prompted me forward. I wished to bid my husband farewell but intense pain suddenly seized me<hr>
and held me back. Even though the chariot was already pulling away, I could not help but follow it. However, Abradates noticing this said to me, "Go, Panthea, await my return with the hope of seeing me soon." Alas! Unbeknownst to me at the time, that chariot, whose brilliance caught everyone's eyes and seemed destined only for a day of victory, would be Abradates' coffin. No sooner had I lost sight of him did my women escort me back to my tent. I ceased to hope and started to fear. My imagination, which had been feeding me crowns and victories, now showed me only funereal visions. Based on what had been told to me in my dreams, I saw everything that happened to Abradates. Yes, Cyrus, I saw him on the front lines, eager to shed his blood for your glory. I saw him fighting furiously against the Lydians, breaking the ranks he was attacking, bringing death everywhere his arm reached, pursuing fleeing enemies, strewing the battlefield with corpses. In my vision, I saw victory leading his chariot.<hr>
       Alas! This image was quickly replaced by another: suddenly, what was supposed to inspire Abradates' soldiers to closely follow him became the reason for their desertion. The grave danger he was in caused those who should have supported him to flee and increased the fear of the Egyptians who remained. I saw most of his men abandon him and watch him get surrounded by enemies. Yet, I saw him clear a path through the spears, javelins, and projectiles of those who were attacking him. I saw him thinning the ranks, overturning everything in his path, smashing the chariots in front of him, killing those who drove them, attacking and defending simultaneously, and eventually overcoming anyone who opposed him. But after building a trophy with his own hands to your glory and his, and showing your men the path to victory, after covering the field with blood, deaths, broken weapons, and destroyed chariots, those very men he had killed, those very weapons he had broken and those very chariots he had destroyed, brought Abradates down. If he had vanquished fewer foes, he would not have been vanquished in return: those he had defeated were more fatal to him than those he was still contesting. Finally, I saw Abradates weighed down by their numbers, riddled with injuries, fighting for his life up to the last drop of his blood. Terrible vision! I saw Abradates collapse and die overcoming those who killed him. And indeed, Cyrus, your men fought better for the dead body of Abradates than they would have for saving his life.<hr>
       Imagine the state of my soul at this ghoulish apparition. However, this was nothing compared to what I felt when I saw Abradates' chariot return, laden with enemy spoils, and on this grim trophy, my hero's body, wounded, lifeless, dead, and bloodied. Cyrus! Panthea! Disastrous victory! What a sight for my eyes and what heartbreak! My sorrow is so great that I am surprised my
body hasn't yet rid me of this pain. Everything I see desolates me, everything I 
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