by Andrew James
Darius turned away from the torture. That wasn’t why he’d climbed up here. He wanted to know what was happening beyond Memphis’s wall. From the roof he could see that the city gates were open, soldiers being dispatched to the rebellious cities to ruthlessly crush any remaining resistance. But that wasn’t enough for Cambyses. That afternoon an Imperial decree was promulgated. The Immortals paraded as it was read out loud: ‘The Egyptians are worshippers of Angra Mainyu. The Lie has spread in their land. Every place where the Evil One receives sacrifice, you shall hunt down and destroy.’
Before long, Darius saw yet another round of flames and smoke leaping into the sky above a battered Memphis, and the city was yet again in turmoil. Every temple that had not already been ravaged was set to burn, every idol smashed, the sacred altars defiled. It was a scene to be repeated across the land.
Half a month later, looking north, Darius spotted smoke gathering in dark clouds over the cities of the delta. To the south, it drifted like mist across the Nile. The destruction was endless and, to Darius, pointless. As long as they paid their taxes, Cyrus hadn’t cared which gods men worshipped. Even Cambyses, in his days as Crown Prince, had bowed before the golden idol of Marduk atop the Tower of Babel. Once a land had been captured and its rulers offered earth and water to the King of Kings, they were left in peace to live as they chose. The Empire was too large, its peoples too diverse, to impose a single god. Darius remembered the words of the Prophetess. ‘Persia will soon need a new king … One who has the sense to leave other men’s gods well alone.’ Cambyses’ intolerance wasn’t just foolish, it was self-destructive. He was offending too many people – and, Darius suspected, too many gods – to survive.
With the distraction of Pharaoh’s rebellion out of the way, Cambyses was free at last to lead the Immortals and the court north. ‘He’s going to take us the long way round, using the Royal Road,’ Otaneh divulged, after a gathering of senior generals had been informed of the king’s plans. Darius was relieved that the plot to kill Cambyses was back on course. He and the other conspirators had begun meeting frequently to pool news, Otaneh briefing them on what was happening in the military council, and Darius and Megabyzus sharing the snippets they’d heard on duty inside the royal tent.
‘We’ll pick it up beyond Damascus,’ Otaneh continued, ‘and follow it into the Land Beyond the River, then swing south towards Babylon. No cutting across the Edomites’ land this time. Cambyses has finally taken the lesson about supplies to heart, he wants good fat cropland under his feet as we go.’
Vinda was derisive. ‘As ever, he has made the wrong decision. He should abandon the Immortals’ baggage and cut across country quickly. The man thinks his kingdom is about to break into rebellion! Only Cambyses could dawdle.’
Darius didn’t care which route Cambyses took. They just needed him to reach open country, where there would be few people watching the king pass. Few witnesses to his fall.
Megabyzus popped a sweetmeat into his mouth and spoke while he chewed, tiny flakes of pastry and nuts scattering from his lips. ‘Calm yourself, Vinda! It makes no odds. It will take a little longer if he dawdles, but we’ll get him just the same.’
28
Summer in Damascus, and the ancient walled city was bustling with trade, the bazaar in Straight Street thronged with merchants haggling over merchandise from East and West. When Darius arrived with the Imperial party just over a month after leaving Memphis, after a long march through Judaea and Syria, the weather had grown hot. Clear blue skies, made bearable by soft breezes. From the East – and far less welcome at the hastily established Imperial court than the cool breeze – came a flurry of messages from Persia. As usual, Otaneh kept Darius and the conspirators informed as each one arrived at the satrapal palace, where Cambyses had decided to rest for a few days on his march north.
