Harvest - 01 - Harvest of Rubies

by Tessa Afshar

  The smell of our sumptuous wedding feast surrounded us: roast ostrich and deer, smoked quail, lamb cooked with quince, duck marinated in pomegranate paste, herbed meatballs seasoned with garlic and onions, cinnamon and saffron and cumin, fresh breads still hot from the ovens. Servants ate a different diet from aristocratic guests and royal residents of Persepolis; I had never seen such a feast. I wrapped my arms about my middle and thought I might be sick.

  “You’d have to ask her yourself.”

  “What would be the use?” He signaled a servant to refill his cup. “You’ve had your way,” he said when the servant had left. “But mark my words. You will have no joy of it.”

  Beneath the well-modulated tones I heard an implacable threat. At that moment I would far rather have faced his hungry lion. “Please, Darius—”

  “Do not presume to be familiar with me, woman; you may call me my lord, for that is all I shall ever be to you.” He finished his wine with a quick tip of his head and grabbed the whole flagon from the hand of a passing servant.

  Darius spent the next hour with his wine and several merry friends, while I, neglected, sweltered in Damaspia’s blue silk dress. My lonely terror proved a poor companion on the eve of my wedding.

  I noticed the king reclining on his private couch near the queen, eating his food abstractedly. It was an open secret that he had no sense of taste. Every day of his life the richest man in the world was offered the most delectable food available to mankind and tasted nothing. Tonight, I could commiserate.

  He must have sensed the weight of my attention for he turned my way and lifted his bejeweled cup in a salute. Damaspia followed his movement and turned away quickly when she realized that it was I Artaxerxes had acknowledged.

  My cousin Nehemiah came over at that moment, bearing a gift for Darius. He waited until Darius turned his attention on him before placing a papyrus roll before him.

  “I knew your mother, my lord,” Nehemiah said.

  Darius’s bored countenance turned hostile. “And?”

  “She loved the psalms of King David. I thought you might appreciate having a collection of some of them for your library. Your wife also used to have a particular liking for them in her childhood.”

  “My wife’s likings are not of the least interest to me, cupbearer. And neither are you, being her cousin, and party to this insult of a marriage. My father trusted your word!”

  “Not everything is as it seems,” Nehemiah said in measured tones, though bright color suffused his cheeks. “You may find one day that what seemed like an insult is in fact a blessing.”

  “And you may find one day that you are too clever for your own good.” Darius picked up the priceless roll and crumpled it between his fists before throwing it back down.

  Nehemiah tightened his mouth and took a step closer. “Those words used to comfort your mother in her times of trial and loneliness. She used them to draw near to the Lord and find His strength and direction. Treat them with respect!”

  Darius lurched forward, his fist smashing down on the table before him. Suddenly the king stood before us, the queen on his arm.

  I heaved a sigh of relief and forced myself to my feet to bow. Darius and Nehemiah followed suit, their hostilities veiled for the sake of the royal audience. At Artaxerxes’ gesture, Nehemiah retreated.

  “The queen and I take our leave now. I have arranged a room for you here in Persepolis this evening; it is too late to navigate the dark roads to your palace, cousin.”

  “You are both ever thoughtful, your majesties,” Darius said, his words syrupy with sarcasm.

  Horrified, I held my breath. Damaspia flushed and threw me a look as sharp as a dagger, but the king merely gave a bland smile. “Don’t forget it.”

  “I am not likely to.”

  “Come. We will accompany you to your chamber. It will save having to bear the raucous company of others should you leave later. I don’t suppose you would wish for that kind of fanfare?”

  Darius pulled a hand through his hair. “No, I don’t wish for that kind of fanfare.”

  I grabbed Nehemiah’s crumbled roll, the scribe in me unable to bear such a waste, and followed the king and queen and my husband out of the Throne Hall. For a short moment I felt relief flood over me at the thought of leaving the scrutiny of so many condemning eyes, until I remembered that I was walking away from my wedding toward my wedding night.

