Reign of Darab, Twelve Years

Now let us sing the praise of the Creator of the world, and then of the king who rules this earth. Abolqasem, that king with a face like the sun, adorned the world with justice and with love. He seeks nothing but goodness and truth, and brings no flaw into his justice. May the world stay bright beneath Mahmud's crown, and may all his days be blessed. May he stay young as long as youth exists, and stay alive as long as life goes on. What did that old village poet tell of Goshtasp and of the famed Ardeshir, and of those renowned men of pure mind, of Darab, and the ways and counsel of Homay? When Dara sat upon the royal throne, he bound his belt and opened his hand in giving. He spoke thus to the priests and the noble sages, to the great and the clear-hearted, wise men: I did not win the world through toil and pain alone; God set the crown upon my head. No one, openly or in secret, will see in all the world a marvel greater than my reign. We know no reward for it but justice, so that after us they will bless us. No one should grieve at our labor, or at the abundance and the piling up of our treasure. May the age flourish through my justice, and may the hearts of my subjects be glad. After that, from India and from Rome, from every rich and thriving land, they came bearing gifts and offerings, seeking the favor of the king. It happened one day that, to check on his herd, he came out to see the horses roaming free. He climbed from the lowland up to a mountain and saw a boundless, deep sea before him. He ordered that from Rome and from India skilled and tested heroes be brought. Let them find a gateway from that sea's water, and carry a river to every land. When the wise one released the water from its dam, he ordered a most useful city to be built. When he drew the city walls around it, they named the place Darabgerd. He kindled a fire from the mountain's peak, and a whole company came to worship the flame. They summoned craftsmen of every trade, and so they adorned the land of Iran. He sent his countless armies in every direction, keeping the world safe from its enemies. He freed the world from fear of the ill-wisher, and split the hearts of the malicious in two.

It happened that a hundred thousand of the Arabs came, seasoned horsemen who fought with the spear. They set out, and their commander was Shoeib, a famous man from the line of Qotib. The ruler of Iran brought an army so great that they said it could not be counted. The two armies closed in on each other, and the world grew dark with fighters hungry for battle. The ground could not hold so many troops; on that field no one could find room to move. From the rain of javelins and the rain of arrows, the earth turned into a pool of blood. A great cry rose from every side, and heaps of the dead were seen everywhere. For three days and three nights the fighting went on this way; you would think the world had closed in tight upon them. On the fourth day the Arabs turned back, and by night they abandoned the field of war. Shoeib was killed on that battleground, and the Arabs' fortune failed them for good. Many an Arab horse with its saddle of poplar wood, along with spears, swords, and armor of war, were left behind on the spot by those who fled, falling to the ruler, the son of Homay. He shared out among the army whatever remained: horses, lances, swords, and helmets. From the army he chose one marzban, a border lord who could understand and hear their speech. He sent him to collect the tribute from the plain, both for this year and for the year now past.

