Harvest of Gold (29 page)

“I am tired. This position, the power that comes with it—none of it means anything now that Xerxes is dead.”

Darius laid a hand on Zikir’s shoulder. “It’s never meaningless to serve your people and give them a better life. You are honest and wise. You can still make a difference for your nation. I know you are tired. Grief has devoured your heart. Still, I’m asking you to stay the course. Pay the price for the sake of the people you can help.”

Zikir turned his face toward the wall. Darius could see rivulets of tears as they ran down his cheek. Slowly, the old man nodded.

Darius decided to spend the night in the modest inn where he had concealed Sarah. The thought of staying at the palace in Damascus turned his stomach. Too much bitterness lingered in the shadows of that place.

He had sent Pyrus and his servant, along with a detachment of Persian soldiers stationed in Damascus, ahead to Susa. The king would deal with the details of the case. He had written a long letter, explaining everything that he had found out and asking for the king’s clemency toward Zikir. Part of him wished to go ahead to Susa as well. He longed for the peace of home. But Sarah could not make such a long journey in her condition, and he had decided not to leave her alone again. She would have to remain Beyond the River until she delivered their child. So that was where he intended to stay.

Nassir and Niq had gone ahead to Susa with Pyrus’s detachment to bring the strength of their personal testimonies to the case, and to plead with the king for the freedom of their brothers. Darius had included another plea on their behalf in his letter, asking for more clemency. Besides, he had plans for Niq.

His mouth twisted into a humorless smile as he remembered Niq teaching Roxanna a high kick—at her insistence, of course. She had landed him on the floor the first three times because he had refused to hurt a woman. By the fourth round, he had caught on that she wasn’t just any woman, and Roxanna had gone flying up in the air and slammed so hard on the ground that her eyes had crossed. Darius tried not to enjoy that memory too much. That woman! She would be the bane of some poor man’s existence one of these days. In the meantime, the service of the king was probably the best place for her.

She had insisted on inviting herself along to the inn. Darius had the uneasy feeling that he had not seen the last of her.

“Don’t you have to go to Egypt? To deliver that grotesque robe the king sent for the satrap?” he asked her as they rode.

She had changed back into her women’s garb halfway to their destination, saying she could not very well enter a public place such as a palace or an inn as a man and leave as a woman. It would lead to unpleasant talk. So she had found a tree to change behind. Now, hair demurely covered by a linen scarf, she looked the picture of sweet femininity.

“There’s no hurry. Besides, you’re going in my direction.”

“That’s a fearsome thought. All the way to Jerusalem, I suppose. It would be like Artaxerxes to get an added report out of one of his spies.”

At the inn, they found Sarah, Lysander, and Pari gathered around a flimsy table, throwing dice. They were using pistachio shells to count the points. Pari had one left. Lysander had managed to hold on to six or seven. A mountain of them sat in front of his wife.

The unwanted warmth that at times filled him at the sight of her rushed over him. “Watch out. She cheats,” he said, and walked in, trying to appear nonchalant.

“I do not!” Sarah bounced to her feet. He thought she would be unsteady, given the change in her body, and put his arm around her to keep her from wobbling. Once his hands found their way to her warm curves, though, they seemed unwilling to let go. Instead of stepping away as he intended, he pulled her into his embrace and held her there. She smelled of roses. He wondered how she had managed that in a dilapidated place like this, and drew her closer. He felt a torrent of emotions he could hardly recognize pass through him. It took him a few moments to discipline himself to step away.

He was breathing rapidly, the sound of his harsh inhalations strange in his own ears. He struggled with a confusion he found unfathomable. Uncertainty was not a familiar experience to him, and he found he did not like it. He had to admit that he had failed at growing indifferent toward her. Even her betrayal—her lies and manipulations—had failed to destroy his deepening attachment to her. She drew him in a way no one had managed to do since he was a child. He crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the wall, trying to give the impression of a man whose world wasn’t turning on its head.

“Did you solve the mystery of the king’s assassination attempt?” Lysander picked up his pistachio shells and stuffed them in his pocket. “Have you discovered the identity of the culprit?”

“And who might you be?” For once, Darius was glad for Roxanna’s forward manner. He was in no mood for long explanations.

Lysander came to his feet, his movements deliberate. “I was about to ask you the same question.”

There was a moment of silence as the two studied each other, neither willing to give in first. Sarah, the peacemaker, swept an arm toward Lysander. “Forgive me,” she said. “I should have thought to introduce you. Lysander, this is Roxanna. She has been helping Darius in Damascus. Roxanna, meet Lysander of Sparta, a friend of Darius. He has accepted the commission to work with my husband on this case.”

“
Sparta
?” Roxanna sounded shocked. Darius knew that since the battle of Thermopylae in the time of King Xerxes, the Persians had grown an unwilling respect for the courage of Spartans. They still considered them crude and uncultured, hardly worth mention, but the way those men fought to the death had left its mark on Persian memory.

“So you are a mercenary?” Roxanna said the words as if she was accusing Lysander of being a slimy earthworm. This was not going well, Darius thought.

“And what are you? By your accent you are Persian and highborn. What kind of aristocratic woman aids in the solving of royal crimes? I wouldn’t be surprised to find you belonged to Artaxerxes’ dirty-tricks department. Are you one of his famed spies?”