  Alone in our well-lit chamber, Darius homed in on the flagon of wine and delicate glass goblets left out for us. I sat at the edge of a hand-embroidered couch, but then found that I could not remain still and began to pace instead. In the oppressive quiet of the room I came to the realization that I needed to speak to my husband. I needed him to understand that I had had no part in this marriage, and more importantly, that I had not meant to humiliate him by my appearance. Resolved at last toward some action, I stuffed my shyness into a corner of my mind and sat near him on his couch.

  He had already made impressive inroads into the wine. Though he held the fragile glass with a steady hand, something about the careful manner he maneuvered it warned me that he was not precisely clearheaded. I sighed and leaned close, trying to make sure I had his attention. “My lord, allow me to explain—”

  An odd look came over his face. With some haste he placed a palm, callused from wielding swords and arrows, against my lips. He wrinkled his nose and scooted back from me. Belatedly I remembered the overpowering stench of garlic on my breath, and the fastidiousness of Persian aristocracy toward unpleasant smells.

  “Please don’t speak. And if you can help it, don’t breathe,” he commanded, withdrawing his hand.

  I put my head in my lap, mortified. “I ask your pardon,” I mumbled into my hand, hoping to cover the worst of my offensive breath. Trying to put some distance between us, I rose, thinking it safer to speak to him from the other side of the room. To my shock, he grabbed me around the arm and pulled me back down.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he said, and I realized from the grim angle of his jaw that he wasn’t speaking about conversation. Before I could react, he put a hand on my leg and pulled so that I was sprawled before him on the couch. He bent over me, his brows knotted in a grim frown as he studied me through unfocused eyes. To my relief he jumped up, but I realized that he was merely leaving to douse the lamps. The room drowned in darkness.

  I had used the time to swivel back off the couch, but he grasped a handful of my dress and pulled me back. He put his hand into my hair to get a better grip on my wriggling form; Damaspia’s wig, which I had attached too loosely to my straight hair, came away in his grasp.

  “What—?” He jumped back, staring at the offensive headpiece. “I can’t do this!” he cried. “It is impossible; I can’t do this.” He got up and struggled in the dark to light a lamp. In its faint light, he found his way to the elaborate bed at the end of the chamber. After setting the lamp down with exaggerated care, he threw himself across the feather-filled coverlet with a heavy thud. Within moments the sound of his soft snores filled the room.

  Relief flooded my body. For the first time in many hours I found myself alone with my thoughts. Tomorrow Darius would be clearheaded enough to listen to reason. Tomorrow I would explain how I had meant him no disrespect.

  The relief was short-lived, however. Even I could not believe that so much mistrust and hatred could be banished with a few simple explanations. The very sight of me was detestable to him.

  His words rang in my mind: I can’t do this! It is impossible. My worst fears about being undesirable had proven true. It was not the poorly applied cosmetics or the ragged tunic or the scent of garlic he rejected. It was Sarah herself. It was the whole of me that he found unlovely. Helplessly, I began to weep until my nose ran and I had to use one of the royal napkins to mop my face. My world had unraveled. And now I would have to bear a lifetime of belonging to a man who loathed me. The thought made me cry harder. The sound must have disturbed Darius’s sleep, for he stopped snoring
for a moment and mumbled, “Shush. It will be all right.” Then he turned over and began to snore again. Those sleepy words, I knew, were not for me, but for some more fortunate figment of his dreams.

  No, it will not be all right, I thought with fierce conviction.

  Finally, when my tears had run their course, I found a pitcher of water and scrubbed my face until it was free of the hated cosmetics. Unlike Darius, I did not have the benefit of too much wine to help me into unconsciousness and I stopped in the middle of the king’s sumptuous chamber, wondering what to do to keep from losing my mind.

  Abandoned on a table I spied Nehemiah’s wedding gift and picked it up. The papyrus was rolled over wooden cylinders, decorated with ivory carvings in the shape of lotus flowers on both ends. Darius’s rough handling had damaged the papyrus, but with the right tools, I would be able to repair it.

