"Tomyris died ten months ago of grief for the loss of her only son, and I
have therefore a right to say that she too fell a sacrifice to the war
with Persia and to your father's spirit."

"She was a great woman," murmured Cambyses, his voice unsteady from
emotion. "Verily, I begin to think that the gods themselves have
undertaken to revenge my father's blood on your nation. Yet I tell you
that, heavy as your losses may seem, Spargapises, Tomyris and fifty
thousand Massagetae can never outweigh the spirit of one king of Persia,
least of all of a Cyrus."

"In our country," answered the envoy, "death makes all men equal. The
spirits of the king and the slave are of equal worth. Your father was a
great man, but we have undergone awful sufferings for his sake. My tale
is not yet ended. After the death of Tomyris discord broke out among the
Massagetae. Two claimants for the crown appeared; half our nation fought
for the one, half for the other, and our hosts were thinned, first by
this fearful civil war and then by the pestilence which followed in its
track. We can no longer resist your power, and therefore come with heavy
loads of pure gold as the price of peace."

"Ye submit then without striking a blow?" asked Cambyses. "Verily, I
had expected something else from such heroes; the numbers of my host,
which waits assembled on the plains of Media, will prove that. We cannot
go to battle without an enemy. I will dismiss my troops and send a
satrap. Be welcome as new subjects of my realm."

The red blood mounted into the cheeks of the Massagetan warrior on
hearing these words, and he answered in a voice trembling with