Harvest of Gold (23 page)

Searching through her writing box for fresh ink on the first afternoon that the work began, Sarah noticed a short roll of parchment. With an unpleasant chill, she recognized the ivory-colored sheepskin: the note that had been given to Nassir by the mastermind of the plot to kill the king. It had been some months since she had studied it. Unrolling the parchment, she began to read.

Carry out the instructions I send you. You now have everything you need for the New Year ceremonies
.

It had never been delivered to the intended assassin, of course. Sarah read the words again, this time with more intensity. The distance of months must have swept aside the cobwebs of her mind. For the first time she noticed a vital clue, which she had missed during the first round of her inspections.

This note was not addressed to a stranger.

As fast as her growing stomach allowed, she sprang to her feet and went in search of Lysander. She found him in the courtyard, parceling out fresh orders to his men. He gave her a sidelong glance and dismissed his men.

“I need to speak to you. It’s urgent.”

Lysander wasted no time on questions, following her inside the dilapidated residence. She put the parchment in his hand. “I’ve found out something important. This note is not addressed to a stranger.”

“Start from the beginning. What note?”

“The one we found on the Babylonians.”

Lysander unrolled the parchment and, after a brief glance, gave it back to Sarah. “I can’t read Aramaic. What does it say?”

Curbing her impatience, Sarah read it to him. “What I realized as I reread it is that it is addressed to someone familiar. This is not a letter to some unknown assassin. It’s a missive addressed to a person whom the author knew.
May you walk in safety
. That’s almost sentimental. They knew each other. They might even have been fond of each other.”

“I see. I will send a messenger to your husband. It’s a subtle distinction, but perhaps he will find it of use.”

Sarah nodded and turned to leave. Without warning, a sharp pain, like a small arrow, pierced her abdomen. Unlike the muscular twinges that plagued her when she stayed in one spot for too long, this pain came low and deep, as if from the center of her womb. Her eyes widened with shock. The discomfort passed quickly, but fear settled over her like a boulder. The memory of her miscarriage remained too fresh for her to ignore such a peculiar sensation.

“My lady? Are you unwell?”

“A passing pain. Do you think …?”

Lysander frowned. “Let’s not arrive at premature conclusions. I must examine you.”

Lysander’s expression remained bland as he dried his hands on a clean towel. “I cannot be certain. This is not a branch of medicine with which I have sufficient familiarity. You have bled a small amount. I believe this happens to some women. The sharp pain you describe may also be normal for this stage of your travail. But given your recent miscarriage, I am unprepared to take undue chances. You need a physician who specializes in women and birthing, and there is none to be found in this dilapidated province. All I have unearthed so far is midwives who know less than I.”

Sarah glanced over at Pari; reflected in her friend’s face she saw the same grim fear that had hold of her own mind. Lacing her fingers together, she squeezed them to hide their wild trembling. The thought of losing another baby was too much for her. “What do you suggest?”

“I know of a physician in Damascus who is famed for his expertise in this area. I myself met him years ago when I was stationed there, and I have great respect for his ability. But he has a terror of travelling and would never come to us. We would have to take you to him.” He looped his hands as they hung between his knees.

“Bringing you to Damascus would be risky in the midst of this plot business. Your husband will no doubt have my hide for exposing you to danger before I have the opportunity to explain. I see no other way, however. I cannot leave you here and just wait for nature to take its course. If we travel very slowly to ensure your well-being, we should arrive in a few days. And then you can have the best of care.”

Sarah nodded, grasping at this ray of hope. “Darius will understand once you explain. He only wants my safety. I know that now. If being in Damascus provides that, he will come to approve of your decision, and even applaud your initiative.”

Lysander raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Applaud it or no, he will have to live with it. I cannot make any other choice under the circumstances.” He stood up. “I’ll send him a message to prepare him for our arrival. We’ll leave at first light.”

“Thank you, Lysander. I will let the governor know of our departure.” Nehemiah would miss both of them, she thought.

“Try not to worry, my lady. The baby rests soundly within you. This journey to Damascus is a mere precaution.”

Disbelief gripped Darius as he studied the message from Lysander. With narrowed eyes he read the words again. Lysander had kept it brief, no doubt in deference to the possibility that the letter might fall into the wrong hands. He only said that due to an urgent development he was personally escorting Sarah to Damascus.

Darius crumbled the bit of papyrus in his fist. Had the Spartan lost his mind? What could have possessed him, dragging his wife into the middle of danger when he knew this was the one situation that Darius had been determined to avoid?

He pushed his hand through his hair. Tomorrow, he would see Sarah. Not an hour had gone by since he had left her that he had not thought of her. Sometimes longing for her filled him like a tidal wave. More often, the thought of his lost baby cooled his ardor. Grief and resentment made powerful defenses against tenderness. He still could not stomach her betrayal. How could a woman who seemed so loving act with such manipulative self-interest?