  For long years the children of Israel had memorized the sacred words of our prophets and leaders. But in recent times, Jewish scribes had begun to record our law and Holy Scriptures. Copies such as the one Nehemiah had given to Darius were rare and priceless.

  Nehemiah’s words echoed in my mind, evoking a flood of guilt as he no doubt had intended that they should: Your wife also used to have a particular liking for them in her childhood. Once, I had recited the words in this scroll with childish wonder and awe. I had believed in their promises. I had cherished their wisdom about God and humanity. But my mother’s death changed everything.

  I had few memories left of my mother. One memory lingered vividly, however. When she grew sick, she often asked me to recite the psalms. It was on one such occasion that Nehemiah had seen us.

  God is our refuge and strength,

  An ever-present help in trouble.

  Therefore we will not fear, though the

  earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart

  of the sea.

  In my childish fervor, I had recited the words of the psalm as a prayer, and told myself that I could trust God’s promise to be an ever-present help in trouble. That I could accept such a promise on face value. So I asked His help for my ailing mother. I asked for it with a child’s confidence and hope.

  My mother died. Hollering in pain. I could no longer remember the color of her eyes, or the shape of her cheeks, or the touch of her loving hands. But I remembered those screams.

  I did not understand why God would allow one of the sweetest creatures who ever lived on His earth to go through such agony. Initially, I had shielded my questions. I had held on to my faith. With grim determination I had prayed for my father’s love. With David I whispered: Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart. Only, He hadn’t.

  At that point I stopped reciting the Scriptures and relying on the Lord. I still kept the outward form of the Law when possible, living amongst Gentiles as I was, but my heart no longer made room for God. I learned it was far better to rely on myself. I became the guardian of my own safety, the builder of my own dreams. It seemed to me that my strength, my cleverness, my abilities proved far more reliable than God’s ever-present help.

  Except that they hadn’t, of course. That’s why I was in this chamber, with a resentful stranger for a husband and a bitter future that promised no joy. I had reaped what I had sown with my own hands. This was the reward of my strength and my talent.

  Now I had no help: not from myself, nor from God. Despair overwhelmed me, and I sat clenched in its brutal claw hour after hour that night, so that I came to a place almost past hope and past endurance.

  Just after dawn the queen sent her handmaiden for me. Darius still slept when I left. I had known this interview would come, though I was surprised at the hour of it; Damaspia was not in the habit of being awake at the rising of the sun. She met with me alone, still wearing her garments from the previous evening, and I realized that she had not been to bed yet. I noticed her loose hair, her smudged eyes and bruised lips, and amended my conclusion; she had not been to her bed.

  I prostrated myself and said with my face lying half against the cold marble and half on the edge of the silky carpet, “Forgive me, duksis.”

  She turned her back to me. “Why? Why would you embarrass me like that? Why would you go to such lengths to make yourself and me and your new husband appear ridiculous before the whole court? I thought of you as a loyal friend. How could you betray my trust in you?”

  Her words made me want to give in to another storm of weeping. I swallowed the tears, knowing she would have no patience for them. “I never meant to harm anyone, least of all you, my queen. My great fault was my ignorance; I would never willingly betray you.”

  “Your ignorance! What did you lack that I did not give you? Did I not provide you with more riches than you deserve in order to overcome that ignorance? Did I not send you my own servants to help prepare you for your wedding? It never occurred to me that you would be so stupid as to turn them away. If it had not been for Amestris’s impending visit, I would have discovered your deceit and put a quick end to it. But that woman turned my household inside out by the threat of her mere presence.

  “Still, my servants shall have to face my wrath for their disobedience. They should have seen through your excuses and insisted on doing their job.”

  Her reference to the serving women, especially Pari, caused my whole body to tense. It was the one reason I had wanted to come to Damaspia. I knew she would not heed my excuses about my own conduct. These women, however, were innocents caught in the net of my foolishness. I had to try to help them.

