e."

"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?"

A dull murmur in the affirmative, interrupted by some violent voices in
the negative, was the answer. The king then asked a second question:
"Shall we accept the conditions proposed by their envoys, and grant peace
to this nation, already so scourged and desolated by the gods?" To this
they all agreed eagerly.

"That is what I wished to know," continued Cambyses. "To-morrow, when we
are sober, we will follow the old custom and reconsider what has been
resolved on during our intoxication. Drink on, all of you, as long as the
night lasts. To-morrow, at the last crow of the sacred bird Parodar, I
shall expect you to meet me for the chase, at the gate of the temple of
Bel."

So saying, the king left the hall, followed by a thundering "Victory to
the king!" Boges had slipped out quietly before him. In the forecourt he
found one of the gardener's boys from the hanging-gardens.

"What do you want here?" asked Boges. "I have something for the prince
Bartja."

"For Bartja? Has he asked your master to send him some seeds or slips?"

The boy shook his sunburnt head and smiled roguishly.

"Some one else sent y