Harvest - 02 - Harvest of Gold

by Tessa Afshar

  Nehemiah silenced the group and led them in prayer, asking God to take care of them, and to give them safe passage. And then with a ponderous gait as dignified as a royal barge embarking on a long quest, their convoy began its journey.

  Sarah put her head on her knees and moaned. This did not bode well. Again, she determined that she would tell him as soon as he came to her that day. She would begin by asking his pardon and would even volunteer to go back, if he wished it.

  The heat and the monotonous bump of the cart hour after hour added an extra layer of exhaustion to her ever-present, pregnancy-induced weariness. Since the spring sunlight had lingered late into the afternoon, the caravan had pushed past the first royal staging house. No doubt they would have to spend the night camped on the roadside, for they would be unable to make it to the next staging house before nightfall. Sarah stretched on the mattress, exhausted. Sleep overcame her with a heavy hand by early evening.

  Through a veil she heard Darius’s voice inquiring after her. She must rise, she told herself. There was something crucial he had to know. But the pull of sleep had too strong a hold on her body. As if in a dream, she felt a soft touch on her cheek and the indistinct murmur of Darius’s voice in her ear. Then she fell asleep again and lost her chance to make things right.

  She rose early the next day, feeling refreshed. The carts had stopped after she had fallen asleep, and the cessation of movement had helped her body to recover from the day’s travel. Dressing with Pari’s help, she covered her hair with a cinnamon-colored scarf and disembarked to look for her husband. She could not bear to delay her confession for another moment. Better to face the fire of his anger than to hide her news from him.

  As she searched the column, she noticed a royal messenger riding toward them at such a swift speed that the dust of the road almost hid him from sight. He galloped past where Sarah stood toward the head of their cavalcade. Sarah shielded her eyes with a hand. The courier signaled to Darius and both men dismounted. Sarah wound her way toward them. By the time she reached her husband’s side, he had read the missive. She noticed with astonishment that his eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

  Gasping, Sarah clutched Darius’s arm. “What’s wrong?” He bent his head toward her, but his expression remained dazed, as if he had not comprehended her words.

  “What has happened?” she prompted again.

  “It’s …” His voice caught. The silence stretched while Sarah writhed with worry. Darius cleared his throat. “It’s my father. His servants have brought him home with a terrible fever. The king bids me come to Susa immediately. There is no time to waste.”

  “Oh, Darius. I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his hand. It felt cold and clammy in her hold. “What will you do?”

  “Leave at once. Lysander can lead the military escort in my absence. The train is moving so slowly that I should be able to catch up with you even if I am gone for a week or more.”

  “Shall I come with you?” she asked, forgetting that she was not supposed to ride.

  “You won’t be able to keep up with me, Sarah. I need to get there as soon as possible. There may not be much time.”

  She nodded. Without considering their curious audience, she wrapped her arms around him. “May the Lord go with you, my love.”

  Darius pulled her into a hard embrace and buried his face in the fork of her neck. “Look after yourself.” He vaulted onto his horse and, after a short conversation with Lysander, thundered back on the road toward Susa. With the loose sleeves of his light tunic floating behind him, he looked like he was flying.

  Back in her cart, Sarah shared the news with Pari and spent an hour praying for Lord Vivan. Perhaps the Lord would spare his life for Darius’s sake. Having lost his mother when he was only seventeen, he had a particularly deep attachment to his father.

  She had not told Darius about their babe after all. The news of his father’s grave illness had driven it from her mind. She regretted her omission. He had gone to his sick father without the one piece of news that would have bolstered Lord Vivan’s heart.

  Ten days after their departure, Nehemiah came to visit Sarah when the caravan had stopped for the night.

  “Any news from Darius?” he asked as he stood at the foot of her cart.

  Sarah shifted to the edge of the mattress until her legs were dangling over the edge of the cart. “None, my lord.”

