In the sprawling halls of Persepolis, something was terribly wrong. The new king sat upon the throne of the world's greatest empire, yet he refused to see anyone—not his closest advisors, not his childhood friends, not even the nobles who had served his family for generations. When Prince Bardiya had suddenly claimed the crown in 522 BC, the Persian people had rejoiced. But as months passed in eerie silence from the palace, a horrifying truth began to emerge: the man they were bowing to wasn't Bardiya at all. In fact, the real prince had been dead for months, and the greatest case of royal identity theft in ancient history was about to unravel in the most violent way possible.
The Brother Who Killed for a Crown
To understand this macabre tale, we must first meet the man who started it all: Cambyses II, King of Kings of the Persian Empire. In 522 BC, Cambyses ruled over a domain that stretched from India to Egypt—roughly 20 million square miles of territory containing nearly half the world's population. But for all his power, Cambyses harbored a paranoia that would ultimately destroy his own family.
The trouble began when Cambyses departed for his Egyptian campaign, leaving his younger brother Bardiya to govern the eastern provinces of the empire. Bardiya was everything a Persian prince should be: charismatic, capable, and beloved by both the army and the common people. Perhaps too beloved for his brother's comfort.
According to the ancient historian Herodotus, Cambyses began having prophetic dreams warning him that Bardiya would steal his throne. Whether driven by divine visions or simple jealousy, Cambyses made a decision that would haunt the empire for years to come. He secretly dispatched his most trusted agent, Prexaspes, with orders to eliminate the threat.
Bardiya's murder was carried out with chilling efficiency sometime in early 522 BC. No grand execution, no public trial—just a quiet death in a remote location, far from the eyes of the Persian court. The prince's body was hidden, and Cambyses swore Prexaspes to absolute secrecy. To the rest of the empire, Bardiya was simply... away on business in the eastern provinces.
What Cambyses didn't anticipate was that killing his brother would be the easy part. The real chaos was just beginning.
Enter the Doppelganger: Gaumata's Audacious Gambit
While Cambyses was busy conquering Egypt, a Magian priest named Gaumata was hatching perhaps the most audacious con in ancient history. Gaumata possessed something invaluable: he bore a striking physical resemblance to the dead Prince Bardiya. In an age before photography or widespread literacy, most subjects had never seen their rulers up close. This gave Gaumata an opening that he seized with both hands.
In March 522 BC, while Cambyses was still campaigning in Egypt, shocking news reached every corner of the Persian Empire. Bardiya had declared himself the rightful king, claiming that his brother Cambyses had unlawfully usurped power that belonged to him as the son of Cyrus the Great. The proclamation was issued from Paishiyauvada, a mountain fortress in Media—conveniently far from anyone who might recognize the deception.
What made Gaumata's impersonation so effective wasn't just his appearance, but his political savvy. The fake Bardiya immediately announced popular reforms that endeared him to the masses: he granted tax relief to struggling provinces, freed many regions from military service for three years, and positioned himself as a ruler who cared more about his people than conquest. These policies were in stark contrast to Cambyses' expensive foreign campaigns that had drained the royal treasury.
The response was overwhelming. Province after province declared loyalty to "Bardiya." From Parthia to Babylon, from Armenia to Sogdiana, the empire abandoned Cambyses en masse. In just a few months, Gaumata had convinced millions of people that he was their legitimate ruler—all while the real Bardiya lay decomposing in an unmarked grave.
The King Who Wouldn't Show His Face
As Gaumata settled into his stolen throne, maintaining the deception required increasingly elaborate measures. The fake king established a rigid protocol: no one was permitted to see him in person except for a select few servants. He claimed this was due to religious observances and the sacred nature of kingship, but the real reason was far more practical—close examination would have exposed him immediately.
The Persian nobles who had grown up with the real Bardiya found this behavior deeply suspicious. Prince Bardiya had been known for his openness and accessibility; this reclusive new king seemed like a completely different person. When old friends and military commanders requested audiences, they were consistently turned away with various excuses.
Meanwhile, disturbing news reached the Persian court from Egypt. Cambyses II, upon hearing of his "brother's" rebellion, had died under mysterious circumstances in Syria while rushing back to reclaim his throne. Some sources suggest suicide, others point to an infected wound from an accidental sword cut. Whatever the cause, by July 522 BC, the only person who knew for certain that the real Bardiya was dead had taken that secret to his own grave.
