Even in the extremity of his agony, vanquished and at the point of death, Darius was brave, as brave men are, to the very last. He would indeed have called for help now, but there was no breath in him. He still gazed fearlessly into the eyes of his terrible conqueror. His voice came in a hoarse whisper.
"I fear not death. Slay on if thou wilt--thou--hast--conquered."
Nehushta had come near. She trembled now that the fight was over, and looked anxiously to the heavy curtains of the tent-door.
"Tell him," she whispered to Zoroaster, "that you will spare him if he will do no harm to you, nor to me."
"Spare him!" echoed Zoroaster scornfully. "He is almost dead now--why should I spare him?"
"For my sake, beloved," answered Nehushta, with a sudden and passionate gesture of entreaty. "He is the king--he speaks truth; if he says he will not harm you, trust him."
"If I slay thee not, swear thou wilt not harm me nor Nehushta," said Zoroaster, removing one knee from the chest of his adversary.
"By the name of Auramazda," gasped Darius, "I will not harm thee nor her."
"It is well," said Zoroaster. "I will let thee go. And as for taking her to be thy wife, thou mayest ask her if she will wed thee," he added. He rose and helped the king to his feet. Darius shook himself and breathed hard for a few minutes. He felt his limbs as a man might do who had fallen from his horse, and then he sat down upon the chair, and broke into a loud laugh.
Darius was well known to all Persia and Media before the events of the last two months, and such was his reputation for abiding by his promise that he was universally trusted by those about him. Zoroaster had known him also, and he remembered his easy familiarity and love of jesting, so that even when he held the king at such vantage that he might have killed him by a little additional pressure of his weight, he felt not the least hesitation in accepting his promise of safety. But remembering what a stake had been played for in the desperate issue, he could not join in the king's laugh. He stood silently apart, and looked at Nehushta who leaned back against the tent-pole in violent agitation; her hands wringing each other beneath her long sleeves, and her eyes turning from the king to Zoroaster, and back again to the king, in evident distress and fear.