Harvest - 02 - Harvest of Gold Read online

  Sarah looked from the steaming bowl to the roll of papyrus in Pari’s hand. In a low voice, she spoke a prayer of thanksgiving over her food. As soon as she finished, she held out one hand for the missive while grasping a spoon to start eating. She was too hungry to wait on the soup and too curious to wait on the letter. Pari gave her a disapproving look, but surrendered the missive. Sarah knew she did not have the most graceful table manners even when she was focused on the task. Reading and eating at the same time spelled disaster for either the upholstery or her delicate clothing. Or, most likely, both. She offered Pari her best conciliatory expression before tearing into Damaspia’s seal.

  She had the skills of a fast and accurate reader, but she read the letter twice to ensure she had understood the queen’s command. She looked at the date of its composition with a frown. It had been written two months ago. With a swift motion that almost upended her soup bowl, she rose from the couch.

  “Artaxerxes and Damaspia have asked us to visit them at Susa. But they want us to be there in eighteen days!”

  “Under three weeks? You would have to fly to arrive in time,” Pari said with a gasp.

  “I know. Would you please fetch the courier who brought this letter? At once.”

  A few moments later a young man, still in riding gear, stood at her door next to Pari. Sarah thanked him for his prompt presence. “Can you tell me when this missive was first given to the royal courier service?”

  He searched through his leather satchel and retrieved a papyrus scroll. After a few moments of study, he nodded. “Here it is. It was part of a larger batch from the queen’s offices. The whole packet was given to us three weeks ago.”

  Sarah dismissed him with her thanks. His answer confirmed what she had suspected. Damaspia’s scribe must have missed the fact that this letter was time sensitive and delayed sending it until a larger packet became ready for dispatch. Deferments of mail were common practice, which saved money and resources. But the scribe was supposed to know when a letter should not be delayed. Sarah quashed an uncomplimentary thought about the inattention of Damaspia’s new senior scribe.

  “Is his lordship at home?” she asked Pari.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Then take this letter to him. Tell him it’s from the queen, and that it’s urgent.”

  Sarah wondered if Darius would come to her in response to the queen’s letter, or if he would make arrangements without consulting her. It had become his habit to speak to her about most of his affairs of business in the past few months. Given his recent distance, however, he might choose to attend the matter without involving her.

  Darius returned from the palace at Persepolis nursing the start of a pesky headache. Hours of dealing with one of Artaxerxes’ foreign officials had proven exceptionally dreary. Halfway through the meeting he’d thought of Sarah. An intense longing for her company overcame him, tempting him to cut the meeting short.

  He controlled the urge, not out of concern that the official might take offense, but because this disconcerting yearning for Sarah was exactly what he had been trying to battle against for weeks. He felt as if he was losing control and did not enjoy that feeling. Staying away from her seemed the safest course.

  But keeping his distance failed to curb his hunger for his wife. He had spent the whole hour since his return from Persepolis staring at new maps from the cartographer while thinking of the outline of Sarah’s curves.

  The last time she had visited his apartments, she had accidentally left a sheer scarf behind. Instead of returning it to her, he had held on to it, draping the turquoise silk over the back of a sofa. He leaned against the folds of fabric now, and pulled one corner against his lips. The faint smell of roses still clung to the delicate shawl. He inhaled the scent before shoving the fabric away.

  She had sent him into convulsions of laughter the night she left the scarf behind, pulling it low over her forehead and scrunching her lips, mimicking with astonishing accuracy the voice of Artaxerxes’ dreaded mother, Amestris. “Eat your spinach or it will be the dungeons for you, my boy. I’ll chop off your nose, don’t think I won’t. Your handsome features don’t impress me.”

  “You keep that up and you’ll be the one in the dungeons. Amestris has spies everywhere. For all you know, I’m one of them.”

  Sarah gave a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder. “Or I might be one of her spies, setting a trap for you.”

  “Hasn’t worked.”