The first message was from Cambyses’ satrap in Parthava, saying that forces loyal to Bardiya had occupied his satrapy. The people had feted the pretender and the satrap’s soldiers had refused to oppose him. The second came from the satrap of nearby Verkana, the Wolf Land bordering the Caspian Sea. It was in a similar vein. The third was from the King’s Eye, installed by Cambyses at the palace in Pathragada. It was a long message, and over his usual cup of wine that evening Otaneh recounted how the court had been in suspense for ages as Cambyses read it, considered it, then re-read it before passing it to Bagapata. News had reached the King’s Eye that Bardiya had raised his Camel Standard in Nashirmeh in the East and was marching westward, plundering some areas, being acclaimed by others. Unconfirmed reports suggested he was heading towards Pathragada, expecting to arrive there sometime before midsummer. Bardiya had already sent magi ahead to arrange for him to be greeted with due ceremony and crowned as King of Kings. These magi were numerous and unusually well armed for priests; moreover, they were commanding soldiers and the King’s Eye did not have the forces to counter them. What should he do?
When Otaneh recited the contents of the message – which had leaked out despite Cambyses’ orders to the contrary – the tent fell silent as a tomb. Everyone was stunned, not least Darius.
‘Just say that again, would you?’ Megabyzus asked, jowls rippling as he tried to get his head around it all.
‘Which bit?’
‘The whole thing!’
Otaneh suppressed a smile at his friend’s confusion. ‘It’s very simple. The rebellion we pretended is happening is really happening! Bardiya has risen in revolt.’
Once Darius had got over the shock he realized it wasn’t so surprising after all. Parmys’s letter proved that, for better or worse, Bardiya had reappeared, and with Cambyses so deeply unpopular it was only a matter of time before the prince moved against him.
‘So how does that affect us?’ Vinda asked, looking bemused by the speed of events.
‘It doesn’t,’ Darius said. ‘We carry on and put our plan into effect.’
‘I agree,’ Otaneh said. ‘We are better positioned to deal with Cambyses than Bardiya is. And when the deed is done, we can be sure he will be appropriately grateful.’
The knowledge that Bardiya was coming at the head of an army scared the hell out of Cambyses. Darius had never seen him more panic-stricken than when he gave the order to abandon Damascus, for fear of being trapped within its walls and besieged. Hastily assembling the Immortals outside the city, Cambyses marched everyone north towards Aleppo.
By the time the fourth message arrived, the army was roughly level with the port city of Byblos, but a day’s march inland. Darius heard the commotion when the messenger rode into camp just after lunch, but he was not on duty, and along with the other conspirators he had to wait impatiently in Otaneh’s tent for most of the afternoon to find out what it said. When Otaneh arrived from the urgently convened military council his face was strained. He entered in silence, lay down on a couch and tossed back the first cup of wine with uncharacteristic speed. Sipping thoughtfully at the second, he spoke in his usual calm, measured tone. But Darius could sense the agitation he was suppressing.
‘It was another message from the King’s Eye in Pathragada. And I can tell you, it shook the court to its core.’ Otaneh paused and sipped again. ‘Bardiya has been crowned King of Kings!’
There was silence as the news sank in. Never in the history of the Empire had there been rival anointeds of Ahura Mazda.
‘When?’ asked Darius.
‘On the ninth day of Garmapada, seven days after the midsummer solstice. Which is all perfectly proper. But the bizarre thing is the ceremony was not in Pathragada! It was at Sikayauvatish, an obscure castle in Medea.’
Darius knew the castle. It was not far from Frada’s estate, where he had grown up. But why would Bardiya choose to be crowned there? The bare, windswept Medean mountain was the sort of place a magus would choose for the sacred ceremony, the sort that Ahura Mazda was said to favour to receive prayers. But it was hardly an inspiring place to begin a new reign, far from the King of Kings’ subjects and ci
ties. Of course, Darius knew the coronation didn’t have to be in Pathragada. When Cyrus was crowned, the city hadn’t even existed. The ceremony could take place anywhere. All that was needed was the authority of the magi officiating at the rituals, and by all accounts Bardiya had plenty of those around him. But if Bardiya was going to set himself up as a rival king, why not seek the extra legitimacy that came from being crowned in the Imperial city of his father?
Despite Cambyses’ frantic efforts to suppress news of Bardiya’s coronation, inevitably it soon leaked out, setting the entire camp in uproar. Officers and men gathered in tents to debate the news. Otaneh stoutly denied that he had been responsible for the leak, when Bagapata challenged him and Darius that afternoon outside the royal tent. When Darius touched his sword the eunuch scurried inside, giving both him and the spadapati malicious stares. ‘I always feel that I’m looking into the face of evil with that one,’ Otaneh muttered as he went.
