariamenes presented Xerxes with Cyrus’ war crown, which he held in his hands until the Arch-Magian indicated the exact moment of the winter solstice. At that propitious instant Xerxes placed the crown upon his head and became Great King. Actually, the winter solstice had occurred earlier that day, but Magians are seldom precise in such matters, worse luck.

When Xerxes appeared at the door of the temple, we cheered him until our voices broke. I have never been so moved as I was that winter day when my lifelong friend stood before us, wearing the cloak of Cyrus and holding high the lotus and the scepter. I remember thinking that the gold-turreted crown on Xerxes’ head looked like an earthly—no,
un
earthly—fragment of the sun itself. So the reign began.

The court stayed at Persepolis for a month. During this time I drafted his first proclamation. It is carved on a cliff not far from the tomb of Darius. Xerxes had wanted to begin with praise of himself, in imitation of those ancient Elamite kings who are forever threatening the reader or listener with their awesome might. But I persuaded Xerxes to imitate his father, who had begun
his
first proclamation by praising the Wise Lord. Needless to say, I was under great pressure from the entire Zoroastrian community.

When Xerxes finally agreed to acknowledge the primacy of the Wise Lord, I found myself for the first and only time in my life popular with every one of my numerous uncles, cousins, nephews. Several years later they were even more pleased when I persuaded Xerxes to drop all pretense that he ruled in Babylon and in Egypt at the pleasure of the local gods.

“A great god is the Wise Lord, who created this earth, who created man, who created peace for man—” That last phrase was Xerxes’ own contribution, not mine. Unlike most rulers, he never enjoyed war for its own bloody sake. “—who made Xerxes king, one king of many, one lord of many ...” And so on. Then we listed all the lands that he governed. Although the recent disturbance in Bactria was mentioned in a somewhat minatory way, no mention was made of the revolt in Egypt. That was too delicate a matter. I was also able to persuade Xerxes to denounce the devas and their worshipers in far stronger terms than Darius had ever used. But Xerxes somewhat spoiled the effect by celebrating a characteristic of the Wise Lord called Arta—or righteousness. Now, if one regards Arta as simply an aspect of the
single
deity, no blasphemy has been committed. But in recent years the common people—encouraged by certain Magians—have tended to regard mere aspects of the Wise Lord as separate deities. I’m afraid that Xerxes himself inclined to this heresy. He prayed quite as much to Arta as he ever did to the Wise Lord. He even named his son, our present Great King, Arta-Xerxes.

When Xerxes announced that the court would remain at Persepolis for a month, I was surprised that he was willing to be parted for such a long time from the harem. When I alluded to this, he smiled. “You don’t know what a relief it is not to be advised by Atossa and Amestris.” He also thought it auspicious that his reign should begin in the heart of the Persian homeland, surrounded by clan leaders.

At the coronation feast, fifteen thousand of the empire’s most important men dined in the main courtyard of Darius’ winter palace. I once saw the list of the animals slaughtered for that particular feast. I don’t think a single sheep or goose or bull was left alive in all the highlands. But despite the vast expense, the affair was highly auspicious, or so we thought. The grandees ate and drank for nine hours. Many were ill. All were ecstatic. The awesome royal glory had passed, in the most suitable way, to the true Achaemenid. This does not often happen.

Xerxes himself dined with his brothers in a curtained alcove just off a hall where sat one hundred king’s friends. A thick green-and-white curtain separated Xerxes’ alcove from the room where we feasted. Later the curtain was drawn back and he drank with us. Later still, he went out into the courtyard and the cheering of the clans sounded like ocean waves when they strike the shore, rhythmically, in accordance with the moon. Yes, Democritus, beneath the surface of the outer seas, there are powerful tides of a sort that do not exist in the Mediterranean, where waves are caused by capricious winds. No, I do not know the reason for this. Somehow, ocean tides follow the waxing and the waning of the moon, in much the same way that the periods of women do.

I sat between Mardonius and Artabanus. We were as drunk as everyone else. Only Xerxes remained sober. He mixed water with his wine, something that he rarely did. He was on his guard. After all, at the foot of his golden couch sat Ariamenes. The would-be usurper was a sturdy youthful man, with the arms of an ironworker. I was still deeply suspicious of him. We all were, except Xerxes.

I found Artabanus highly agreeable. I cannot say that I took him very seriously, even though I knew that Xerxes was about to make him commander of the palace guard—a position of enormous power, since the guards commander not only protects the Great King but supervises the day-to-day maintenance of the court. Because Darius had always kept his guards commanders on a short leash, I assumed that Xerxes would do the same.

Artabanus was a blond blue-eyed Hyrcanian a year or two younger than Xerxes. It was rumored that he liked to drink distilled barley from a human skull. Whatever his private habits, his public manners were most civilized. Certainly, he was deferential with me. I’m afraid that I found him dull, which was just the impression that he wanted to make on us all. As it turned out, we were the dullards, not he.

The guards commander at the Persian court is usually kept in check by the court chamberlain. The wise sovereign does his best to keep those two officials permanently at odds, which is not hard to do. Since the chamberlain must have access to the harem, he is always a eunuch. Since virile soldiers are contemptuous of all eunuchs, a satisfactory hostility is bound to exist between guards commander and court chamberlain. On the recommendation of Amestris, Xerxes had already appointed Aspamitres court chamberlain. All in all, the court was pleased. Everyone knew that when Aspamitres took a bribe, he gave good value in return. He was also an excellent administrator, as I discovered on the day of Xerxes’ coronation.