  “You haven’t eaten your spinach, have you? Shows a distinct lack of obedience. Even the vague likeness of the queen mother should motivate you into submission.”

  Darius laughed. “Submission and I don’t get along. You should have learned that by now.”

  She leaned over. For a breathless moment he thought she would kiss him. Instead, she stretched a hand and pulled a tiny piece of flint from his hair. She blew on the fragile thread and watched it fly into the air. “One can always hope.”

  He felt the tug of challenge in her voice. Something ancient and intensely male rose up in him, filled with excitement at the thought of that challenge.

  And that was the trouble with the woman. She managed to hold his interest in a thousand ways. Peace as well as entertainment seemed to follow in her wake, though she offered both without conscious effort.

  Her intelligence impressed him, and that was not an easy accomplishment with a man who spent his days around the most brilliant minds of the world. And yet, instead of giving herself airs, she got on her hands and knees and scrubbed the head gardener’s floor when his cottage became infested from the damp.

  When Pari came to tell him that an urgent summons had arrived from the queen, he leapt to his feet with the alacrity of a hungry lion. He no longer had to fight against his own urges. He had no choice, after all. It was his duty to go to his wife. As he made his way to Sarah’s apartments, he realized with sheepish relief that his headache had disappeared.

  A brief knock on Sarah’s door heralded a visitor. The knock proved a polite formality, as her husband let himself in before she could respond. Darius appeared every inch the courtier today, dressed in a tunic of soft, midnight blue wool that clung to his tall figure, emphasizing long, toned muscles. As if he needed sartorial enhancement to improve his looks. Darius turned heads even when wearing old hunting gear. Deep green eyes narrowed as Sarah bowed before him.

  “How formal,” he said, when she rose.

  “It seemed appropriate.” She gestured toward his elegant outfit. Earlier that morning she had been for a walk with Anousya and had found, discarded, a few alluring tail feathers from the priceless peacocks that roamed the grounds. She picked the most colorful one and tucked it into his belt. “Here. I think you must have dropped this earlier.”

  He pulled out the feather, intending to stroke Sarah’s cheek with its soft plume. She sidestepped the caress. Darius frowned. “Such audacity,” he said with mock rage. “Are you implying I am a peacock? I’ve been closeted with one of the king’s officials most of the morning. Had to dress the part, that’s all.”

  He waved the queen’s letter. “What’s this about, do you know? Why the great rush? We have to be on the road in two days and ride the back roads light and fast to arrive in time.”

  “I don’t know why Damaspia and the king have requested our presence in Susa. It might be a routine visit.”

  Darius arched a dark brow, speaking volumes without needing to use words. Artaxerxes and his queen rarely wasted time with routine anything. The fact that they had summoned Darius and Sarah meant they had a purpose to the visit.

  Sarah raised her chin. “I’m afraid I have no idea what is behind this royal invitation. But I can explain the inconvenient timing. That would be the fault of Damaspia’s new senior scribe. If you look at the date, you will find that she dictated this message two months ago, in good time for us to make arrangements and arrive at Susa with utmost convenience. So whatever her reason for summoning us, it could not have been an emergency. Unfortunately
, her new scribe must have overlooked the date the queen has mentioned. I checked with the courier. The letter was not sent until three weeks ago, which places us in an awkward position.”

  “I see.” Darius took a few steps toward Sarah. “I cannot complain then, since it was my fault she lost her brilliant scribe and now has to bear with inferior service.”

  He stood so close that she could feel his breath on her face. But he refrained from touching her.

  Longing, confusion, frustration, and hurt roiled inside Sarah until she felt like a tangled skein of wool. What ailed the man? Why did he have to blow so hot and cold? She backed away from him. “I could write Damaspia a letter to explain. She would understand if we arrived late, under the circumstances.”

  “No. I think it best that we try to arrive at the requested date. The king might have need of us. The fact that Damaspia’s servant is incompetent does not alter the original reason for this request. Neither Damaspia nor Artaxerxes makes requests lightly.”

