It would not have been like Darius to take any notice of a trouble that did not present itself palpably before him and demand his attention.  Nehushta scarcely ever spoke of Zoroaster, and when the king mentioned him to her, it was always in connection with affairs of state.  She seemed cold and indifferent, and the hot-blooded soldier monarch no longer looked on Zoroaster as a possible rival.  He had white hair—­he was therefore an old man, out of all questions of love.  But Darius was glad that the Hebrew queen never referred to former times, nor ever seemed to regret her old lover.  Had he known of that night meeting in Atossa’s toilet chamber, and of what Atossa had said then, his fury would probably have had no bounds.  But he never knew.  Nehushta was too utterly broken-hearted by the blow she had received to desire vengeance, and though she quietly scorned all intercourse with the woman who had injured her, she cared not to tell the king of the injury.  It was too late.  Had she known of the cruel deception that had been practised on her, one hour before she had married Darius, Atossa would have been in her grave these three years, and Nehushta would not have been queen.  But the king knew none of these things, and rejoiced daily in the wisdom of his chief counsellor and in the favour Auramazda had shown in sending him such a man in his need.

Meanwhile, Atossa’s hatred grew apace.  She saw with anger that her power of tormenting Nehushta was gone from her, that the spirit she had loved to torture was broken beyond all sensibility, and that the man who had scorned her love was grown greater than she.  Against his wisdom and the king’s activity, she could do little, and her strength seemed to spend itself in vain.  Darius laughed mercilessly at her cunning objections to Zoroaster’s reforms; and Zoroaster himself eyed hear coldly, and passed her by in silence when they met.

She bethought herself of some scheme whereby to destroy Zoroaster’s power by a sudden and violent shock; and for a time, she affected at more than usual serenity of manner, and her smile was sweeter than ever.  If it were possible, she thought, to attract the king’s attention and forces to some distant point, it would not be a difficult matter to produce a sudden rising or disturbance in Stakhar, situated as the place was upon the very extreme border of the kingdom, within a few hours’ march across the hills from the uncivilised desert country, which was infested at that time with hostile and turbulent tribes.  She had a certain number of faithful retainers at her command still, whom she could employ as emissaries in both directions, and in spite of the scene that had taken place at Shushan when Phraortes was brought to her by the king, she knew she could still command his services for a revolution.  He was a Magian at heart, and hated the existing monarchy.  He was rich and powerful, and unboundedly vain—­he could easily be prevailed upon to accept the principality of Media as a reward for helping to destroy the Persian kingdom; and indeed the matter had been discussed between him and the queen long ago.