Harvest of Gold (11 page)

“Don’t ever …
ever
… wear that dress again. Ever.”

Her eyes widened. “You didn’t like it?”

He kissed her again. He could not seem to help himself. “No.” His mouth slid to her neck. “Yes.” His kiss grew soft. “You can wear it. But only for me.”

She giggled. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest under his lips. “I love you, Darius.”

He tangled his fingers into the folds of the silken skirt and pulled so that she slithered forward on the stool.

“Darius, do you—?”

With a quick movement, he covered her mouth with a hard hand. “Don’t,” he commanded. He knew what she was about to ask. Softening his voice, he said again, “Don’t ask that. I won’t lie to you, Sarah. I don’t want to hurt you. But I won’t say what I don’t feel.”

She lowered her lashes to cover the sheen of hot tears from him. He drew her closer, spending long hours trying to make her forget what he could not give her, cradling her in his arms until she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Far into the night he lay awake, thinking of the question he had not allowed her to ask. He remembered how he had once longed to be married for love. Like most men of his station, he had had to settle for an arranged marriage, however. He had thought that dream buried because of the circumstances. Now he began to ask himself a more difficult question. Was he
capable
of love? Had his heart so hardened that in spite of longing for the idea of love, he could not enter the reality of it? He punched his pillow and turned over.

Unlike previous years when Artaxerxes stayed to sup with his guests during the magnificent feasts of the New Year, he now took his meals in private with the queen. Darius was relieved by this precaution. Nehemiah the cupbearer, privy to the danger that threatened the king, remained near him even after he finished his meals in case Artaxerxes became thirsty or had to taste wine during the ceremonies. Darius felt grateful for Nehemiah’s vigilance. For once, he set aside his discomfort around his wife’s cousin and rested in the knowledge that, whether he liked the man or not, he could trust him with the king’s life.

Darius had acquired the official list of visitors, and had checked each one in person before they were allowed to approach the king. By the third day, every single official visitor had shown up with an appropriate gift. Not one was missing. The officials representing the provinces within the Trans-Euphrates satrapy had been scrutinized with extra care. Each ambassador had proven genuine. Achaemenes must have planned to replace one of them at the last moment.

Darius set up private interviews with the delegates from the Trans-Euphrates provinces. Not one of them had heard of a man named Achaemenes.

As the thirteenth day of the New Year with its closing picnic celebrations finally dawned, Darius grew no closer to solving the riddle of the assassination plot than he had when he first discovered it on Niq’s shaven scalp. At least the king remained alive.

According to royal spies, old Megabyzus had been behaving himself. Darius hoped Megabyzus did not have them duped. Even if he were innocent of this crime, it was small comfort to Darius, who fretted about the possibility of an unknown enemy while continuing to suspect the old general.

Darius understood the gravity of the threat. More than Artaxerxes’ life was at stake. The king’s sons were young—some would consider them too young to rule. Were he to die now, the empire would slide into a bloodbath of ambitious men, each trying to wrest power from the other. Persia could not afford to lose its king yet. And it was up to Darius to ensure his safety. The days glided by until spring was no longer new. Darius, who by the king’s permission had retained his special band of twelve warriors in addition to the two Babylonian brothers, discovered no breakthroughs.

Unaccustomed to failure, he chafed under its weight. In the hidden darkness of his soul, the knowledge of that failure ate at him with slow persistence.

THE TWENTIETH YEAR OF KING ARTAXERXES’ REIGN
AUTUMN, SUSA
^*
(FOUR MONTHS EARLIER)

Jerusalem! Jerusalem!

n

ehemiah’s chest tightened at the thought of the city he had never visited. In less than an hour his brother Hanani would arrive, bringing with him reports of the city of their fathers. Hanani, who along with a group of friends had returned from Judah only the night before, would know the latest news of the land.

Although his apartment in the palace was spacious, Nehemiah felt as if the walls were collapsing in, and strode into the marble-floored hallway, his steps impatient. He paced, first in one direction and then in the opposite.

Autumn had settled on the land, and the air in Susa had grown crisp with the change of season. The trees were already naked, having shed their foliage weeks before. A few golden leaves had escaped the attentions of the army of gardeners, and brightened the palace grounds with their colorful death. Nehemiah gazed outside a latticed window, craning his neck. Too soon to see any sign of his guests. He sighed and resumed his clipped gait.

Hearing a sound, he rushed to the window again and saw a group of men walking toward the gate that would lead them to his section of the palace. He grinned and turned to wait for them, his fingers drumming an absent rhythm against each other. At the end of the corridor, he could see the men approaching and he frowned. They were strangers to him.