  Sarah nodded. “Shall Pari and I begin to pack? If you wish to be on the road in two days, there is much to do.”

  Darius took another step forward, which brought him too close again. This time he reached a hand to play with a fat curl on her shoulder. Pari had spent a whole hour yesterday turning Sarah’s straight hair into a profusion of curls. Darius seemed fascinated by the change.

  “Pari will have to come later with the baggage train. They can travel on the royal highway, which will be more comfortable for her. She would never keep up with us on the mountain passes. It won’t be a pleasant ride for you either. I doubt we’ll even take time to set up tents in the evenings if we are to make the trip faster than a royal courier. But you have become very competent on a horse. One would never know you didn’t spent your childhood on the back of one.” He pulled on the curl to draw her nearer, but there was something reluctant about the way he touched her, as if he drew her to him against his own will.

  A bubble of resentment rose to the surface of Sarah’s mind. First he avoided her, and now he came to her half willing. Offended, she pulled her hair out of his fingers and walked to the other side of the room. The wall stopped her retreat and she leaned against it. “I will make the arrangements,” she said, her face stony.

  Darius spied a flagon of pressed apple juice on a side table and poured himself a cup. He took a deep swallow, his movements lazy. Why was he lingering here? Annoyed with his perplexing moods, Sarah wished he would take himself back to his private world now that he had given his orders.

  Looking thoughtful, Darius swirled the juice in its silver cup before placing it back on the table. He sauntered toward her, silent as a cat. Her eyes widened when he raised one hand and placed it on the wall so close to her waist that she felt the heat of it through her wool dress and linen shift. Sarah swiveled to the other side, intent on slithering away. With a sudden move, he placed his other hand close to her head, trapping her against the wall.

  “Why are you running from me?” he asked, bringing his fingers to rest on her back, drawing her close to him.

  She stiffened in his arms. “Why are you?”

  He half laughed, half groaned. “I can’t seem to get my fill of you.” Then he kissed her, and whatever part of him had been trying so hard to resist her, to reject her even, gave way. She felt his defenses crashing as he drew her tighter still. Her own resistance melted as she sensed that for a while, at least, he would be hers.

  *446 BC

  Sarah looked from the heap of clothes that had begun to gather on her bed to the pile of scrolls and clay tablets that were mounting on her cedar desk and sighed. Ignoring both, she decided to write a letter to her cousin Nehemiah, informing him of her imminent arrival. As cupbearer to the king, her Jewish relative held a position of high authority. In spite of his being a Jew, Artaxerxes had bestowed on him considerable influence, which allowed him regular proximity to the person of the king.

  If secret trouble were brewing, Nehemiah would see to it that Darius and she were armed with the right information before entering the king’s presence. Artaxerxes was a kind and generous king, as Sarah had reason to know. But he was also dedicated to his empire with a single-minded passion that could at times make extreme demands. A little preparation for Artaxerxes never went amiss.

  “You’ll be riding on horseback the whole way with only two or three pack horses,” Pari said, interrupting her train of thought. “I hope Lord Darius has plenty of clothes in his storehouses in Susa, for I cannot fit but two outfits in the space he has allotted me. It’s all about speed, Pari, he says to me. But once my lord arrives, I wager he won’t care a snap for speed. He’ll want you as elegant as a princess; he wouldn’t want you to feel embarrassed before the court again.”

  Sarah rested her head in her hands for a moment. She had not slept well the night before, remaining awake and fretting about the mountain of tasks she had to accomplish before leaving for Susa. Sleeplessness had not helped her accomplish a single chore, of course. But she had not been able to make herself rest by logical arguments. After over an hour of anxiety-ridden thoughts, she had finally remembered to pray. In her worry, even her prayers had kept turning into a list of things she had to accomplish, for she had focused more on her burdens than on God. She had fallen asleep close to dawn and had awakened bleary-eyed.

