CHAPTER VIII.

Zoroaster had sat for nearly an hour, his eyes fixed on the blue sky, his thoughts wandering in contemplation of things greater and higher than those of earth, when he was roused by the measured tread of armed men marching in a distant room.  In an instant he stood up, his helmet on his head,—­the whole force of military habit bringing him back suddenly to the world of reality.  In a moment the same heavy curtain, from under which Atossa had issued two hours before, was drawn aside, and a double file of spearmen came out upon the balcony, ranging themselves to right and left with well-drilled precision.  A moment more, and the king himself appeared, walking alone, in his armour and winged helmet, his left hand upon the hilt of his sword, his splendid mantle hanging to the ground behind his shoulders.  As he came between the soldiers, he walked more slowly, and his dark, deep-set eyes seemed to scan the bearing and accoutrements of each separate spearman.  It was rarely indeed, in those early days of his power, that he laid aside his breastplate for the tunic, or his helmet for the tiara and royal crown.  In his whole air and gait the character of the soldier dominated, and the look of the conqueror was already in his face.

Zoroaster strode forward a few paces, and stood still as the king caught sight of him, preparing to prostrate himself, according to the ancient custom.  But Darius checked him by a gesture; turning half round, he dismissed the guard, who filed back through the door as they had come, and the curtain fell behind them.

“I like not these elaborate customs,” said the king.  “A simple salutation, the hand to the lips and forehead—­it is quite enough.  A man might win a battle if he had all the time that it takes him to fall down at my feet and rise up again, twenty times in a day.”

As the king’s speech seemed to require no answer, Zoroaster stood silently waiting for his orders.  Darius walked to the balustrade and stood in the full glare of the sun for a moment, looking out.  Then he came back again.

“The town seems to be quiet this morning,” he said.  “How long did the queen tarry here talking with thee, Zoroaster?”

“The queen talked with her servant for the space of half an hour,” answered Zoroaster, without hesitation, though he was astonished at the suddenness and directness of the question.

“She is gone to see thy princess,” continued the king.

“The queen told her servant it was yet too early to see Nehushta,” remarked the warrior.

“She is gone to see her, nevertheless,” asserted Darius, in a tone of conviction.  “Now, it stands in reason that when the most beautiful woman in the world has been told that another woman is come who is more beautiful than she, she will not lose a moment in seeing her.”  He eyed Zoroaster curiously for a moment, and his thick black beard did not altogether hide the smile on his face.  “Come,” he added, “we shall find the two together.”