  Nehemiah looked away. In the firelight his face appeared drawn. “You and Lord Vivan were good friends, weren’t you?” Sarah said, her voice softening.

  “We still are, although due to his frequent travels, we no longer have the luxury of much time spent together.”

  “He has forgiven you for the debacle I made of my wedding, then? For recommending me as a suitable bride for his son?”

  Nehemiah gave a tight smile of remembrance. “Once he understood the circumstances, he overcame his reservations. He can see that Darius is happy, which is what he cares about. For a short time our friendship grew strained, when he thought that I had led him wrong.”

  “I ask your pardon, cousin Nehemiah.”

  “And I give it. Long forgotten, now.” He took a deep breath. “I pray the Lord will restore Lord Vivan. He is a good man.”

  Sarah rested her elbows on her knees. “Did you know Darius’s mother too?”

  “I knew her since we were children. No one was surprised when Lord Vivan fell in love with her. She was extraordinary. But we were all amazed that she accepted him. She loved the Lord, you see. To marry him, she sacrificed a great deal.”

  “She never gave up her faith?”

  “No. She worshiped the Lord as best she could in a Persian household. Of course, she could not raise her only son as a Jew. She shed many tears over that loss. No child ever received such depth of prayer.”

  “Does Darius know anything about the Lord?”

  “More than you might imagine. Toward the end of her life, when Darius was sixteen or seventeen, they spoke about her faith often. She knew she was dying, and she wanted him to understand her better. She did not break her word to Lord Vivan by suggesting that Darius should pursue the Lord, however. Nor did she burden Darius with guilt for choosing to live as his father expected of him. She only told him of her faith and what it meant to her.”

  “I’ve not heard him speak of the Lord. He avoids all reference to my faith if he can help it.”

  “It cannot be easy for him. A Persian prince, bound by love and tradition to his way of life, and yet having a whole other world laying claim on his heart. If he feels any pull toward the Lord, he must feel compelled to fight it with his whole strength.”

  Sarah rubbed the corner of her nose. “I understand Lady Rachel’s struggles better than anyone. My life seems to have become a repetition of hers. It isn’t easy to have to swallow my thoughts and feelings around my own husband. Like a wall, his hostile unbelief divides us. And then there is the way he keeps his emotions hidden behind a dam I cannot touch. Such a pair we are! I stuff anything to do with my faith away from his hearing and he hides his heart away from me. It makes for a lonely life, sometimes.”

  “You do sound like Rachel.”

  Lysander had taken to riding behind Sarah’s cart for several hours each day. He had also assigned two of Darius’s personal guard—Arta and Meres—to stand watch over Sarah while he was absent. Both men were familiar to her, and comfortable to be around. Lysander was altogether different.

  Sarah had caught him carving a hand-sized wooden figure on the first day that he had ridden near her. Like Darius, he was so at home on his horse that he guided the animal by the pressure of his legs, leaving both his hands free.

  Curious, Sarah had asked to see the figure. He had used light-colored wood, which had been bleached to an ivory color. She gasped as she held the figure in her hand. It was a miniature bust—an unmistakable likeness of Darius. He had managed to capture the symmetry, the sheer force of beauty in his face. What made the small bust remarkable, however, was the subtlety
of expression. Strength, kindness, and a slight air of cynical humor made the features come alive. Fascinated, Sarah studied the bust. It made her miss her husband with renewed intensity.

  She handed the sculpture to Pari, who had been studying it over her shoulder. “That is fine work,” she said. “One of the best I have seen. You could be a professional sculptor.”

  “Hmm. It’s for you. To help with Darius’s absence.”

  Within days, Sarah realized that the abrupt communication, as well as the thoughtful consideration, were typical of the Spartan. Though he seldom shared his thoughts, when he did choose to give a glimpse of his mind or heart, one felt like the recipient of a grand privilege. He rarely smiled, but when he did, his countenance became suffused with an intelligent light that made his handsome face more welcoming. Sarah and Pari did what they could to make him laugh, but they never succeeded. His infrequent smiles, they decided, were more than compensation for the lack.

