Prexaspes trembled, threw himself at the king’s feet and raised his hands imploringly; but Cambyses was too intoxicated, and too much blinded by his hatred to understand the action.  He fancied the prostration was meant as a sign of devotion to his will, signed to him to rise, and whispered, as if afraid of hearing his own words:  “Act quickly and secretly; and, as you value your life, let no one know of the upstart’s death.  Depart, and when your work is finished, take as much as you like out of the treasury.  But keep your wits about you.  The boy has a strong arm and a winning tongue.  Think of your own wife and children, if he tries to win you over with his smooth words.”

As he spoke he emptied a fresh goblet of pure wine, staggered through the door of the room, calling out as he turned his back on Prexaspes:  “Woe be to you if that upstart, that woman’s hero, that fellow who has robbed me of my honor, is left alive.”

Long after he had left the hall, Prexaspes stood fixed on the spot where he had heard these words.  The man was ambitious, but neither mean nor bad, and he felt crushed by the awful task allotted to him.  He knew that his refusal to execute it would bring death or disgrace on himself and on his family; but he loved Bartja, and besides, his whole nature revolted at the thought of becoming a common, hired murderer.  A fearful struggle began in his mind, and raged long after he left the palace.  On the way home he met Croesus and Darius.  He fancied they would see from his looks that he was already on the way to a great crime, and hid himself behind the projecting gate of a large Egyptian house.  As they passed, he heard Croesus say:  “I reproached him bitterly, little as he deserves reproach in general, for having given such an inopportune proof of his great strength.  We may really thank the gods, that Cambyses did not lay violent hands on him in a fit of passion.  He has followed my advice now and gone with his wife to Sais.  For the next few days Bartja must not come near the king; the mere sight of him might rouse his anger again, and a monarch can always find unprincipled servants . . .”

The rest of the sentence died away in the distance, but the words he had heard were enough to make Prexaspes start, as if Croesus had accused him of the shameful deed.  He resolved in that moment that, come what would, his hands should not be stained with the blood of a friend.  This resolution restored him his old erect bearing and firm gait for the time, but when he reached the dwelling which had been assigned as his abode in Sais his two boys ran to the door to meet him.  They had stolen away from the play-ground of the sons of the Achaemenidae, (who, as was always the case, had accompanied the king and the army), to see their father for a moment.  He felt a strange tenderness, which he could not explain to himself, on taking them in his arms, and kissed the beautiful boys once more on their telling him that they must go back to their play-ground again, or they should be punished.  Within, he found his favorite wife playing with their youngest child, a sweet little girl.  Again the same strange, inexplicable feeling of tenderness.  He overcame it this time for fear of betraying his secret to his young wife, and retired to his own apartment early.