This left Gaumata in an incredibly powerful position. With Cambyses dead and no direct challenge to his identity, the imposter seemed poised to rule the Persian Empire indefinitely. But the very isolation that protected his secret was also generating dangerous suspicions among the Persian elite.
Unraveling the Greatest Deception in Ancient History
The end began with a woman's keen observation. Otanes, one of the most powerful Persian nobles, had grown increasingly suspicious of the reclusive king's behavior. His daughter Phaedymia had been married to the real Bardiya and was now part of the royal household. Otanes devised a dangerous plan to discover the truth.
He instructed his daughter to wait until the king was asleep, then carefully examine his head in the darkness. The real Bardiya had lost both ears as punishment for some transgression years earlier—a detail that few people knew, but one that would definitively prove the impostor's identity.
On a moonless night in September 522 BC, Phaedymia carried out her father's instructions. Her trembling hands confirmed what the nobles had begun to suspect: this king had both ears intact. He was not Prince Bardiya.
Otanes immediately contacted six other prominent Persian nobles, including a young cavalry officer named Darius. These seven conspirators—who would later be known as the "Seven Great Houses of Persia"—began planning the most consequential assassination in ancient history. They faced a terrifying dilemma: if they were wrong about the king's identity, they would be executed as traitors. But if they were right, the entire Persian Empire was living under a lie.
The truth became undeniable when Prexaspes, the agent who had murdered the real Bardiya on Cambyses' orders, finally broke his silence. Consumed by guilt and fear, he publicly confessed to the assassination before throwing himself from a tower to his death. His dramatic suicide confirmed what the seven conspirators had suspected: they were indeed ruled by an impostor.
The Second Murder: Seven Nobles Against a False King
On September 29, 522 BC, the seven conspirators made their move. Armed with daggers and righteous fury, they forced their way into the royal fortress of Sikayauvatish in Media. What followed was less a formal execution than a frenzied stabbing as months of pent-up rage exploded in the narrow corridors of the palace.
Gaumata and his brother Patizithes, who had helped orchestrate the deception, were both killed in the assault. Ancient sources describe a chaotic scene as the false king desperately tried to escape, only to be cornered and butchered by men who felt betrayed not just as nobles, but as subjects who had been made fools of by a common priest.
The aftermath was swift and brutal. The seven conspirators ordered the massacre of Magi throughout the empire—a persecution so thorough that September 29th became an annual holiday called "Magophonia" (the killing of the Magi). Thousands of Magian priests were slaughtered in revenge for Gaumata's deception, regardless of their involvement in the conspiracy.
From this bloodbath emerged a new king: Darius I, the young cavalry officer who had been part of the conspiracy. Darius would go on to become one of Persia's greatest rulers, but his legitimacy was forever tied to the violent unmasking of the false Bardiya. To cement his version of events, Darius commissioned the famous Behistun Inscription—a massive carved relief and text that told the story of Gaumata's deception in three languages, ensuring that future generations would know the "true" history of his rise to power.
The Prince Who Died Twice and the Lies That Shape Empires
The bizarre tale of Bardiya—murdered by his brother, impersonated by a priest, then "killed" again when the deception was exposed—reveals something profound about the nature of power in the ancient world. For seven months, Gaumata ruled effectively over nearly half of humanity simply by looking like the right person and saying the right things. His policies were popular, his administration was functional, and his subjects were content. The only problem was that he wasn't who he claimed to be.
This raises uncomfortable questions that echo through history to our own time: Does legitimacy come from bloodline, from popular support, or from effective governance? Gaumata was undoubtedly a usurper and murderer, but he may have been a better ruler than either Cambyses or the real Bardiya would have been. The seven nobles who killed him saved the "rightful" order, but their action also triggered a massive civil war and led to the deaths of thousands of innocent Magi.
Perhaps most unsettling of all is how easily an entire empire accepted the deception. In our age of instant communication and constant surveillance, it's almost impossible to imagine someone successfully impersonating a world leader for months. Yet Gaumata's con succeeded precisely because the Persian Empire was so vast that most subjects had no direct knowledge of their ruler's appearance or personality.
The story of the prince who was murdered twice reminds us that even in the ancient world, power was often more about perception than reality. Gaumata understood that ruling an empire required not just the right bloodline, but the right narrative—and for seven remarkable months, his narrative convinced millions of people to follow a dead man's ghost.