His shoulders drooped as he walked back down the long hallway. Not having seen his younger brother for over a year, he was eager for the sight of him. But he was even more eager for news of Jerusalem. He could not explain the longing for his ancestral home that had filled his soul in recent months. Nehemiah had been born in Persia. His job as cupbearer to the king placed him in constant proximity to the most powerful man in the world, giving him authority and influence few Jewish men in his generation enjoyed. Yet it was Jerusalem that had filled his thoughts for months.

He stared through the window again. It was growing late. He wondered why Hanani tarried. To his astonishment, he felt a strong urge to bite the corner of a nail, a habit he had outgrown in boyhood. With an impatient gesture, he crushed the impulse. In the distance he saw another group of men approaching the gate. With relief, he recognized Hanani at the head of them.

He lifted a light-hearted arm in greeting as he strode toward the group in the wide palace hallway. “Welcome! Welcome back! Peace be upon you,” he said, his voice carrying in the enclosed space.

No one answered him, not even with a wave. He examined the faces of his guests. What he saw caused a chill to go through him. Shadowed eyes, downturned lips, sweaty brows, fisted hands. He told himself that his guests were weary from their travels. They had been on the road for months, and he knew from experience how exhausting such arduous journeys could prove. But he had an inkling that something serious had gone amiss.

As they came abreast of each other, Hanani introduced him to several of his friends whom Nehemiah had never met. He extended a warm welcome to each and led them to his quarters where he settled them around the table his servant had prepared. He had ensured that the fringed linen pillows strewn on the floor had been cleaned and aired for the occasion. Silk carpets tickled their bare feet, already washed and perfumed by his servant.

The food, which Nehemiah had ordered with special care to their religious dietary restrictions, was served and they were left alone. The scent of fried onions and garlic filled the air. Nehemiah gave a heartfelt thanks to the Lord, his deep voice rolling out the Hebrew syllables with care.

Unable to contain his questions another moment, he unleashed them on his quiet companions. “Tell me about Jerusalem. And our fellow countrymen who have returned from exile to live in the province of Judah. How are they faring these days?”

Hanani dropped his neck as if an ox yoke weighed it down. “Our people are in great disgrace, Nehemiah.”

“What has happened?” the cupbearer took a deep breath to keep his voice from rising. “Hold nothing back. Tell me everything.”

“Last year, I embarked for Judah with so much hope, Nehemiah. I thought I would find our people settled and Jerusalem in good order. I thought I would find a glimpse of our former glory after over a generation of resettlement.”

Nehemiah nodded. “Of course. Is it not so?”

It had been over ninety years since Cyrus the Great freed the people of Israel from their captivity to Babylon. With his support, more than forty thousand of their most talented men and women had returned to Judah during that initial relocation alone. While Nehemiah had been aware of a number of discouraging setbacks throughout the decades, he had expected that with the return of Ezra the priest almost a decade ago, Jerusalem would be on its way back to prosperity.

Hanani leaned over, his hands over his belly as though he ached. “The whole region has become a shambles.”

Nehemiah’s mouth turned dry. He leaned back against the wall. “And the Temple?”

“The new Temple is complete, but it does not compare to its original glory. The structure could hardly be called magnificent, and in spite of King Cyrus’s generosity, its furnishings are sparse. The Holy of Holies remains empty. And the sacrifices offered are a tiny fraction of what you hear about from the days of Solomon.

“Still, that half-empty building is the best thing in Jerusalem right now. The work of revitalizing the City of David and restoring Judah has ground to a halt.”

Nehemiah’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t understand. How can this be?”

“Several years ago, just after the latest group of settlers had arrived from Babylon intending to rebuild Jerusalem, the enemies of Judah sent a letter to King Artaxerxes, accusing the Jews of rebellion. They told the king we were troublemakers. Once Jerusalem was strengthened, they said, we would refuse to pay our tribute to the empire.”

Nehemiah felt suddenly cold and drew his robe closer around him. “I had not heard.”

“At the time, the restoration of Jerusalem was within reach. We had laid the foundations of the city again, and its walls could have been finished within a year or two. But it was not to be. Our foes prevailed.”

“
What
?”

“The king believed the accusations of our enemies and ordered the work in Jerusalem to be stopped.”

“Artaxerxes?” By virtue of his job, Nehemiah spent many hours with the monarch. The king often treated him as a trusted advisor as much as a servant, and shared his concerns on many matters. But he did not know all of Artaxerxes’ policies. It was impossible to keep up with the constant demands on the king’s life. This was one decision about which the royal cupbearer had known nothing.

Hanani nodded his head. “The results have been devastating. The walls of Jerusalem have been torn down. They are in ruin, Nehemiah. The gates—the beautiful gates of the city—have been destroyed by fire.”

Nehemiah could not utter a single word. The setback described by his brother tore at his heart. After a long silence, he managed to say, “I had no idea things were so bad in Judah.”