Mermaza was not pleased to have her end the promenade, yet perforce consented. But when Atossa’s petulance had chased the frightened maids from her chamber, it was to have a moment alone with Masistes, and to put in his hand a written slip of papyrus. Later in the evening he was back, and a nod told her that the message had been safely delivered. But Atossa slept little that night. Once the eunuch who kept her door thought he heard some one within speaking, and entered unbidden lest there be an intruder. His mistress did not see him, for she was kneeling beside her bed, and praying softly in her Persian tongue. Before the fellow tiptoed away he noticed that ever and anon she would shake with sobbing. “Marvel,” he grunted to himself, “the ‘Lady of Sumer and Akkad’ is weeping! What can such as _she_ have to move to tears?” [Illustration: THE KING OF THE BOW] CHAPTER IX Darius the envoy had been assigned a spacious suite of rooms in the old palace of Nebuchadnezzar; he had his own guards, his own retinue of Persian body-servants. The prince’s private chamber was a high vaulted room, elegantly tiled, with little windows pierced in the arching roof. During the heat of the day the serving lads sprinkled the brick floor with water, and, as this evaporated, there arose a cool and refreshing vapour. All that afternoon the prince had kept to his chamber, and appeared to be in even less of a merry mood than had been his wont lately. Boges, who kept the door, was whispering to Ariæus the chamberlain that their master must have been mightily disturbed over the murderous attack on the king during the feast in the Gardens. “As Ahura lives!” protested the worthy, “there is somewhat on his lordship’s mind. He has kept company with his writing tablets all day.” And it was indeed so; for though the scribe’s art was not commonly among the accomplishments of an Aryan nobleman, Darius had long since mastered it, and now for a long time he had sat with his clay frame in his lap and his stylus in hand. Boges had ventured once the question:— “And does my prince require me to send Artabanus to copy down the despatches to Susa?” “I do not,” came the answer, so curt that Boges risked nothing more. Presently Darius rose from his stool, and turned to the doorkeeper. “The time grows late,” said he; “the city gates will soon be shut. Yet no messenger has come from Cyrus? from Susa?” “None, master; we have heard that the Elamite mountain tribes are restless and stop couriers.” “Couriers of Cyrus? Do they so desire to be made jackal’s meat that they must stop the Great King’s despatches? No, no, Boges—the Elamites are not the delayers.” “Who if not they, lord?” “I do not know,” was the answer, in a tone that made the servant sure his superior had lively suspicions. “And will my lord dress for the supper Bilsandan the vizier gives to-night?” asked Ariæus the chamberlain, smoothly.