Harvest of Gold (35 page)

“You are hurting your own countrymen by charging them interest when, in their desperation, they come to you for loans,” Nehemiah said, his voice calm. “You’re increasing your wealth by means of their misfortune. This isn’t merely a matter of money. It’s a matter of the soul. Do you not see that you are tarnishing your hearts? You can’t separate the way you handle your finances from your standing before the Lord.”

One of the officials came forward. “We have broken no laws, Lord Nehemiah.”

“Not legally, that is true. But what about spiritual laws? Does not God demand that you love your neighbor as yourself? How is this callous exploitation of your brothers and sisters a demonstration of love? They are near to ruin! Do you not care? This is a sign of your lukewarm faith. Will you stay lukewarm forever? Will you love your comfort more than you love the poor?”

The official said nothing. Nehemiah turned his gaze upon the company, giving others the opportunity to come forward with comments. None did. He gave a heavy sigh. “You are turning your own brothers and sisters into slaves! I could not believe my ears when they told me of it.”

His mouth had turned as dry as the wilderness. He stopped for a moment to take a small sip of water. “Have they not suffered enough? Over the years, have not many of our Jewish relatives been sold to foreigners as slaves? Since my arrival, I have set aside a public budget for the recovery of such slaves. Now I find that some of you are selling Jewish people to our neighboring lands, while I am doing my best to free them. Others, you enslave for yourself, forcing them into unpaid labor. Have you no fear of God?”

No one said a word in his own defense. What could they say? Nehemiah had stripped every justification from them. What had seemed acceptable in the privacy of their minds now seemed unpardonable.

Nehemiah pressed his point home. “What you are doing is wrong. Will not the enemies of Judea mock you as you destroy your own people? Why should our enemies bother to rise up against us, when we do their job for them?”

Not one man could look him in the eye. Nehemiah bent his head. “My brothers and I have also been lending the people money and grain. But now let us stop exacting usury. You must restore these people’s fields. Give back their vineyards and homes. Do not wait another day; do it immediately. And return the interest you have charged when you have loaned them money and food.”

Heavy silence met his speech. Tension writhed in Nehemiah as the men refused to respond. To his inexpressible relief an influential leader stepped forward. “You have shamed me with your words, my lord. As for me and my house, we will restore everything we have taken.” He looked around him and raised his voice. “I feel certain my colleagues will join me.”

Several nodded. One said, “And we will not demand anything more from the people when we help them. We will do as you bid.” At first, the agreements came halfheartedly. Mumbled words of resignation. As time passed and they discussed the outcome of such a decision—the increased prosperity of their homeland and the benefits of living in a more affluent nation—their agreements became earnest.

They took a short break to eat. Because to Nehemiah this was as much a spiritual matter as a practical one, he summoned the priests. He had two reasons for this. First, he wanted the officials to take an oath and to recognize that pledge as an act before God. Second, he had been annoyed with the priests for not stepping in sooner and correcting the officials’ mistake. In this manner, both parties would learn to be accountable to one another.

After the officials made their oath before the priests, Nehemiah shook out the folds of his robe and said, “If you fail to keep your promise, may God shake you like this out of your homes and your property!”

The whole assembly agreed with him and cried out, “Amen!” There was no grumbling that day, though the men present stood to lose a great deal of property. Instead, they praised God as one man, and great joy filled them so that the sound of laughter filled the chamber. Nehemiah, feeling lighter than he had for a long time, observed with a wry smile that it was not often men lost so much wealth and rejoiced over it.

Benjamin chattered while Darius listened with half an ear. He kept his eye trained on the perimeter, fulfilling his guard duty while his mind insisted on reliving memories from the night before. Instead of diminishing his longing for Sarah, the hours he had held her in his arms had made him burn hotter. The thought half annoyed him and half invigorated him. He felt like he was on the edge of a monumental discovery. Which was a ridiculous thought. He was acting like a callow youth around his own wife.

He shifted his position behind the wall to have a better view of the territory beyond. A fan-tailed raven flew overhead. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a flash of color in the distance. His focus shifted, became sharp, and converged on a point behind a series of hills just beyond the wall. He sensed danger, though he could see nothing unusual. The hair stood on the back of his neck. Holding up his hand, he motioned Benjamin to be quiet as he walked a few steps farther. With unexpected speed, he saw a lone figure rise. Too late, Darius realized that he held a sling. It took less than a moment for the man to flick his wrist and release the stone. Darius saw the trajectory of the fast hurling object. It was coming straight at Benjamin.

He threw himself against the child, covering him with his own body. There was no time to pull them both out of harm’s way. The whirling stone, smooth and rounded, found Darius’s temple and collided with sharp pain. He was already squatting on one knee when the stone hit him; dizzy at the impact, he fell back. A trickle of blood ran into his cheek and eye, blurring his vision.

