The Reign of Khosrow Parviz (Part 13 — The Fall)

Takhvar called out to the defiant Shiruyeh, and the prince answered at once. Shiruyeh already knew why that proud man had come to the prison. When he saw Takhvar's burning face, grief swelled in his heart. 'Where is Khosrow?' he asked, weeping. 'Setting us free is not in your hands.'

Takhvar spoke plainly to the prince: 'If you want to live, stop feeding yourself to lions. If you refuse to join this cause, then count yourself short from these ranks. One fewer from sixteen — you still have fifteen brothers. Any of them would do for the throne. The crown will sit just as happily on another head.'

Shiruyeh stood frozen in place, tears on his face, then stepped out of that cramped cell.

Zad Farrukh stationed himself at the palace gate, letting no one pass, ensuring the king heard nothing of the plot. He stood there like a curtain-keeper, blocking all access.

When the sun's veil faded and the nobles settled in for the night, he summoned the city watchmen — every one of them who held rank. They gathered at the royal court, that place of the king's ease and pleasure.

He told them: 'Tonight, change the cry. It must sound different from last night. On every watch, you will call the name of Qobad — not Parviz.'

The watchmen answered: 'It will be done. We will strike the name of Parviz from the call.'

When night drew its pitch-black curtain fresh across the sky, a roar rose from the city and the bazaar. The watchmen called out the name of Qobad at every station.

In the dark, the king of the world lay sleeping, Shirin curled beside him at the pillow. She heard the watchmen's voices and her heart clenched with dread. 'My king,' she said, 'what can this mean? We must read this sign.'

Her voice woke Khosrow. His heart filled with pain. 'Moon-faced one,' he murmured, 'why are you talking in your sleep?'

'Open your ears and listen,' Shirin told him.

When Khosrow heard the call clearly, his face went pale as a saffron flower. 'Three watches of the night have passed,' he said. 'That ill-born one — when he was born, I secretly named him Qobad. In public I always called him Shiruyeh and kept the other name hidden. His open name was Shiruyeh; only the household servants called him Qobad.'

Khosrow spoke of fleeing — to China, perhaps, or to Makran. 'We will find a way through by sorcery. I will ask the Faghfur of China for an army.' But his star had darkened in the sky, and his words scattered uselessly on the ground. In that black night, no spell could help him. He mistook desperate trouble for something manageable.

'The hour has come,' he told Shirin. 'The traitor has overcome my magic.'

'May you live long,' she answered, 'and may evil hands stay far from you. But use your wits now — make a plan for yourself. Do not let it come to begging your enemy for mercy. When dawn breaks, the enemy will come straight for this palace.'

At once Khosrow called for armor from the royal treasury: a coat of mail, two Indian swords, a Roman helmet, a quiver of arrows, a golden shield, and one brave armed servant. In the black hour before dawn, when the crows still slept, he slipped into the great garden.

The garden was dense with trees — no throne room, no royal seat. He hung his golden shield from a branch in a far corner away from any path, then sat down among the narcissus and saffron, a heavy sword laid across his knees.

When the sun raised its spear-point above the horizon, the enemy made for the palace like demons. They swept through every room. The king was gone. They looted his treasury. No one paused to remember his labors.

The poet reflects: What do we seek from this spinning vault of heaven that never rests from its work? To one it gives a crown; to another, a fish in the sea. One man walks barefoot and bare-headed with no shelter, no food, no place to hide. Another gets honey, milk, brocade, and silk. In the end, both lie in the dust, caught in death's dark trap.

Khosrow sat in that meadow, tall trees casting shade above him. By midday, the king needed bread. In the garden there was a groundskeeper who did not know the king's face. Khosrow's servant — radiant as the sun even in hiding — told him: 'Pull a branch of jewels from this belt.' The branch held five golden beads and gems of every kind, painstakingly worked.

The king told the gardener: 'Take these jewels — they are yours for the trouble. Go to the bazaar and buy some bread and a bit of meat, and take a roundabout way back.' Those gems were worth thirty thousand dirhams to anyone who knew their value.

The gardener went straight to a baker and held out the golden branch for a loaf of bread. The baker stared at it. 'I cannot price this,' he said. 'I cannot let you walk away.' The two of them went to a jewel dealer to get an appraisal.

