Harvest of Gold (25 page)

The hard, defensive wall around Sarah’s heart cracked. She felt ashamed of her own spiteful attitude toward Roxanna. Jealousy was not an emotion with which Sarah battled often. She was shocked at the depth of her own envy. Could the woman help being lovely? Did she have to pay the price of Sarah’s lack of confidence?

Sarah could not retain Darius’s attachment by showing her claws to every attractive woman who came near him. Pulling other women down with waspish words was no way to keep her husband. She would have a much better chance at holding on to him if she proved loving and trustworthy herself. Raising herself up in his esteem was the one sure way to secure his affections.

There was a respectful knock at the door. Their little room had turned into the Throne Hall of Persepolis, it seemed. Everyone was lining up to enter. Darius pulled the door open with impatience and barked, “What?” at Meres, who stood on the other side.

“My lord. If you are available, may I have a word?”

Darius raised a brow. “The Babylonian brothers giving you trouble?”

“No. We uncovered something enlightening earlier this morning. I would have ridden to tell you, except that I didn’t want to leave our guests to their own devices. I don’t think they would get into trouble intentionally, but they have been cooped up for some days and grow restless. In their desire to clear their name, they’re liable to cause havoc. Since you are here already, perhaps you and my lady might wish to hear this news.”

Darius looked over his shoulder at Sarah, his eyebrows raised in question. Another man would not have considered exposing his wife to a bunch of wild men. From the start, Sarah had found her husband unusually tolerant in such matters, however. As long as he judged her to be out of harm’s way, he allowed her contact with many of his friends and associates, esteeming her opinion in various situations. He wasn’t lax enough to put up with her going off on her own. But he permitted her a wider access to the world than was normal in his circles.

“I would love to come,” she said, unable to hide the eagerness in her voice.

“Are you not tired after your journey?”

“I would never raise a murmur of complaint against Lysander, but I must confess that in deference to my condition, he drove our cart so slowly from Jerusalem that at one point I saw a small lizard slither past us. Any more rest, and I might lose my mind. I’d much rather come with you.”

“And you’re not leaving me behind,” Roxanna said, bouncing to her feet. “If there is news, I need to hear it.”

On the way out, they ran into the proprietress of the inn. She bowed to Darius and murmured, “My lord,” and then bowed to Sarah as she came out, though not quite as low as she had to Darius. Then she froze as she saw Roxanna bringing up the rear.

“Here now! I don’t know what you’re all doing in there. This is a respectable establishment.”

Roxanna shrugged a shoulder. Sarah had to put a hand over her mouth to strangle her laughter when Roxanna said, “Don’t worry. No one is perfect.”

Niq and Nassir stood to attention as Sarah and the rest of Darius’s entourage walked into the room. Darius had left Lysander outside as guard; everyone else crowded into the tight chamber, trying to find a spot big enough that did not squish them against someone else.

Nassir was holding a block of wood he had been carving in one hand, and a thin blade in the other. His hands were dusted with fine wood shavings from the deepening hole in the middle of the block. On the table in one corner sat four identical wooden chalices. Sarah was impressed. Another week, and he would have a complete set.

Niq was covered in perspiration, his hair lank. Sarah guessed that he had been engaged in intense physical exercise. Keeping up with his odd combat training, no doubt. After a short greeting, Darius motioned for everyone to sit, and settled himself on a skinny cushion after finding a sturdy stool for Sarah.

Roxanna leaned against the closed door. “These are the Babylonian brothers, I presume?”

Sarah bit down a smile at the way Niq marched forward, pushing out his chest, sucking in a deep breath to flatten an already muscled belly. “I’m Niq, my lady. And this is my brother Nassir.”

“Never mind that!” Darius said. “Tell me your news. Meres says you have something of import to tell me.”

Niq scratched his head and sent a doubtful look first in Sarah’s direction, and then in Roxanna’s.

“You can speak in front of my wife.”

“Yes, sir. It’s just that the story is a bit colorful.”

“How colorful?”

“It involves a baby. Out of wedlock, so to speak.”

“My wife is an old expert at babies. And Roxanna knows more swear words than you do. Go on. You won’t corrupt them with your tale.” Sarah pretended a deep interest in the fringe of her scarf.

“Yes, my lord. We discovered an interesting piece of information from an old woman who works here. She’s been kind to us. She has no sons of her own, and likes to spoil us now and then.”

Meres rolled his eyes. “She likes to spoil him. That boy can charm the grey out of a storm cloud.”

Niq shrugged. “I was born with natural talent.”

“Am I to understand you found out something worthwhile?” Darius crossed his arms.

“Yes, my lord. This old woman told me an interesting story. It’s from years past, but I think it may prove significant to your search. You see, at one time she worked in the household of a Syrian official named Zikir. He lives in Damascus now.”

That name again, Sarah thought. She noticed that Darius sat up straighter. “Go on,” he said.

“Our story concerns something that happened twenty-five years ago. And it involves no less a dignitary than our king’s own father. Xerxes ruled in Persia at the time. He was on a tour through the empire when he chose to stop in Damascus for a royal visit. He stayed at the palace, of course.

“According to the woman who works here, one night, he was sleepless and he went for a stroll in the palace gardens. To his delight, he found a young maiden bathing in a pool in the starlight.”

How convenient for the old king, Sarah thought. She shifted on the stool to make herself more comfortable.