Hanun and Tirzah were running toward them. The frightened parents enveloped their son into their arms, ensuring that he remained unharmed. Darius breathed through his mouth, trying to control the onslaught of nausea. He forced himself to his feet, not liking how unsteady he felt. It was just a little stone, he thought with annoyance, wiping the blood from his face.

“My lord! You’re hurt. Come and sit down.” He had not noticed Hanun’s approach. Glad of the man’s support, he allowed himself to be led to a large piece of masonry and sat down.

“Fetch another guard,” he said through stiff lips. “Tell him to investigate beyond those hills. I am certain this was the work of a lone man trying to foster panic. He was aiming at Benjamin. He knew if he hurt a child, the workers would be especially disheartened. I doubt we’ll be able to catch up with him now. But we should try.”

“Tirzah has already gone to fetch a guard. And find help for you.”

“I don’t need help,” Darius said, exasperated by his own weakness. “He used a sling. A boy’s toy.”

Hanun’s voice held the trace of a smile. “I would not underestimate the power of a sling, my lord. David brought Goliath down with one.”

Darius knew the story. “How reassuring.”

Tirzah knelt at his feet. “You saved my boy. I saw you. If not for your quick actions, Benjamin would …” She could not finish the sentence. “Your courage saved him. I don’t know how to thank you.” He heard the hint of tears in her voice.

He wiped his hands on his knees. “There’s no need for that. Anyone would have done the same.”

To his relief, he saw Meres running toward him. As soon as he reached Darius, he bent over and ran an experienced eye over the wound. “That’s a nice one, my lord. You’ll have a grand headache, no doubt about it. Being a hero doesn’t come cheap.”

Darius growled. No doubt Tirzah had cast him in the role of champion to anyone who would listen. Meres didn’t bother to hide his annoying grin. “It’s not funny,” Darius said, clenching his teeth.

Meres’s grin grew wider. “Not funny at all, my lord. Now let’s take you to your chamber. I’ll fetch Lysander to have a look at you.”

Another wave of nausea convinced Darius that a few hours of rest in his chamber might not be a bad idea. “Get someone to replace me, in case that vermin decides to come back.”

“Already done. Now put your arm around my shoulders.”

“Don’t make a fuss. I can walk.”

“I have no doubt you can, my lord. If you prefer, I’ll put my arm around
your
shoulders.”

Darius did not feel well enough to rise to the bait. He tried to keep up with Meres’s measured steps and stumbled.

Without comment, Meres placed a strong arm around his waist. “We’ll have you home in no time at all.”

Darius hoped he was right. He felt weaker with every step.

Stubborn will kept Darius conscious during the long walk back to Nehemiah’s residence. The combination of blood loss, heat, and the blow to his head packed a powerful punch. With relief, he spread out on his lumpy bed and closed his eyes. “Just let me sleep,” he mumbled. “I don’t need Lysander.” Meres didn’t acknowledge that he had heard him as he slipped out of the room.

Moments later he felt the bed dip next to him. “Leave me alone,” he said, frustrated, thinking Lysander had come to apply his healing arts to his injury.

“Charming.”

“Sarah.” Darius forced himself to sit up. “Pardon. I thought you were Lysander.” She looked pale and strained. She should not be in his chamber. He had not sent for her. Nor was he thrilled at the idea of her seeing him in this weakened state.

“I am all right, as you see.” She did not take the hint. If anything, her hip shifted so that she was sitting closer.

“Why don’t you go back to your quarters and rest? I’m going to sleep. I’ll call for you when I awaken.”

Even gripped by dizziness, he could see that he had hurt her. She bit her lip and bent her head before rising. “As you wish, my lord,” she said. She hadn’t called him
my lord
last night. It had been
Darius
then. He frowned. A sudden wave of nausea made his stomach cramp. He whipped around looking for something to shove his head into, and regretted the abrupt motion.

Sarah must have sensed his need. Somewhere she found a bucket and held it before him. The contents of his stomach came up in violent waves. He kept on heaving even when there was nothing left to bring up. He noticed, through paroxysms of misery, that Sarah didn’t flinch at the mess he was making. She remained efficient, her touch full of compassion. Exhausted, he leaned back against a pillow. His head pounded.

Sarah gave him water so that he could rinse his foul-tasting mouth, and ran a damp linen towel over his face, wiping the blood and the sweat. Even though he wished she wasn’t there, he was glad for her ministrations. She brought him a cup of watered wine. He took one swallow and the cramps came rushing back.

“Why don’t you close your eyes?” she said, her voice taut.

He did as she suggested. His ears were ringing, an annoying sound in his head that would not stop. Through the noise of it he heard the door creak. He slit his eyes open and saw Lysander. The Spartan took in the soiled bucket, the bloody towel, and the wound on Darius’s temple with a comprehensive glance.

“I don’t need you,” Darius barked.

“Let’s make certain. Between you and your wife, you sure know how to keep a physician busy.”