We’ll go on then, if you don’t mind. Be good soldiers in danger and don’t betray our native spirit! The enemy are coming on now, I fancy. So let Enyalius The God of War. be our watchword! When the trumpeter gives the signal, raise the battle-cry, crash your spears against your shields, charge and get to grips with ’em! Get under their arrows! Don’t let them shoot us down at long range! Now we’re at close quarters and Timolaus and the left have routed those against them—Medes they are. There’s no decision yet in my sector—they’re Persians here and the king’s with them. All the barbarian horse are charging our right. So show your quality, Lycinus, and encourage your men to receive the charge!

Oh, what luck! All the cavalry are charging against me, and they’ve thought me alone worth attacking. Well, if they press me hard, I fancy I shall desert and run away to the gymnasium and leave you behind still fighting your war.

Don’t do that! You are already mastering them on your side. Now, as you see, I am going to fight the king in single combat. He is challenging me, and to refuse would be absolutely disgraceful.

Yes, and you’ll be wounded by him in a moment. It’s a royal privilege to be wounded fighting for your empire.

You are right. Still, it’s only a slight wound and not in an exposed place, so the scar won’t disfigure me afterwards. But did you see how I charged him and ran him through and his horse too with one throw of my spear, and then cut off his head and stripped him of his diadem and now I am the Great King with everyone doing obeisance? Let the barbarians do obeisance!

You I’ll rule in Greek manner under the title of sole commander. Then think how many cities I shall found and name after myself, and how many I shall storm and destroy that have been insolent to my empire! Of all men I’ll punish that rich Cydias in particular: he used to be my neighbour; he encroached on my property little by little and drove me from my land.

That’s enough, Samippus. Now you’ve won your big fight it’s time for your victory-feast in Babylon—I think your empire is six stades long. It is the turn of Timolaus now to wish for whatever he wants.

Well, but, Lycinus, what do you think of my wish?

Much more laborious and violent, most glorious Majesty, than Adimantus’s. He lived in luxury and bestowed on his fellow-drinkers golden cups of two talents weight each. You were wounded in single combat and were afraid and anxious night and day—you had not only your enemies to fear, but thousands of plots and envy from those around you and hatred and flattery: not one true friend did you have, but all feigned goodwill for fear or hope. You had not even a phantom enjoyment of your pleasures, only the appearance, purple embroidered with gold, a white ribbon on your brow, and bodyguards to go before you, but otherwise intolerable hardship and much unpleasantness. Then you must do business with missions from your enemies or pass judgments or send instructions to your subjects; some tribe has revolted or some foreign state is invading. You must fear and suspect everything, and in fine everyone will count you happy except your own self.

Besides, it is humiliating that sickness will come to you as to ordinary folk and fever will not set you apart as a king: Death has no fear of your bodyguard, but comes when he will and takes you moaning with no respect for your diadem. From what a height you will fall when, jerked from your royal throne, you depart by the same road as the common crowd, all equal as you are driven in the herd of the dead. Above ground you will leave behind a high mound and a lofty tombstone or a pyramid with inscribed corners, honours too late for you to see. Those statues and temples which cities erect to flatter you, and your great name, all will soon disappear unnoticed and be gone, neglected. But if all remains as long as may be, what enjoyment will now come to one who is beyond feeling? Do you see what further troubles you will have in life from fear, anxiety, and labour, and what will remain with you after you depart?