Niq scratched through his thick beard. “That maiden was Zenobia, the daughter of Zikir. He had brought his family to the palace for the royal visit so that they might enjoy the glamor of the royal entourage. Zenobia was his only child and he doted on her. The old woman says that she was a little wild. Spoiled, probably. Not many virgins go frolicking in the palace pool after dusk. But on that fateful night, Zenobia would not be dissuaded. She dragged her servant with her into the garden for that forbidden midnight swim. And when the king happened upon her, he was smitten. Apparently Zikir’s daughter was famed for her beauty. Anyhow, according to the old woman, she received the king’s advances with open arms.”

“If she’d been my daughter, I would have—” Nassir made a garroting gesture against his throat. “No daughter of mine would be allowed to throw herself into the arms of a strange man, be he royalty or not.”

Sarah arched an eyebrow and gave silent thanks to the Lord that she had not been born into Nassir’s family.

Meres flicked a well-fed fly that had sat on his sleeve. “Fortunately for the girl, her father did not have your stringent standards, Nassir. The point is that Zenobia became pregnant.”

“With Xerxes’ child?” Darius asked.

“According to the old woman, yes.”

“Why did the king not take her as concubine?”

Niq flipped a hand in the air. “Do I understand the way of kings? By the time they found she was pregnant, he was long gone. Before leaving, he gave this Zikir a hefty gift of land and cattle, and entrusted him with high office. Apparently, Zikir was from a noble Syrian family, but they were impoverished. There would have been no advantage in the king taking the woman into his household. He probably thought he had more than paid his debt for a girl who came to him willingly enough, and without asking for a lifelong bond.”

“What was the name of Zikir’s grandson, do you know?”

Roxanna twirled the tip of her scarf in the air. “Xerxes. Like the king’s father.”

“That seems to support the old woman’s story.” Darius leaned forward. “Why else would a Syrian name his grandson after a Persian king?”

“Of course Zenobia did marry,” Roxanna said, twirling her scarf in the opposite direction. “This son we are bestowing upon King Xerxes in fact has a legal father.”

“Who?”

“The daughter married some minor Syrian official. A forgettable man who was far beneath her, by all accounts. The one thing he seemed to have done right was to drop dead after they had been married a couple of years. What is interesting, however, is that their son, Xerxes, was born six months into the marriage. And he was a strapping, fat, healthy child. Nothing like a babe brought forth so prematurely.”

Sarah abandoned her uncomfortable stool. “So, Zenobia’s midnight indiscretion got her pregnant by Xerxes. Her father, desperate to alleviate scandal, found her a husband who was too grateful for the association with a now-wealthy family to be offended by her lack of purity.”

Roxanna nodded. “That would be my guess. A bride who is carrying another man’s child is not such a bad deal if she comes with a fat dowry and excellent connections.”

“This explains how the child came to be born three months early,” Darius said. “Now we need to connect that old story to the new plot. Was the assassin who cut his own throat in Susa none other than Zikir’s grandson? That man claimed to be called Achaemenes. A Persian name to be sure. But not Xerxes.”

Darius used the tip of his dagger to smooth out a sliver of wood sticking out of the floor. “This is what we have so far: Zikir’s grandson has the blood of kings. So at the outset, Zikir loves the Persian line; he’s famed for his service to the empire. At the same time, those kings have withheld every royal right from his grandson. He has never been officially acknowledged as the son of Xerxes. Zikir has lived with that shame. Borne it. Then, Artaxerxes unknowingly delivered an unforgivable insult by not giving Zikir the position of satrap in Trans-Euphrates. A position that was almost royal. A position that he had long deserved both by virtue of his service and abilities.

“Instead, Artaxerxes honored a bumbling man who was drunk more often than sober. Why? Because Pyrus was the acknowledged scion of an aristocratic Persian family. This must have proven too much for Zikir. Finally, his hatred must have overtaken his love of the royal line.”

Nassir dug his blade deep into the block of wood he held in his hand. “Revenge is a common motive for murder.”

“This is still conjecture. We don’t have proof,” Darius said. “There are a few key pieces of evidence we are missing. Roxanna, since you have conveniently turned yourself into a woman again, pay a visit to Zenobia and get what you can out of her. I’ve heard she’s a recluse who does not visit the palace. Find her. Use your charm. Lie. Pretend you are the undertaker. I don’t care what you do. Just get her to talk to you. We need to unearth the truth about how Xerxes died. No one at court seems to know the details, except that he was not in Syria at the time of his death. We must establish whether he is the man who killed himself in that tavern in Susa or not. If he is the assassin, then it stands to reason that his grandfather would have been the mastermind.”

Sarah was beginning to feel heavy and uncomfortable. She decided to try sitting on her stool again. “Don’t you have one more advantage that the murderer doesn’t know about?”

“Niq and Nassir. Yes. They can identify him and his servant. I’ve kept them out of the way so far, not having a good suspect at hand that would be worth exposing them for. But we now have enough information to risk coming out into the open. I’m going to take you men out of hiding and bring you into the palace today. What I need from you is to identify Zikir. Once I have your testimony, the case is closed.

“I’ll try to sneak you into Damascus without being noticed. At the palace, I’ll set up some kind of trap for Zikir so that you can see him without being seen. Roxanna, bring your report to me as soon as you have seen Zenobia. Sarah, you and Pari will remain here with Lysander until this business is wrapped up.”

Sarah, who was beginning to feel herself wilt with pregnancy fatigue, said, “Yes, my lord.”

Darius turned to her. She thought his lips softened for a moment. “So biddable, my lady.”

“I try, my lord.”

He wrapped his fingers around her arm. “You mean you are too exhausted to argue. Come. I’ll take you to your chamber. I want to see you eat and rest before I leave.”