The spearmen marched all the way to Rome, seeking battle in that flourishing land. In Rome ruled the harsh king Filqus, and with him stood the king of Sus. They wrote a letter: the son of Homay has brought a countless army from his land. When the Roman commander heard these words, the old days of war came back to his mind. From Amorium he gathered an army, all of them famous warriors of the battlefield. When Dara came, the nobles of Rome abandoned all their borders and their land. From Amorium, Filqus and his chiefs, the champions and the fighters, set out. Two heavy battles were fought in three days; on the fourth, when the world-lighting sun rose, Filqus and his army fled; not one of them still had a helmet or a Roman cap. They took the women and children captive too, and killed many with sword and arrow. When they came into the city before Dara, of that army only two parts remained. Some had been killed and wounded earlier, and behind them the spears kept coming. They took shelter within the fortress of Amorium; many of them begged for mercy. A messenger came from Filqus, wise and alert, bearing gifts and greetings. With slaves, purses of gold, and offerings, and two chests full of royal jewels. This was the message: I ask that the one God be my guide, that we make the end of this war a feast, and never turn our hearts toward battle again. There must be honesty and humanity; from crookedness and cruelty only loss arises. As for Amorium, which is my seat, if you come to seize it by force, my heart will boil for the sake of name and honor, and at feast-time I will turn to war. So do what befits kings: the father was a king, and the son is a king too. When Dara heard this, he summoned his noblemen and told them the whole story. He said: What do you think of these words? Filqus is trying to save his honor. All the great ones sang his praise: O king of clear heart and pure faith, the King of kings is greater than the great; from every matter he chooses what is fitting. This famous man has a daughter, tall as a cypress, with a face like spring. No idol-carver in China ever saw her like, shining among beauties like a brilliant gem. If the king sees her and finds her pleasing, a tall cypress will come to his garden. The king summoned the Roman messenger and told him what he had heard from his well-wishers. He said to him: Go, tell the Caesar, if you truly wish to save your honor, behind your veil there is a daughter who is a crown upon the heads of noblewomen, a beauty you call Nahid, whom you seat upon a golden throne. Give her to me and send her with Rome's tribute, if you wish your land to be left in peace. The messenger heard, and came back like the wind, and repeated those words to the Caesar. Filqus and his army were glad that such a king would be his son-in-law. He spoke of every kind of tribute and levy, of the wealth that gave Rome its strength. They agreed on a yearly sum the king would take from the Caesar, who kept an army: a hundred thousand molded golden eggs, each one set with a royal jewel, each egg weighing forty mithqals, and each with a precious gem as well. He gave gifts to the border-lords of Rome, to everyone who came from that flourishing land, and after that to all the philosophers of the city, to everyone who had a share in that place. He ordered the road made ready, and freed his heart from every concern. They set out with the king's daughter, each of the nobles bearing gifts. They prepared a golden litter and chose crowned attendants for her. Ten mules all loaded with Roman brocade, and many figures wrought from gems and gold. Three hundred camel-loads of carpets and of everything worth carrying on the road. The lovely Roman bride was in her litter, with a bishop and a monk to guide her. Sixty handmaids walked behind Nahid, each one holding a golden cup, and in each cup a royal jewel, that idol-beauty with her crown and earrings. The bishop handed the fair-faced girl over to Dara, and counted the jewels out to his treasurer. After that little remained on that battlefield, and he led his army toward the land of Iran. He came toward Pars, joyful and at peace, and set the crown of greatness on his head.

One night the moon-faced queen lay beside the king, adorned with jewels, perfume, color, and beauty. It happened that she let out a sharp breath, and the king was troubled by that breath. He turned in his robe and looked away, for he caught an unpleasant smell from her breath. That smell made the king of Iran gloomy, his mind troubled, his brows knit in a frown. They summoned the learned physicians and seated them beside Nahid. A clear-sighted, wise man kept searching until the remedy was found. It was a plant that burned the palate, called 'sekandar' in the land of Rome. The physician rubbed it on her palate, and she shed a few tears from her lashes. The bad smell went away and her mouth burned, and her cheeks glowed bright like silk brocade. Though that lovely face grew fragrant again, the king's heart lost its place of love for the charming one. The king's heart went cold toward his bride, and he sent her back to Filqus. The daughter, grieving, carried a child in secret; she told no one in the world of it. When nine months had passed for the fair-faced one, a child came, radiant like the shining sun. For his height, his strength, his sweet-scented arms, his mother named him Sekandar (Alexander). She held that name as a blessing, since through it she had been cured of her ailment. Caesar told every nobleman that a Caesar had been born from his line. No one mentioned Dara's name: Alexander was the son, and Caesar the father. He was ashamed to tell anyone that Dara had cast off his own child. In the stable there was a tall mare, a warhorse and a beautiful steed. That same night she foaled a white colt, chest like a lion's, short in the leg. Caesar was overjoyed at the birth, for the foaling seemed a good omen to him. At dawn he would call for his son and would groom that same mare. He would stroke that colt's eyes and mane, for it was the same age as Alexander. In this way the heavens turned for a while, and years passed in every kind of way. Alexander took on a royal spirit and began to speak like a hero. Caesar cherished him more than a son and raised him in the ways of a champion. He gained some wisdom and grew skilled, prudent, weighty in judgment, and learned in much. He became heir apparent after Filqus, who blessed and kissed him at the sight of him. Whatever skills kings need, Alexander learned from his teacher. You would say he was fit for nothing but justice, or for the throne of kingship and its foundation. After Nahid returned to her father, Dara took another wife. A child came to him, full of glory and strength, younger in years than Nahid's son. That very day they named him Dara, so that he might surpass his father in fortune. When twelve years had passed, decline came upon his years and his wealth. Darab, son of Homay, withered away; he was being summoned to the other world. He called the great and the wise together and spoke much from the throne of majesty. He said this: 'Now Dara is your king, and he will guide you toward goodness.' 'All of you listen and obey; find your souls' peace in his command.' 'For this throne of kingship does not last long; it passes pleasantly, and soon they call you back.' 'Strive to bring kindness and justice, and remember me too with joy.' He said this and drew a breath from deep within, and that pomegranate-blossom face turned pale as a yellow flower.