The dealer took one look at the gems and said: 'Who would dare buy these? A branch like this belongs in Khosrow's treasury. A hundred such pieces are made there every year. Where did you steal these? Did you cut them from some sleeping servant?'

The three men — gardener, baker, jewel dealer — were marched with the gems and gold straight to Zad Farrukh. When Zad Farrukh saw the jewels, he brought them directly to the new king.

Zad Farrukh showed Shiruyeh the jeweled branch cut from the golden belt. Shiruyeh turned to the gardener: 'Tell me who owns these gems. If you do not speak right now, I will take your head — and the head of whoever sent you.'

The gardener talked. 'My king, he is in the garden. A man in chain mail with a bow in his hand. Tall as a cypress, face like springtime — in every way he looks like a king. The whole garden is lit up by him. He blazes in his armor like the sun. He has a golden shield hanging from a branch, and an armed servant standing before him. He cut this jeweled branch from his belt, gave it to me, and said: Go to the bazaar, bring back bread and food. I ran from him like the wind.'

Shiruyeh knew it was Khosrow. There was no one else in the world with that presence.

Three hundred horsemen rode from the court, fast as a gale, to the edge of the stream. When Khosrow saw the cavalry in the distance, he withered — but drew his sword.

Then the soldiers saw the face of their king. Every one of them turned back, weeping. They rode to Zad Farrukh and each man had the same thing to say: 'We are his servants. He is the king. Even now, in his worst hour, his majesty is undimmed. No one can bring himself to raise a hand against him — whether he stands in a garden or on a battlefield.'

Zad Farrukh went to the king himself, taking a detachment from the court. When he drew close, he approached alone. He spoke at length, and Khosrow listened.

'If the king will grant me audience,' Zad Farrukh said, 'and give me safe conduct for what I have done, I will speak plainly about everything. Otherwise I will go back to my post.'

'Say what you have to say,' Khosrow replied. 'I am not looking for comfort, and I am not looking for a fight.'

Zad Farrukh spoke carefully: 'Look at your situation with clearer eyes. You may have killed a thousand warriors in your time, but eventually every man tires of battle. All of Iran's cities are your enemy now. They are united against you, heart and body as one. Wait and see what heaven will show. Perhaps hatred will turn back to love.'

'You are right,' Khosrow said. 'My only fear is from unworthy men — that they will come before me and humiliate me. Bring me in, if you must, but let them at least show some dignity.'

As he heard Zad Farrukh's words, the old prophecy came flooding back. Years ago, an astrologer had told him: 'Your death will come between two mountains, at the hand of a single servant, far from any crowd. One mountain of gold, one mountain of silver. You will sit between them with fear in your heart. Above you, a golden sky. Beneath you, iron ground. And your fate will be full of malice.'

Now Khosrow understood. 'This coat of mail is my iron ground,' he said. 'The golden shield is my golden sky. The two mountains — they are the two treasuries piled here in the garden, the treasures that once lit my heart like a lamp. My time has come. Where now is my world-brightening star? Where is all that ease and pleasure? My name once stood on every crown.'

They brought an elephant to him. His darkened soul filled with pain. The king mounted the elephant's back, and the army led him out of the garden and onto the road.

From atop the elephant, Khosrow spoke to his treasury in a low voice: 'O my treasure, if you are now the enemy of Khosrow, then at least do not befriend my enemies either. I am in the hands of Ahriman today. In my hour of hardship, you were no help to me. Stay hidden. Show your face to no one.'

Afterward, Qobad gave the order through his vizier: 'Speak no more ill of him. Take him to Ctesiphon, to the appointed house. Let him rest there in peace for some days. No one is to harm him. Set a firm guard over him — Galinush with a thousand horsemen.'

When the turning heavens completed their revolution, the king's reign had lasted thirty-eight years. It ended in the month of Azar, on the day of Dey — the season of fire, roasted fowl, and wine.

Qobad came and set the crown on his head. He sat calmly on the throne. The army of Iran swore allegiance to him, and he paid them a full year's wages from the royal treasury. But his reign would last only seven months. Call him insignificant or call him king — it makes no difference. Such is the way of this house of cruelty. Never expect loyalty from it.