Vardanas hired the town band to play for us after they had finished their nightly salute to the setting sun. They came in with ten drums of all sizes and a score of trumpets, some so long that the trumpeter had to rest the big end of his horn on another man's shoulder. At the bandmaster's signal, they banged and blew with all their might. As far as I could tell, each man played his own tune without heed to the others, making a dreadful din. Vardanas, however, assured me that this was a stirring battle hymn by one of Persia's most celebrated composers.
The Thessalians danced a country dance, the akrolax. I stamped and kicked with the rest, though my figure is hardly that of a born dancer. Later Vardanas got tipsy and began to declaim Persian poetry. He would have gone on all night had we not turned him upside down and plunged his head in a bowl of water.
We had trouble in Karmana with an accusation of rape brought by a woman of the town against Polygonos of Iolkos. The story of this case would make a book by itself, but I do not wish to fill my history with such petty and sordid details. My decision was that the woman had yielded willingly to Polygonos' lusts, but that he had then sought to cheat her of her fee. I made him pay her the going rate and fined him an equal amount.
We set out from Karmana with a wan-looking Thyestes, who was subjected to merciless chaffing about riding a horse for a change. We marched by winding roads, amid towering mountains and barren plains, westward towards Persepolis. The worst of the heat was now over. In fact, we became uncomfortably cold at night, especially the Indians, who began to shiver at any heat less than that of a furnace. The stony roads retarded us, as they had in Gandaria, so that we fell further and further behind our schedule.
There were few happenings worth telling. The Dahas slew a bear with arrows. I had never eaten bear and was surprised to find it the tastiest meat I had ever devoured.
For several days our progress was slowed by a curious dry fog, which blotted out the landscape as utterly as did the sandstorms of the Waterless Plain. For several more days we were stalked by a band of hillmen, who trotted along the ridges and peered at us from behind rocks out of arrow range.
"They would like to rob us but fear our weapons and the elephant," said Vardanas. "Keep strong watches. Wander not off at night. If you do, you will be found without your heads in the morning. Some of these tribes do not let a man marry until he has brought in a stranger's head."
The farther west we got, the more plant life we saw. Whilst the land was still a desert by Greek standards, at least we could collect enough greenery to appease the monstrous appetite of Aias, who began to fill out a little. We saw real trees, mostly walnuts and willows. Flocks of wild sheep and goats bounded over the hills.
One morning, as we were arising, a great whinnying and braying and trumpeting arose from our beasts. Not fifty paces off, a lion was creeping towards us. We shouted and clashed our weapons, which checked the lion's advance. Then Kanadas guided the elephant towards the lion, who slunk off with a few roars to show us he really feared us not.
We crossed the border from Karmania into Persis in the first ten-day of Maimakterion. We were now, Vardanas explained, in the real Persia. A few days later we reached Persepolis. As the Persians call both town and province "Parsa," I shall use the Greek names to keep them distinct.
Persepolis, standing in a corner of a plain beneath a small but rugged mountain, can be seen from afar in the clear air, so that it looks like a toy town. Only when one comes close does one realize the size of the palaces that generations of Persian kings raised here, magnificent even in ruins.
We came first to the city of Persepolis, a typical Persian mud-brick town, of modest size for the capital of a great empire. In fact, the Persian kings deemed Persepolis a resort and a ceremonial capital only. They came here for the great yearly festivals and rituals, especially those of Naurous, the Persian New Year, which takes place at the vernal equinox. The real business of ruling the empire was mostly done from Sousa and Babylon.
Then we passed through the groves and gardens about the palaces. The palaces stand on a great stone platform. The four main buildings on the platform—the palace and audience hall of the first Dareios, and the palace and audience hall of the first Xerxes—were burnt by Alexander. Their roofs had fallen in, their statues had been smashed, and their ornaments had been looted. But still the vast human-headed bulls of stone guarded the broken portals, and behind them lofty columns topped by animal heads rose like a forest over crumbling walls of bright-colored brick.
Several smaller buildings still stood intact upon the platform. Before the largest of these, the palace of Artaxerxes Vaukas or Ochos of bloody memory, stood a brace of armored Persian guards. Thither I bent my steps, rightly thinking it the viceroy's quarters and meaning to draw on the local supplies of fodder.
The guards stared sourly as I approached. One said: "Who are you and what do you want?"
I gave my name and added: "Is the viceroy in?"
"What business is that of yours?"
I stepped forward and roared in their faces: "Because I am an officer of the king on official business! If the viceroy be in, take me to him. If not, tell me where he is, or you shall rue your insolence!"
That took some of the haughtiness out of them. One guard jerked his head towards the door. Tire other went inside. Soon he came out again. Both bowed low as a stout Persian, beard curled in ringlets and perfume pervading the air, appeared in the doorway.
"Well?" he said, looking down his nose. "I am Phrashavartes by name. What is it?"
I started explaining my mission, but the viceroy cut me off. "My good man," quoth he from his high horse, "I do not concern myself with such matters. See my secretary Gimillos in the morning."
I began to protest, but Phrashavartes vanished into the palace. The guards, grinning, gripped their spears in case I should try to force an entrance.
Raging, I went back to our camp, beside one of the groves near the palaces. Vardanas said: "You should have taken me, Leon; I know how to treat these wantons. Then, too, you look like a vagabond. Appearance matters; you must dress your best."
"In what? I have but two dirty old shirts."
"Then borrow one, or wear one of my suits. Polish your helm and other gear. My slave will help you."
Though it irked me to spend time on such foppery, I let myself be guided by my friend's advice. After dinner an argument arose amongst the officers over the size of the platform on which the palaces stood.
"There's but one way to settle it," I said. "Come, lads, let's pace it off. 'Twill clear the wine fumes from our heads."
We did and found the platform about six hundred paces long and three hundred fifty paces broad. The naked columns were an eerie sight in the moonlight.
I said: "When the king commanded the palaces burnt I whooped and danced about the blaze like all the rest. But I regret it the now. They were a gorgeous sight."
"No doubt," said Pyrron, "though a trifle too massive and gaudy for Hellenic taste. The Persians have no indigenous building style; hence these things are a disorderly hodgepodge of Hellenic, Egyptian, and Babylonian elements. But, as you say, it was folly to destroy them."
Vardanas had not gone around the perimeter with us. Instead, he sat on the wide processional stairway, weeping. "What ails you?" I said.
"Alas!" he said. "I weep for great Xaiarshas' golden hall. I weep for all the other beautiful buildings which your people burnt. I weep for the sacred writings of Zarathoushtras, written in golden ink on twelve thousand sheets of cowhide. When will such glories come again?"