  “Do your best,” she mumbled through her fingers. “I only need to fend for myself the first two weeks, and then you will arrive with the baggage train.” Thanks to Pari’s gentle instructions, she had learned how to navigate the rigid formalities of court life as the wife of an aristocrat. She would never walk into another royal feast looking like a demon from the outer darkness, the way she had on her wedding day.

  She finished the letter for Nehemiah and had it delivered to the royal courier who was leaving that day for Susa. Abandoning the packing to Pari, Sarah focused on the estate accounts. For many hours, she lost herself in the work. Darius’s new steward in Persepolis, Vidarna, had turned out to be a gem. He had the sense of humor of a goose, and still blanched every time he had to give an accounting to Sarah. He could not grow accustomed to the fact that he had to report to a woman, and an aristocratic one at that, even if only by marriage. But he had proven honest and competent, two qualities that no shortcoming could diminish.

  Late that evening, having arrived at a semblance of order, Sarah surrendered the accounts to Vidarna. “I’ve left some gaps, I’m afraid. But I know you’ll manage, Vidarna. Your work is always exemplary.”

  The scribe’s bald head bent low in a respectful bow. “I am certain you’ve taken the most difficult matters upon yourself, my lady. As always.”

  Exhaustion mingled with relief as she handed the accounts over. She liked knowing that she left the estate in good order before departing for what might turn out to be a lengthy trip. One could never guess how long a royal audience might last, especially with the New Year only four weeks away.

  Sarah then sent for Bardia, who arrived bearing a scarlet pomegranate. “The last of the autumn fruit, to put a smile on your face on these final days of winter,” he said, his wide smile revealing five solitary teeth.

  “How thoughtful, Bardia. It looks perfect. Tell me, how is Apama?”

  “She has turned a corner, my lady. I believe she will recover completely. And that daughter of hers never stops eating. She will no doubt grow strong and plump before the month is out.”

  “I am relieved to hear it. Now you must go to bed, my friend. You’ve been working too hard this week.”

  Bardia nodded. At the door, he turned back to her. “It shall be your turn soon, my lady. You’ll see.”

  Coming from anyone else, such a comment would have been intrusive. But Bardia had a unique gift of saying intimate things without appearing impertinent. Sarah gazed into space for a moment, a hand resting against her flat belly. The truth was that the incessant talk about childbearing over the past few days had made her more conscious than ever of how desperate she was to ha
ve a babe of her own. After over eleven months of marriage, she showed no signs of fecundity. Of course the first five months of her marriage did not count on that score. She gave Bardia a sad smile and turned away.

  Pari held up two outfits for her inspection. “Which one for the great feast: the blue or the red?”

  Sarah nibbled on her lower lip. “Do you think Darius will like the red?”

  “He’d have to be blind not to. My advice is not to breathe deeply while you are wearing it. The latest fashions are very tight on top.”

  Sarah groaned. “Pack the blue, then. I didn’t realize you had made the red so formfitting. No wonder you didn’t let me try it on when you were finished.”

  “I’ve already packed the red,” Pari said, her soft mouth pulled into a stubborn line. “I wished I could see Lord Darius’s expression when he sees you in it.”

  Well. If wearing tight, scarlet garments was going to grab her husband’s attention, perhaps she should stop arguing and allow Pari to choose her wardrobe. “You will land me in a heap of trouble one of these days,” she said.

  “You don’t need me for that.” Pari sat down on a couch and picked up Sarah’s winter riding tunic, which needed minor mending. “Why are the New Year celebrations in Susa? I thought they were always held in Persepolis.”

  “This year, the king decided to change the venue and remain in the old palace. I think he wished to avoid the aggravation of travel.”

  Foreign officials from around the empire had been notified of the change; in a matter of weeks they would be descending into Susa’s ancient halls, bringing gifts for Artaxerxes as a sign of their continued fealty to the empire. There would be special ceremonies and endless feasts.

  “You will attend at least ten separate events in the first week of the year alone, regardless of the location,” Pari said, her head bent to her task. “A separate outfit for each occasion, with matching jewels. This is your first New Year as a lady of rank. There will be many demands on your time.”