‘Grim, isn’t he?’ Darius agreed. He remembered that it was Bagapata who had ordered the binding of Parmys when she was kidnapped to be sent to Egypt. ‘When Cambyses is gone, the eunuch and I have a score to settle.’
Otaneh gave Darius a sideways glance, but didn’t ask any more.
In the camp that evening, Darius could feel the tension like a spider crawling across his skin. As he moved among the tents he was hailed repeatedly and asked for news. Each time, he would shrug, palms turned up, lips tightly sealed but a knowing twinkle in his eyes. Everywhere rumour and suspicion abounded. Men were wary and watchful. Every shadow was a lurking spy, every whisper a plot. Twice the perimeter guards sounded the trumpets to warn of an attack, but both proved false alarms.
Heading back to his own tent after sounding out the mood of the Immortals, he was met by Armantidat, a fellow Spearbearer just off duty. Armantidat greeted him with an ironic smile and pulled him into the shadows before speaking in a low, conspiratorial voice. ‘I’ve just heard Cambyses saying that he knows he is being plotted against and he knows who the plotters are. It won’t be long before they taste the torturer’s iron.’
‘Oh?’ Darius raised his eyebrows, disguising the twist of fear in his gut.
Armantidat slapped Darius’s shoulder and laughed so hard he could barely get the words out. ‘Apparently, it’s a group of saffron-growing Medean nobles, disgruntled at his new tax on spices!’
Darius grinned. ‘Poor bastards. See you at Otaneh’s later?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
It was clear that the writing was on the wall for Cambyses, and there was no shortage of potential recruits to help bring about his end. Yet despite the split down the middle of the Empire, no one dared to openly deride the King of Kings. Ingrained habit and Cyrus’s blood meant he could still count on the obedience of many officers and men, though there were few spontaneous demonstrations of loyalty and none of affection. Occasionally a group of soldiers would stop when passing the royal tent and shout out: ‘Ahura Mazda be your friend, Great King! May you live long!’ But on closer examination these groups always turned out to be men connected to Bagapata or one of the nobles who relied heavily on Cambyses’ patronage.
After a brief paralysis, two days after hearing of Bardiya’s coronation Cambyses resumed his march north. Despite the urgency, Darius was astonished that the army still moved slowly in splendid procession. The lines of swaying camels, the colourful ox-drawn carriages, the endless baggage train, the columns of marching men in burnished armour and richly embroidered gowns. Each day they stopped marching early for Cambyses’ tent to be erected, hundreds of royal porters clearing the ground, levelling it, erecting the leather and cloth panels and fitting the furniture with practised efficiency. Everything in its place, everything sparkling with gold and jewels.
Otaneh’s tent was less grand, but still magnificent and extremely spacious. The conspirators met there for each of the next five evenings, reclining on couches and drinking Otaneh’s excellent wine while he kept them up to date with news from the generals’ tent. They made no effort to keep their meetings secret. A group of noble men, meeting to drink fine wine and enjoy civilized conversation? It was what the Empire was about, as natural as night and day. But the extra guards outside the tent to ensure they were not overheard were a sensible precaution. After all, the pretender, Bardiya, was rumoured to have spies everywhere.
The morning after one of these meetings the fifth message was delivered to Cambyses. It was sealed with Bardiya’s seal. Cambyses was bleary-eyed and obviously hungover when it arrived. Otaneh had gifted him a particularly fine flask of particularly strong Ionian wine the day before, chilled with snow from the Phoenician mountains. Never one to dawdle over his drink, Cambyses had finished it while it was still cold before collapsing in a drunken heap and being carried to his bed. He had not long awoken, and was already drinking again.