  Sarah wondered why a man so talented with his hands would risk his life at soldiering. She would have to ask Darius for Lysander’s story; she sensed hidden depths in him that hinted at an interesting past.

  On the next day of their journey, one of Nehemiah’s servants fell asleep on his donkey and toppled onto the road, hitting his head on a stone, causing a nasty gash. Sarah could see the commotion from her cart. Someone fetched Lysander, and to her surprise, he ministered to the servant with sure, knowledgeable hands. He even had a chest of medicinal herbs and prepared bandages, which he used to treat the servant.

  Sarah knew that Persian military officers were given the rudiments of medical training in case of injury on the battlefield. Perhaps Lysander had been given similar training in Sparta. Yet Darius did not carry around a well-stocked chest of medicine as Lysander did, which looked more like something a physician would use. The Spartan’s interest in medicine clearly went further than that of the average officer.

  In the evening, Nehemiah came to her for a short visit. Sarah remained sitting in her cart, while Nehemiah stood outside for the sake of propriety.

  “How is your servant, my lord? He took quite a tumble today.”

  “He will recover. Lysander is more experienced than most physicians.”

  “How is that? I thought he had trained as a soldier.”

  Nehemiah waved a hand. Sarah was amused to note his nails were as clean and well-manicured as ever, his clothing free from the dust of the road. Her cousin managed to keep himself groomed and dignified even after hours of travel on dry roads.

  “The man is a mystery. He has many skills, among them how to keep his mouth shut. Darius knows more about him than anyone else does. Which reminds me, any news?”

  “Not as yet.”

  “I wished I could go myself. I have a great respect, not to mention affection, for your father-in-law. But my place is here.”

  “Of course. It’s better that Darius have this time alone with his father, in any case.”

  Nehemiah nodded, his red hair glinting in the firelight. “Send for me if you need anything. I shall not require your help until we arrive at the king’s forest in Lebanon. After that, there will be many opportunities for you to lend a hand.”

  For a moment Sarah considered telling Nehemiah her news and asking for his prayers and guidance regarding Darius. Then she realized that she could not share her secret with her cousin before letting her own husband know. How hurt Darius would be upon finding out.

  When they had been on the road for twelve days, Darius returned with the setting sun. He came to see Sarah before reporting to Nehemiah or his men. She had had no chance to ask him a single question when he took her into his arms and held her, his hands encircling her waist.

  She noted the dark circles under his eyes and the pallor of his skin when she stepped away from him. But he was not wearing mourning attire, and his expression, though weary, was devoid of grief.

  “He is well?” Her voice sounded like the squeak of an excited child.

  Darius broke into a smile. “He is past danger and expected to make a full recovery. When I arrived, he had been in a deep sleep for three days and nights. The physicians who tended him said he would die within hours.” Darius rubbed his forehead as if the memory pained him. “He refused to die. He has never been fond of physicians, and I’m certain he did not wish to oblige them.”

  Sarah chuckled. “He was asleep when you arrived, then?”

  “Yes. At first I sat by his side in silence.” He said nothing for a few moments. Sarah wondered how hard it must have been for him, listening to the labored breathing of his father, thinking whether each breath might be his last. Wondering if he would never hear the sound of his father’s voice again.

  Darius closed his eyes for a moment as if the memory pained him. “In desperation, I began to speak to him, though I believed he could not hear me. There were so many things I wished to tell him.”

  Sarah longed to ask him what he had said to his father. She knew better than to ask, and held him instead, physical touch her only means of increasing their intimacy. He would reveal what he wished, and she had to be content with that.

  “After a few hours of tiring both of us with my chatter, I told him that I did not want him to die.”

  Sarah leaned into Darius and tightened her hold on him for a moment. He rested there as though her arms were the sanctuary he had sought and missed for long days.

  “What happened then?” she prompted.

  “Then I fell off the bed.”

