Cambyses knew well that all this love, so freely given to Bartja, was not to be bought.  He did not hate his younger brother, but he felt annoyed that a youth who had as yet done nothing to distinguish himself, should be honored and revered as if he were already a hero and public benefactor.  Whatever annoyed or displeased him he considered must be wrong; where he disapproved he did not spare his censures, and from his very childhood, Cambyses’ reproofs had been dreaded even by the mighty.

The enthusiastic shouts of the populace, the overflowing love of his mother and sister, and above all, the warm encomiums expressed by Nitetis, had excited a jealousy which his pride had never allowed hitherto.  Nitetis had taken his fancy in a remarkable degree.  This daughter of a powerful monarch, like himself disdaining everything mean and inferior, had yet acknowledged him to be her superior, and to win his favor had not shrunk from the laborious task of mastering his native language.  These qualities, added to her peculiar style of beauty, which excited his admiration from its rare novelty, half Egyptian half Greek, (her mother having been a Greek), had not failed to make a deep impression on him.  But she had been liberal in her praise of Bartja; that was enough to disturb Cambyses’ mind and prepare the way for jealousy.

As he and his brother were leaving the women’s apartments, Cambyses adopted a hasty resolution and exclaimed:  “You asked me just now for an opportunity of proving your courage.  I will not refuse.  The Tapuri have risen; I have sent troops to the frontier.  Go to Rhagae, take the command and show what you are worth.”

“Thanks, brother,” cried Bartja.  “May I take my friends, Darius, Gyges and Zopyrus with me?”

“That favor shall be granted too.  I hope you will all do your duty bravely and promptly, that you may be back in three months to join the main army in the expedition of revenge on the Massagetae.  It will take place in spring.”

“I will start to-morrow.”

“Then farewell.”

“If Auramazda should spare my life and I should return victorious, will you promise to grant me one favor?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Now, then, I feel confident of victory, even if I should have to stand with a thousand men against ten thousand of the enemy.”  Bartja’s eyes sparkled, he was thinking of Sappho.

“Well,” answered his brother, “I shall be very glad if your actions bear out these glowing words.  But stop; I have something more to say.  You are now twenty years of age; you must marry.  Roxana, daughter of the noble Hydarnes, is marriageable, and is said to be beautiful.  Her birth makes her a fitting bride for you.”

“Oh! brother, do not speak of marriage; I . . .”  “You must marry, for I have no children.”

“But you are still young; you will not remain childless.  Besides, I do not say that I will never marry.  Do not be angry, but just now, when I am to prove my courage, I would rather hear nothing about women.”