Now when the Sháh slew Ardawán, thus winning
The world, he took to wife the slain king's daughter
To tell him where her father's hoards were hidden.
There were two sons of Ardawán in Hind,
Companions in distress, and two in ward
With full hearts and with weeping eyes. The eldest
Of these—Bahman—who was in Hindústán,
Perceiving that the realm was lost to him,
Chose a discreet and prudent messenger,
A youth who was possessed of ears to hear,
Gave him some poison secretly, and said:—
“Go to my sister, tell her: ‘Seek not thou
Our foe's affections, for in Hindústán
Thou hast two brothers, exiles both, and two
Bound in the prison-house of Sháh Ardshír.
Our sire is slain, his sons are pierced, by arrows,
And thou, as it would seem, hast ceased to love us!
How can the Maker of the sky commend it?
As thou wouldst queen it in Írán, and win
In this world the approval of the brave,
Take thou this mortal Indian bane and use it
Forthwith upon Ardshír.’”

The envoy came

At eve and gave the noble girl that message.

Her soul and heart burned for her brother's sake,
Her heart was all a-flame. She took the bane
To do his will. Now Sháh Ardshír one day
Went forth to hunt and shoot the onager,
Returned at noon and visited the daughter
Of Ardawán. That moon-faced lady ran,
And proffered to the Sháh a topaz cup
Full of cold water, sugar, and fine meal,
And mixed therewith the bane to please Bahman.
As Sháh Ardshír received the cup it fell
Out of his hand and shivered on the ground.
The queen shook with affright, her heart was riven.
Her agitation made the Sháh suspect,
Who, doubting what the turning sky would bring,
Enjoined a slave to fetch four fowls. They thought
That his surmise was false, but when the birds
Were put down to the meal they ate and died!
Thus certified the pious monarch summoned
An archimage—his minister—and said:—
“If thou shouldst seat a foe upon thy throne,
Who by thy kindness groweth so bemused
As rashly to lay hand upon thy life,
What is the punishment for one so raised,
How shall we remedy our own default?”
The archimage replied: “If any subject
Attempt the world-lord's life thou must behead
The guilty and accept no other counsel.”
Thereat the Sháh commanded: “Make the daughter
Of Ardawán a corpse.”

The archimage

Went out behind the queen, who quaked convicted,
But said: “O sage! my day and thine will pass.
I cannot say thee nay if thou wilt slay me,
But—I am now with child, and by Ardshír;
So if 'tis right to cause my blood to flow,
And gibbet me on high, wait till my babe
Be born, then carry out the Sháh's behest.”
The shrewd archmage returned and told his master,
But he made answer: “Hearken not to her,
But do my bidding.”

“Tis an evil day,”

The archimage reflected, “when such orders
Come from the Sháh! We all, both young and old,
Must die, and he is sonless! Though he live
To count unnumbered years yet when he dieth
A foe will have his throne. Well may I dare
To substitute high policy for such
A feckless action. I will save her life.
I may induce him to repent or else
Can do his bidding when her child is born.”
He got apartments ready in his palace
That he might tend her as his soul and body,
And told his wife: “I would not have a breath
Of air behold her.”

Then “I have,” he thought,

“Foes and to spare, and doubts for good or ill
Attach to every one, so I will take
Such order that no slanderer shall foul
My stream.”

He went his way and gelt himself,

Used cautery and drugs and bandages,
Then put his genitals in salt forthwith,
As swift as smoke enclosed them in a casket,
And sealed it up. With pallid face and groaning
He came before the lofty throne, laid down
The casket closed and sealed, and said: “Now let
The Sháh entrust this to his treasurer
With an inscription thereupon to state
The matters appertaining and the date.”