surprising in the abundance and variety at the table
of one who was lord over so vast an empire, yet it was strange that
Cyrus, who had done such mighty deeds, should never keep any dainty for
himself, but must always be at pains to share it with the company. More
than once also he saw Cyrus send off to an absent friend some dish that
had chanced to please him. [7] So that by the time they had finished
their meal all the viands had been given away by Cyrus, and the board
was bare.

Then Gobryas said, "Truly, Cyrus, until to-day I used to think it was in
generalship that you outshone other men the most, but, by heaven! I say
now it is not in generalship at all, it is generosity."

[8] "Maybe," said Cyrus, "at least I take far more pride in this work
than in the other."

"How can that be?" asked Gobryas.

"Because," said he, "the one does good to man and the other injury."

[9] Presently as the wine went round and round, Hystaspas turned to
Cyrus and said:

"Would you be angry, Cyrus, if I asked something I long to know?"

"On the contrary," answered Cyrus, "I should be vexed if I saw you
silent when you longed to ask."

"Tell me then," said the other, "have you ever called me and found I
refused to come?"

"What a question!" said Cyrus, "of course not."

"Well, have I ever been slow in coming?"

"No, never."

"Or failed to do anything you ordered?"

"No," said Cyrus, "I have no fault to find at all."

"Whatever I had to do, I always did it eagerly and with all my heart,
did I not?"

"Most assuredly," answered Cyrus.

[10] "Then why, Cyrus, why, in heaven's name, have you singled out
Chrysantas for a more honourable seat than me?"

"Shall I really tell you?" asked Cyrus in his turn.

"By all means," said the other.

"And you will not be annoyed if I tell you the plain truth?"

[11] "On the contrary, it will comfort me to know I have not been
wronged."

"Well, then, Chrysantas never waited to be called; he came of his own
accord on our behalf, and he made it his business to do, not merely what
he was ordered, but whatever he thought would help us. When something
had to be said to the allies, he would not only suggest what was fitting
for me to say myself, he would guess what I wanted the allies to know
but could not bring myself to utter, since it was about myself, and
he would say it for me as though it were his own opinion; in fact, for
everything of the kind he was nothing less to me than a