it yourself.”  Or, perhaps, there was a great dearth of provender, when, through the number of his servants and his own careful forethought, he was enabled to get supplies for himself; at such times he would send to his friends in different parts, bidding them feed their horses on his hay, since it would not do for the horses that carried his friends to go starving.  Then, on any long march or expedition, where the crowd of lookers-on 28 would be large, he would call his friends to him and entertain them with serious talk, as much as to say, “These I delight to honour.”

So that, for myself, and from all that I can hear, I should be disposed to say that no one, Greek or barbarian, was ever so beloved.  In proof of this, I may cite the fact that, though Cyrus was the king’s vassal and slave, no one ever forsook him to join his master, if I may except the attempt of Orontas, which was abortive.  That man, indeed, had to learn that Cyrus was closer to the heart of him on whose fidelity he relied than he himself was.  On the other hand, many a man revolted from the king to Cyrus, after they went to war with one another; nor were these nobodies, but rather persons high in the king’s affection; yet for all that, they believed that their virtues would obtain a reward more adequate from Cyrus than from the king.  Another great proof at once of his own worth and of his capacity rightly to discern all loyal, loving and firm friendship is afforded by an incident which belongs to the last moment of his life.  He was slain, but fighting for his life beside him fell also every one of his faithful bodyguard of friends and table-companions, with the sole exception of Ariaeus, who was in command of the cavalry on the left, and he no sooner perceived the fall of Cyrus than he betook himself to flight, with the whole body of troops under his lead.

X

Then the head of Cyrus and his right hand were severed from the body. 1 But the king and those about him pursued and fell upon the Cyreian camp, and the troops of Ariaeus no longer stood their ground, but fled through their own camp back to the halting-place of the night before—­a distance of four parasangs, it was said.  So the king and those with him fell to ravaging right and left, and amongst other spoil he captured the Phocaean woman, who was a concubine of Cyrus, witty and beautiful, if fame speaks correctly.  The Milesian, who was the younger, was also seized by some of the king’s men; but, letting go her outer garment, she made good her escape to the Hellenes, who had been left among the camp followers on guard.  These fell at once 3 into line and put to the sword many of the pillagers, though they lost some men themselves; they stuck to the place and succeeded in saving not only that lady, but all else, whether chattels or human beings, which lay within their reach.