  “Your Majesty, it was not their fault. I lied to them. I said I already had help. Pari was not deceived and returned four days in a row to try and help me. I sent her away every day, thinking myself too busy. And that final day I insisted to her that I could prepare myself, and in my arrogance, I truly believed that I could. She had no choice but to obey me.”

  “So, you admit to lying. Not to mention that in the meantime, you were busy trying to throw my gift back in my face.”

  Guilt kept me silent and Damaspia bobbed her head up and down. “Busy wriggling out of the marriage I had chosen for you. Yes, I knew about that. And I am half convinced that last night was not a matter of naïve ignorance so much as one final ploy on your part to escape this union. Perhaps you hoped that your bridegroom would put a stop to the marriage once he saw you?”

  I gasped and lifted my head from the floor. “No, Your Majesty! What would such a ploy have gained me but your wrath? I would have devised a better plan, if that had been my intention.”

  The corners of Damaspia’s mouth quivered. “That’s the first time anyone has told me they could concoct a better plot against me than I can think of.” She folded her long limbs into her gilded chair. “Oh, stand up. You look ridiculous down there.”

  I scrambled to my feet. “Thank you, duksis.”

  “So you are really that incompetent?”

  “I’m afraid so, Your Majesty.”

  “Artaxerxes thought so. When I railed against you, he championed your innocence; for some reason he took a liking to you. He also bet me a gold coin that Darius would not consummate the marriage. Did he win?”

  To have the most humiliating experience of my life the subject of a royal bet seemed a fitting conclusion to the last twenty-four hours. “The king won.”

  With a sluggish movement of long limbs she twisted on her chair to make herself more comfortable; it occurred to me that she must be exhausted. Her voice was as strong as ever as she addressed me, however. “No more than you deserve. You would have scared a child last night. For such a brilliant woman you certainly can be a dolt.” Meticulously groomed fingernails drummed on the armrest. “Well, let’s see if we can undo the damage you have wrought.”

  “It’s beyond repair,” I blurted.

  “As we have already established you are extraordinarily incompetent in such matters I believe we shall disregard your opinion.”

  “Yes, Majesty.” She was wrong, of course.
But I couldn’t tell her that. I was already in more than enough trouble.

  “Now, regarding Pari. If she suspected you of lying, she should have reported it to the chief handmaiden. Obviously, she failed to do so, or I would have heard about it.”

  I gasped, horrified that in my attempt to prove Pari’s innocence, I had caused more trouble for her. “But …”

  Damaspia waved a silencing hand. “Since she sees fit to obey you over me, she can leave my employ and enter yours. You shall have to pay for her, of course. You still haven’t collected the full wages you have saved over the past three years. From that sum you shall pay for Pari’s training, for her clothing and food during her entire stay at the palace, for a year’s upcoming salary, and for damages to me, given the inconvenience you cause by taking one of my servants from my household. This does not leave you with much, I believe.”

  “Your Majesty is most generous,” I said, unable to make my face match my grateful words.

  She laughed. “I am doing you a favor, sending your own servant with you into a household where you may not find a friend for some time.”

  I saw the wisdom of her actions, though they cost me too dear, and said with more genuine feeling this time, “My thanks.”

  “You shall spend the rest of today preparing as a bride. I myself spent a year getting ready for my marriage to the king, so one day will hardly suffice. It is a start, however.”

  I tried to hide my dread, though not well enough. Damaspia rolled her beautiful eyes. “Don’t be such an infant, Sarah.”

  “I shall do my best.”

  “I leave for Ecbatana tomorrow with the rest of the court. Shall you and Darius be joining us?”

  “I don’t know, Your Majesty.”

  “I see. I don’t suppose Darius would have been in a mood to wax eloquent about his future plans last night.”

  “Not exactly.” Her question only reiterated how little control I had over my future … and how little knowledge of it.