At about the third course, Mardonius and I were moderately drunk. I remember that the dish before us was venison, cooked exactly the way I like—basted with vinegar and served with cock’s combs. I had eaten one piece. Then, mouth full, I turned to Mardonius, who was drunker than I. He spoke of war, as usual. “Egypt is better than nothing,” he said. “I don’t mind. Not really. I want to serve the Great King.” We were still not used to the fact that that awesome title was now attached forever to our boyhood friend. “Even so, it’s a year wasted from ...” Mardonius belched, and lost his train of thought.

“From Greece. I know. But Egypt’s more important than Greece. Egypt is rich. And it’s ours—or was.” At that moment I reached for another piece of venison, only to find that the plate was still there but the venison was gone. I cursed aloud.

Mardonius stared at me dully. Then he laughed. “Mustn’t grudge the slaves what’s on the plate.”

“But I do!” And I did.

Suddenly Aspamitres was at my side. He was young, pale, sharp-eyed; he had no beard, which meant that he had been castrated before puberty, as the best eunuchs are. He had observed everything from his place just below Xerxes’ golden couch.

“You were not finished, Lord?”

“No, I was not. Nor was the Lord Admiral.”

“We shall punish the offenders.”

Aspamitres was nothing if not a serious figure. In an instant, the venison reappeared. Later that night six servants were executed. As a result, the lively trade in food from the royal table was considerably diminished, if never entirely discontinued. Old customs are hard to break. But at least during the early years of the reign of Xerxes, one was able to eat most of one’s dinner in relative security. For this improvement, we had Aspamitres to thank. At the time, it was rumored that since Aspamitres’ seventeenth year, he had been the lover of Queen Amestris. I would not know. I only repeat what people used to whisper. Although harem ladies—even queens—tend to have complex relationships with their eunuchs, I doubt that our revered Queen Mother Amestris would have so used Aspamitres, despite the fact that his genital member was reputed to be unusually large for someone castrated as early as the tenth or eleventh year.

Democritus now reports the very latest gossip from the Agora. Apparently the Greeks want to believe that the queen mother is currently having an affair with the present court chamberlain, a eunuch of twenty-three who wears an artificial beard and mustache. Let me assure the scandal-loving Athenians that the queen mother is in her seventieth year, and indifferent to the joys of the flesh. More to the point, she has always preferred power to pleasure, like her predecessor Queen Atossa. I think it possible that the
young
Amestris might have dallied with eunuchs. But that was another world, now lost.

The lost world was a most beautiful one for us. Particularly that winter in Persepolis when all things seemed possible—except that one would never be comfortable again. The palaces were incomplete. There was no city to speak of, only the huts of the workmen and a brand-new complex of buildings that had been built around Darius’ treasury. These storerooms, exhibition rooms, porticoes and offices were used, temporarily, to house the clerks of the chancellery.

Mardonius and I shared a small, airless, icy room in the harem of the winter palace. Since the women’s quarters had been designed to accommodate Darius’ relatively modest collection of wives and concubines, they were inadequate for Xerxes’ so-called city of women. Consequently, the first order that Xerxes gave as Great King was to his architects. They were to extend the women’s quarters in the direction of the treasury. Ultimately, part of the original treasury had to be pulled down in order to accommodate the new harem.

One afternoon Xerxes sent for me. “Come see the tomb of your namesake,” he said. So together we rode a considerable distance to the tomb of Cyrus the Great. Set on a high platform, the small white limestone chapel has a portico of slender columns. The stone door has been carved to look like wood. Back of that door, Cyrus lies on a golden bed.

Although the Magian in charge of the tomb was plainly a devil-worshiper, he promptly intoned a hymn to the Wise Lord for our benefit. Incidentally, the custodian lives in a house close to the tomb, and once a month he sacrifices a horse to the spirit of Cyrus—an ancient Aryan custom, much deplored by Zoroaster.

Xerxes ordered the Magian to open the tomb. Together we entered the musty chamber where the wax-preserved body of Cyrus lies on its golden bed. Next to the bed there is a golden table piled high with marvelous jewels, weapons, robes. They glowed in the flickering light of the torch that Xerxes held.

I must say it is an odd feeling to look at a famous man who has been dead for more than half a century. Cyrus wore scarlet trousers and a cloak of overlapping golden plates. The cloak had been pulled tight at the neck in order to hide the gash made by the barbarian’s ax. Casually Xerxes pulled open the cloak, revealing the dark cavity where Cyrus’ neck had been.

“The spine was cut through,” said Xerxes. “I don’t think he was so handsome, do you?” Xerxes stared critically at the face under its layer of clear wax.

“He was old,” I whispered. Except for a slight grayness of the skin, Cyrus might indeed have been sleeping and I, for one, did not want to wake him. I was awed.

Xerxes was not. “I shall want an Egyptian to preserve me.” He was most critical of Cyrus’ embalmers. “The color’s bad. So’s the smell.” Xerxes sniffed the musty air and made a face. But I smelled only the various unguents that had been used by the embalmers.

“Sleep well, Cyrus Achaemenid.” Jauntily Xerxes saluted the founder of the empire. “You deserve your rest. I envy you.” I was not always certain when Xerxes was serious and when he was not.