That’s a bit too close for comfort, Darius thought. Trust Lysander to take one look at the girl and work her out. “Now, now, children. Shield your blades and try to get along. We have to be in each other’s company for a while yet. Roxanna is coming as far as Jerusalem with us, before going on to Egypt.”

He ordered dinner and, over bland food, filled in the details of the case for Lysander and Sarah.

“Poor Zikir,” Sarah said.

“I agree. Though he would have saved us much trouble if he had shared his suspicions from the beginning.” Darius stretched. “I hope this inn has sufficient rooms to accommodate all of us. After five months of chasing Pyrus, I am going to sleep well tonight.”

Sarah was caught in the unrelenting grip of a nightmare. Since the miscarriage, they plagued her often, coming with the fierce darkness of a storm and lingering until she woke up, shaking. She never remembered the substance of them. The horror clung to her for long moments after waking, however.

She came to consciousness on a jarring gasp. The room was pitch black. She could feel arms around her. She fought them, filled with terror that some monster from her nightmare world had come to life.

“Stop fighting.” Still groggy, Sarah did not recognize the voice. She continued to struggle, gasping, trying to get free.

“It’s me, Sarah. Be calm now. Nothing is going to hurt you.”

“Darius!” Sarah went still. How had he ended up here, she wondered. His room was next door. Had she made a great disturbance? She found the thought embarrassing. “I ask pardon. Did I wake you?”

“I wasn’t asleep, and the walls are thin. I heard you cry out. You were having a nightmare.”

She sat up and leaned against a pillow. “Just a bad dream. I have them sometimes. Since I lost the babe.” She sensed rather than saw him search for the lamp. She didn’t think she could face looking him in the eye right now. “Don’t light that! Please.”

She felt his hand against her cheek, trailing down over her shoulder. “You’re shivering.”

“It’s nothing. It will pass.”

In the dark, he rooted around the bed and found the blankets she had shoved to the bottom in her restless struggles. He pulled them up and tucked them around her.

“And you were looking forward to a good night’s sleep. I’m a troublesome wife, I fear. More bother than I am worth.” The dark was loosening her tongue. It was as if she could speak more freely, knowing that he could not see her.

“If you mean the nightmare, it’s of no consequence. You cannot help what you dream.” His body shifted, and she felt his hand find the rise in her abdomen. “I’ve missed this. All these months, wasted.”

They said nothing for some time; just sat, linked by his hand and the indistinguishable heartbeat of their baby in her womb.

“Do you know, there is a lot you have to learn about being a wife,” she said.

He leaned back, removing his hand. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I was always arrogant about the ease with which I learn. It’s been a crushing blow to my pride that in the most important area of my life, I’m a dim-witted learner.”

“I might regret asking this.” She thought she heard the creeping edge of a smile in his voice. “What are we talking about?”

“About me, of course. What else is there to talk about?”

“You rarely speak about yourself.” His fingers played with the blanket. “Do you want to discuss why you did not tell me about your pregnancy? You’ve done that already. It’s of no use, Sarah. I cannot understand your reasoning.”

She swallowed. “I don’t mean to offer excuses, my lord. I sinned against you and against God. But I do want you to understand where the root of that sin lies. What it is that makes me fight so hard to have my way sometimes.”

“Say what you must.” His tone warned that it would not make a difference.

She cleared her throat. “After my mother died when I was seven, I learned that I had to take care of myself. I don’t mean physically. Between my father and aunt Leah, I never went cold or hungry. I never suffered abuse. But there are other things that a little girl needs in order to thrive. Love. Companionship. The knowledge that she is wanted and valued.” She bunched the blanket in her fist. Its rough surface scratched her skin, and she forced herself to loosen her hold.

“I didn’t have these things. If I wanted my father’s company, I learned I had to devise a way to make that happen. I had to take charge of my life in order to receive a little of the care I longed for. Those years taught me to trust no one but myself. I was the one to take care of me. No one else could do that.

“And that’s the kind of wife I’ve been to you. Unable to submit my life into your keeping. I took things into my own hands because I believed only I could provide for my well-being. You didn’t deserve that, Darius. You are an excellent husband; you deserve my trust.”

Darius shifted his weight away from her. “On that, at least, we can agree.”

Sarah forced herself to go on. “I should have known that the most important thing was to surrender myself into your keeping. Even if it didn’t feel like a safe option, I should have done it. I should have told you about the baby in spite of my fear that you would leave me behind, that I would have to go through this pregnancy and birth without you. Instead, I convinced myself that I knew what was best for me.

“You know the irony? All those things I was afraid might happen if I told you about my pregnancy happened anyway. I would have been much better off if I had done the right thing from the start.”

Darius moved on the bed so that they were sitting side by side instead of facing each other, their legs stretched out, not touching. “So what are you saying? That because of your childhood, my marriage is forever going to be a bed of unrest and upheaval? Am I to helplessly await the next poisoned serpent that’s going to raise its head and bite me when I least expect it?”

Sarah gave a choked moan. “I hope not. I don’t know how many more times I can bear looking into the cracks in my character. The first time I betrayed you, it was at the wedding. We hadn’t met yet. But I was so caught up in my own misery that I spared no thought for you and caused you awful distress because of it. What I learned then was the depth of my selfishness. I realized just how capable I was of considering my own needs above everyone else’s.