Apparently by chance, Megabyzus and Darius were on duty in the royal tent when the message came. A last-minute change to the rota meant they had with them Armantidat and Megabyzus’s nephew, Gobryas. Neither normally stood guard duty with Darius, but Hormuzd had been delighted – and surprised – to learn that the King of Kings had favoured him with a period of unexpected leave, and Zamasp had mysteriously disappeared. It was a rare and serious event for a King’s Spearbearer not to show up. Luckily Gobryas had been available, and had agreed to stand in. Someone mentioned that they thought they had seen Zamasp riding out of the camp the night before. This elicited dismay from Cambyses, his eunuchs, and the few courtiers still prepared to be seen with him. There had been other deserters, but none so senior or trusted as a Spearbearer to the King. When the man who gave this information was called for questioning by Cambyses, he too had mysteriously disappeared. As Darius stood by the throne and listened to the ensuing commotion he gave no hint that he knew anything about either man’s disappearance, just rubbed his grazed knuckles where his fist had caught one of the gold hoops in Zamasp’s ear.
These odd events could only have served to deepen Cambyses’ sense of dread as he watched Bagapata tear open the seal. Darius noticed that the Chief Eunuch was also badly hungover. He too had been gifted wine by Otaneh, something very strong and sweet, in a gesture of reconciliation to heal the growing rift between them. Glancing at the seal through bleary eyes, Bagapata handed the message to Cambyses, who grasped the tablet between thumb and forefinger, as though it were tainted with plague, before reading the cuneiform wedges. Having spent several days composing it, Darius knew exactly what it said: Bardiya still wanted to meet his brother, was offering a final chance to settle things amicably. In anticipation of his brother agreeing, he was riding west already under heavy guard. By the time Cambyses received this message, Bardiya would be only a parsang behind. He would wait for his brother at the village of Ecbatana, in the Syrian hills, from dawn to dusk on the day the message was delivered. He would bring no more than four men within bowshot, and would trust his brother to do the same. He would wait in the open, outside the village, so his brother could see he was not cheating. He did not want more bloodshed or enmity; things had gone too far. He was wracked with guilt at betraying his oaths to serve his brother, but needed guarantees as to his safety. With the right guarantees, he might be willing to lay aside his own crown and acknowledge his brother once more. He hoped Cambyses would remember the wishes of their dear departed father, to always settle their differences peacefully. If Cambyses did not come he would assume that he did not wish to meet, and would prepare for battle.
Darius watched the king’s eyes flick across the characters imprinted into the clay. Cambyses continued to stare at the tablet long after they had ceased, staying like that so long Darius was afraid he had fallen asleep. Next to Darius, Megabyzus was fretting. Both men’s nerves were stretched horribly tight. At last Cambyses moved, lowering the tablet thoughtfully. ‘Map!’
Bagapata tilted his head enquiringly. ‘Sire?’
‘Bring me a map, you fool. He says there is a village here called
Ecbatana? Same name as my Summer Palace.’
Bagapata’s bony hands flapped. ‘There is no map, sire. Just a guide.’
‘Bring him.’
The guide turned out to be a Syrian goatherd. Gap-toothed with lank, dirty hair and a tunic smelling of his goats, the wretch was thrust down before the King of Kings. Stammering with fear he confirmed that the village of Ecbatana was indeed only a parsang from the camp. The summer days were long. If the King of Kings set off now he could easily be there and back before dusk.
For a heartbeat Cambyses hesitated, and Darius felt his own heart skip. Then the king’s arm shot out. ‘You four, come. Bagapata, fetch horses. Mount up a wing of asabari to follow. But keep them out of sight. Tell absolutely no one where we are going or why. Say I have gone hunting.’ After a moment’s thought, he added, ‘In fact, bring Claws and Teeth.’ Pleased with his moment of inspiration, and trailed by his four Spearbearers, Cambyses weaved his way a little unsteadily out of the tent.
The Syrian hills were all dust and rock, dry grasses poking through the stony ground. The sun was hot. In one place they passed stands of wheat swaying in the breeze. Another month and the wheat would ripen, followed a few months later by the dates hanging in golden bunches on the palms. Little else seemed to grow there. They rode into a valley green with palms, the rumble of the five hundred asabari some distance behind. Claws and Teeth, Cambyses’ old favourite hounds, loped at an easy pace alongside their master’s horse.