  “You did not!”

  “I assure you I did. For with a loud and firm voice my father replied, ‘I have no plans for dying, my son.’”

  A bubble of laughter escaped Sarah’s lips. “That’s extraordinary! I would have fallen off the bed, also.”

  Darius grinned. “He woke up with a vengeance after that, demanding food and fresh clothes and a report from his post. It was no easy task convincing him to rest.”

  Sarah sighed with relief. “I was so worried.”

  “The physicians said his recovery was no less than a miracle. I stayed with him until I felt assured that the danger had passed.”

  “Have you had any sleep?

  “Not much. I rode through most of the night to catch up with you.”

  “You must have ridden faster than a hurricane since you left Susa.”

  He stretched. “I am weary. But I must receive reports from my men and your cousin first.”

  “I have something to tell you, Darius.”

  “Tell me tomorrow. I don’t think I could take anything in tonight. My mind is numb with exhaustion. I am for bed as soon as I have finished my rounds.”

  Sarah nodded and gave him another embrace. She would rather have him fresh and in good humor when she told him her news.

  The persistent throbbing in her back awakened Sarah from a sound sleep. Once again, the convoy had managed to ride past the staging house and stopped for the night by the side of the road, which meant that she had slept in her cart rather than in a comfortable inn with a tolerable bed. The sun would not rise for some time yet, and the camp rested in silence. She turned to the right and then to the left, trying to find relief. The ache followed no matter how she positioned her body. Pari had told her that lower back pain was a common complaint during later pregnancy; she must have started earlier than usual. She felt the bite of nausea, sharper than usual, and reached for the stale bread Pari left by her bedside every night. While she no longer grew sick with the same violence of her early pregnancy, she had never entirely outgrown the discomfort of a bilious stomach.

  The ache lingered, and after over an hour of tossing and turning, Sarah decided to stretch her legs and walk a little, hoping to find relief. By the time she left the cart, a greyish dawn had begun to cast soft shadows over the landscape. She leaned against the cart’s wooden side, letting her body adjust to being upright before beginning a slow walk.

  Without warning, a severe cramp slashed through her belly with such force that Sarah dou
bled over. Her breathing became ragged from the force of it. Fear mingled with pain. This did not feel normal. She placed a protective hand over her belly, trying to calm the alarm that raced through her mind.

  After a few moments, the cramp loosened its grip and Sarah was able to straighten. She walked back to her cart and whispered Pari’s name. A light sleeper, her friend was by her side in a moment.

  “What’s wrong, my lady?”

  Sarah gripped Pari’s hand. “It’s past now, so hopefully it is nothing. But I had a heavy cramp seize me a few moments ago. And my back has been aching for several hours.”

  Pari jumped down to stand by her side. “Let’s take you back inside where you can lie down.”

  “No. The walls close in on me. Let me stay here.”

  Pari continued to hold her hand. The sun was rising in the east, its pace lazy. In the pale light Sarah could see Pari’s face pinched with worry. She gave her a reassuring smile. The smile widened as she saw Darius striding toward them. Pari, also noting his approach, said she would go to fetch water, though Sarah knew she wished to give them privacy.

  “I thought I would have to wake you,” he said. “You’re up early.”

  “You are visiting early.”

  He tangled his hands into her hair and drew her close. “I missed you.”

  “And I …” The words she intended to speak were forgotten as another knife-sharp cramp invaded her belly. She closed her mouth on the groan that rose up from her depths. Her breath came out in short puffs of air. Grasping Darius’s arm for support she bent over, doubling in on herself.

  O Lord, have mercy on me. Have mercy on my baby.

  “Sarah? Sarah, where do you hurt?” Peripherally, she noted that Darius’s voice exuded calm.

  She could not think of anything to say. She had yet to inform him of her pregnancy; was she now to tell him that she feared she was losing the babe he did not know she had conceived? She shook her head and clutched at him harder as the pain made her forget everything else.