As he went to the palace court to take chariot, the inevitable multitude of palace servants and guardsmen crowded around, bowing and scraping. The press was so dense that the staff-bearers had no little ado before clearing the way. Suddenly, out of the crowd, Darius recognized a familiar face—the old eunuch, Masistes. The two were side by side only for an instant. “Your lady is well?” demanded Darius, eagerly. “She is well,” was the cautious answer, “but do not seem to speak to me. Read this in secret. It is from her.” Masistes was swallowed in the throng before Darius had time to startle. “The chariots are ready, my lord,” Boges was shouting. The prince felt something like a tiny roll of papyrus thrust up his sleeve; but he curbed his curiosity and guarded it carefully until he was back at his own chamber that night. Then with all precaution he read this note, written in Atossa’s own hand, in their native Persian:— “Atossa, consort of Belshazzar, to the great prince Darius. Many things hid to the world without are revealed in the king’s harem. Do not seek to know how I learn this thing, but wait Ahura’s good time. Beware of the royal hunt on the morrow. Of all things beware of the king’s tame lions. For _you_ they may not be so tame. As you love me, return to Susa when you may, and forget my name, as I pray Ahura I may forget yours. I dare write no more. Masistes’ craft will bring you this. Farewell.” Darius sat a long time over this letter, though it was past midnight and he must be up with the dawn. Ariathes had just reported that he had intrusted his master’s second despatch to an obscure Jewish caravan merchant, who swore by his God that he would deliver it to the commandant of Cyrus’s nearest garrison. If the messenger proved faithful, and eluded the watch, the king of the Aryans and his council would be soon learning wisdom. But what part was left to be played by Darius? Clearly the plot was thickening. For some reason, manifestly, Belshazzar desired him anywhere but in Babylon. Was he suspected of being the eavesdropper upon the king? Should he plead some excuse and refuse to go on the hunting? Should he humour Belshazzar’s wishes by hardly disguised flight? The prince was a proud man—proud of his race, his king, his own prowess. The battle spirit was rising in him. Was he not “King of the Bow”? Should he desert Atossa and leave her in the harem of Belshazzar without one friend in all Babylon, saving the eunuch Masistes? The prince, we repeat, loved to dare first, and count the cost thereof afterward. And that night he vowed afresh, “I will brave all danger. With Ahura’s help I will not turn back the width of one hair before the guile of these ‘lovers of the lie.’”