He held Prexaspes, the person employed to murder Smerdis, in especial favour, and among other marks of it appointed that nobleman’s son to be his cup–bearer. One day he asked, “Prexaspes, what sort of person do the Persians think me?” He replied with unseasonable candour, “that they praised him very highly, only they said that he was terribly fond of wine.” Cambyses was very angry at the imputation. “Do the Persians,” he answered, “say that I am beside myself for love of wine? You shall see whether they speak the truth, or whether it is they that are beside themselves when they talk thus. If I cleave your son’s heart with my arrow as he stands without the door, then the Persians will be proved to talk nonsense: if I miss, then say that the Persians speak truth, and it is I that am mad.” He drew his bow, the boy fell, and he commanded that he should be opened: the arrow was found fixed in his heart. He turned to the father and said, laughing, “Prexaspes, I have made it clear to you that the Persians are mad, and not I. Now tell me whether you have seen any man who shot so well?” The miserable wretch, fearing for his own safety, replied that not even a god could have done so well. Crœsus, who was kept in attendance in his court, as before in Cyrus’s, ventured to remonstrate on the course which he was pursuing, but so unsuccessfully, that nothing but a rapid flight saved him from furnishing another proof of Cambyses’ skill in archery. He was then ordered to execution, but the officers who had charge of him, knowing the value that their master set upon Crœsus, and expecting rewards for saving his life, concealed him until the king’s anger should be over. One day at length they produced him, when Cambyses was expressing his regret for the Lydian’s death. It is dangerous to calculate upon a madman’s conduct. The king said that he was very glad Crœsus was preserved, and put the officers to death for disobeying his orders.