At these words the Persians broke into loud shouts of delight; but Croesus only waited till the noise had ceased to say:  “Hystaspes, you and I are both old men; but you are a thorough Persian and fancy you can only be happy in battle and bloodshed.  You are now obliged to lean for support on the staff, which used to be the badge of your rank as commander, and yet you speak like a hot-blooded boy.  I agree with you that enemies are easy enough to find, but only fools go out to look for them.  The man who tries to make enemies is like a wretch who mutilates his own body.  If the enemies are there, let us go out to meet them like wise men who wish to look misfortune boldly in the face; but let us never try to begin an unjust war, hateful to the gods.  We will wait until wrong has been done us, and then go to victory or death, conscious that we have right on our side.”

The old man was interrupted by a low murmur of applause, drowned however quickly by cries of “Hystaspes is right! let us look for an enemy!”

It was now the turn of the envoy Prexaspes to speak, and he answered laughing:  “Let us follow the advice of both these noble old men.  We will do as Croesus bids us and not go out to seek an enemy, but at the same time we will follow Hystaspes’ advice by raising our claims and pronouncing every one our enemy, who does not cheerfully consent to become a member of the kingdom founded by our great father Cyrus.  For instance, we will ask the Indians if they would feel proud to obey your sceptre, Cambyses.  If they answer no, it is a sign that they do not love us, and whoever does not love us, must be our enemy.”

“That won’t do,” cried Zopyrus.  “We must have war at any price.”

“I vote for Croesus,” said Gobryas.  “And I too,” said the noble Artabazus.

“We are for Hystaspes,” shouted the warrior Araspes, the old Intaphernes, and some more of Cyrus’s old companions-in-arms.

“War we must have at any price,” roared the general Megabyzus, the father of Zopyrus, striking the table so sharply with his heavy fist, that the golden vessels rang again, and some goblets even fell; “but not with the Massagetac—­not with a flying foe.”

“There must be no war with the Massagetae,” said the high-priest Oropastes.  “The gods themselves have avenged Cyrus’s death upon them.”

Cambyses sat for some moments, quietly and coldly watching the unrestrained enthusiasm of his warriors, and then, rising from his seat, thundered out the words:  “Silence, and listen to your king!”

The words worked like magic on this multitude of drunken men.  Even those who were most under the influence of wine, listened to their king in a kind of unconscious obedience.  He lowered his voice and went on:  “I did not ask whether you wished for peace or war—­I know that every Persian prefers the labor of war to an inglorious idleness—­but I wished to know what answer you would give the Massagetan warriors.  Do you consider that the soul of my father—­of the man to whom you owe all your greatness—­has been sufficiently avenged?”