And how could a soldier as experienced as Lysander justify conveying his superior officer’s wife to Damascus while Darius was neck deep in a delicate investigation? He considered landing a powerful punch on the man’s square jaw upon his arrival in advance of conducting a reasonable investigation. The thought brought a grim smile to his face.

Before he lost all focus, he scripted a quick note, ordering Lysander to bring Sarah to the inn where he had already concealed the Babylonians, hoping the obscure location might protect her. He handed the letter to the messenger with orders for an expeditious delivery, making certain the man knew where to find the party on the road.

Alone, Darius poured himself a goblet of wine and inclined against a cushion, trying to make sense of the day’s events. The sound of footsteps forced him out of his reverie. He looked up with shock at the sight of Roxanna, who paraded in and threw herself on the iron bed.

“You look like you just tasted water from a camel’s trough,” she said. “Bad news?”

“Who let you in here?” He was outraged by her audacity, traipsing into his private chamber as if she were not an unmarried woman from the flower of Persian society. The beard did ruin the effect somewhat. But that was not the point. Had the world lost its collective wits? Was he the only sane person left on earth?

“I let myself in. Your guard found himself preoccupied, I’m afraid. I could not spy for Artaxerxes if I asked permission every time I tried to enter a room.”

“Next time, knock. You’re not spying on me.”

“Says who? The king is very interested in the activities of his most faithful servants. Just in case.”

Darius threw a pillow at her with the precision of a spear. It landed on her face before she could dodge, and knocked her beard askew. She sat up, her face red with rage. “Very comical.”

At any other time, he would have laughed at her odd, lopsided appearance. He could not muster the will for humor just then, however. “You had better repair that. No one would believe you’re a man if they saw you now.”

Roxanna settled herself on a stool with her back to him and peered into a silver mirror. “Blast. It took me an hour to get that right.”

“While you see to your frippery, allow me to fill you in on important new information I just received.” He described Lysander’s letter.

“A conjugal visit in the midst of secret investigations. How nice for you. I heard your wife was a handful. The details of your wedding feast entertained the women in my father’s household for weeks. I’ve been dying to meet her ever since. She’s the only woman besides the queen who sounds remotely entertaining.”

“You aren’t coming anywhere near her, Roxanna. The two of you together will probably bring about the end of the empire as we know it.”

Roxanna turned to face Darius, once again looking convincingly male. “Don’t be such a tyrant, Darius. I’m certain she would enjoy my company.”

A loud knock brought their discourse to an abrupt end. Darius threw Roxanna a tense glance and placed a silencing finger to his lips. Without warning, he whipped the door open. Roxanna’s servant waited on the other side. He did not seem startled by the violence of his welcome. After bowing with admirable calm, he offered his mistress a long package.

“This came for you directly from the king’s secretary, my lord. According to his letter, I was to bring it to you without delay.”

Roxanna took the package. “What is it?”

“A gift for the satrap of Egypt. The royal secretary bids that you deliver it when you are finished with your work in Damascus.”

“Thank you. I’ll see to it.” She dismissed the man with a nod.

Darius leaned against a crooked wall. “Does your servant know who you are? He called you
my lord
.”

“He knows. He’s too discreet to slip his guard when we are in public. Like all the king’s men, he knows his craft well.”

“Why couldn’t he wait until you returned to your chambers to give you the satrap’s gift?”

“Because,” Roxanna said as she began to unwrap the folds of fabric, “there is a message from the king hidden in here somewhere.”

Inside the fabric packaging they found a thick linen robe, decorated with gold thread and jewels of a size that were more vulgar than elegant.

Darius stroked the fabric. “Revolting, but expensive.”

“Not everyone has your superior taste, my lord.” Roxanna removed a thin knife from an inside pocket in her loose robe. She began feeling around the Egyptian satrap’s gift. To Darius’s surprise she slashed open a section in the hem of the robe.

“I hope you are good at mending.”

“Can’t sew a stitch. Thankfully, the king’s servant is handy with a needle.” She searched through the torn area until a small roll of parchment dropped out of the hem onto the ground.

She took a moment to read it and swore. “The king has been attacked again.”

“Is he injured?”

“Not seriously. They were hunting in the royal enclosure when someone shot an arrow at him. It grazed him in the arm. His armor deflected most of the damage, but it was a close call.”

Darius sank to the edge of his bed. “Did they catch the culprit?”

“I’m afraid not. By the time they found his perch, he was long gone. The king grows impatient with the delay in our investigations.”

“I can imagine how grating this must be from his point of view. He sits on his throne, helpless, knowing that every time he eats or sleeps or rides, it is an opportunity for a clever assassin to put an end to his life. We cannot afford to dawdle with cautious investigations, anymore. Our assassin is growing bolder. We must take a more aggressive stance in our inquiry.”