threw their spears in perfect unison, the sun itself was eclipsed by a cloud of wood and iron.
Unfortunately, from where I stood, cheek pressed against a splintery wood column, I could not see the Great King, who was directly below me, beneath a canopy of gold. But I did have a good view of the bride. She was seated on a stool between the chairs of her mother and Queen Atossa. A nice-looking child, she was plainly scared out of her wits by what was happening. From time to time during the military display, either her mother or Atossa would whisper something to her. Whatever they told her did no good. She looked more and more alarmed.
Later that day the wedding of Darius and his little niece took place in private. Afterwards there was a reception in the main hall of the palace, which I attended with my schoolmates. Under Darius, court ceremonial became so intricate that something almost always went wrong. In Cathay, when any aspect of a ceremony is botched, the whole thing must begin again from the beginning. Had we been obliged to observe this rule at the Persian court, we would never have had time to govern the world.
I ascribe a certain tendency to confusion at the Persian court to the large amounts of wine that Persians drink on ceremonial occasions. This goes back to the days when they were a wild mountain clan, given to endless drinking bouts. Note that I say they and not we. The Spitamas are Medes, if not something older; and, of course, Zoroaster hated drunkenness. That is one of the reasons why the Magians so hated him. Magians guzzle not only wine but sacred haoma.
I can still recall the awe that I felt when I first saw the lion throne on its dais. Made for King Croesus of Lydia, the back of the throne is a life-size lion, golden face turned to look over the left shoulder, emerald eyes aglitter, ivory teeth bared. A canopy of hammered gold is suspended over the throne by a long chain, while to the left and the right of the dais, elaborate silver braziers contain burning sandalwood.
At Ecbatana, the walls of the apadana—or hall of columns—are hung with tapestries depicting events in the life of Cambyses. Although the conquest of Egypt is shown in considerable detail, the Great King Cambyses’ mysterious death is tactfully omitted.
I stood with my schoolmates to the right of the throne. The royal princes were closest to the throne. Next to the princes were the sons of The Six—and next to them were the boy guests of the Great King. I had been placed at the dividing line between the guests and the nobles, between Milo and Mardonius, the youngest son of Gobryas by the Great King’s sister.
At the left of the throne stood the six nobles who had made it possible for Darius to become Great King. Although one of the original Six had been recently put to death for treason, his eldest son was permitted to represent a permanently ennobled and honored family.
As the world knows, when Cambyses was in Egypt, a Magian named Gaumata pretended to be Mardos, brother of Cambyses. When Cambyses died on his way home from Egypt, Gaumata seized the throne. But young Darius, with the aid of The Six, killed the pseudo-Mardos, married Atossa, the widow of both Gaumata and Cambyses, and became Great King. This is what all the world knows.
Of The Six, I was particularly interested in Gobryas, a tall, slightly stooped man whose hair and beard had been dyed blood-red. Lais told me later that the hairdresser had made the fatal error of using the wrong dyes—fatal for the hairdresser, that is. He was put to death. Largely because of that somewhat ludicrous first impression, I could never take Gobryas as seriously as everyone else did in those days.
I have often wondered what Gobryas thought of Darius. I suspect that he hated him. Certainly, he envied him. After all, Gobryas had as much or as little right to the throne as Darius. But it was Darius who became Great King, and that was that. Now Gobryas wanted his grandson Artobazanes
Unfortunately, from where I stood, cheek pressed against a splintery wood column, I could not see the Great King, who was directly below me, beneath a canopy of gold. But I did have a good view of the bride. She was seated on a stool between the chairs of her mother and Queen Atossa. A nice-looking child, she was plainly scared out of her wits by what was happening. From time to time during the military display, either her mother or Atossa would whisper something to her. Whatever they told her did no good. She looked more and more alarmed.
Later that day the wedding of Darius and his little niece took place in private. Afterwards there was a reception in the main hall of the palace, which I attended with my schoolmates. Under Darius, court ceremonial became so intricate that something almost always went wrong. In Cathay, when any aspect of a ceremony is botched, the whole thing must begin again from the beginning. Had we been obliged to observe this rule at the Persian court, we would never have had time to govern the world.
I ascribe a certain tendency to confusion at the Persian court to the large amounts of wine that Persians drink on ceremonial occasions. This goes back to the days when they were a wild mountain clan, given to endless drinking bouts. Note that I say they and not we. The Spitamas are Medes, if not something older; and, of course, Zoroaster hated drunkenness. That is one of the reasons why the Magians so hated him. Magians guzzle not only wine but sacred haoma.
I can still recall the awe that I felt when I first saw the lion throne on its dais. Made for King Croesus of Lydia, the back of the throne is a life-size lion, golden face turned to look over the left shoulder, emerald eyes aglitter, ivory teeth bared. A canopy of hammered gold is suspended over the throne by a long chain, while to the left and the right of the dais, elaborate silver braziers contain burning sandalwood.
At Ecbatana, the walls of the apadana—or hall of columns—are hung with tapestries depicting events in the life of Cambyses. Although the conquest of Egypt is shown in considerable detail, the Great King Cambyses’ mysterious death is tactfully omitted.
I stood with my schoolmates to the right of the throne. The royal princes were closest to the throne. Next to the princes were the sons of The Six—and next to them were the boy guests of the Great King. I had been placed at the dividing line between the guests and the nobles, between Milo and Mardonius, the youngest son of Gobryas by the Great King’s sister.
At the left of the throne stood the six nobles who had made it possible for Darius to become Great King. Although one of the original Six had been recently put to death for treason, his eldest son was permitted to represent a permanently ennobled and honored family.
As the world knows, when Cambyses was in Egypt, a Magian named Gaumata pretended to be Mardos, brother of Cambyses. When Cambyses died on his way home from Egypt, Gaumata seized the throne. But young Darius, with the aid of The Six, killed the pseudo-Mardos, married Atossa, the widow of both Gaumata and Cambyses, and became Great King. This is what all the world knows.
Of The Six, I was particularly interested in Gobryas, a tall, slightly stooped man whose hair and beard had been dyed blood-red. Lais told me later that the hairdresser had made the fatal error of using the wrong dyes—fatal for the hairdresser, that is. He was put to death. Largely because of that somewhat ludicrous first impression, I could never take Gobryas as seriously as everyone else did in those days.
I have often wondered what Gobryas thought of Darius. I suspect that he hated him. Certainly, he envied him. After all, Gobryas had as much or as little right to the throne as Darius. But it was Darius who became Great King, and that was that. Now Gobryas wanted his grandson Artobazanes
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