Harvest - 01 - Harvest of Rubies

by Tessa Afshar

  We had congregated in the herb garden where Bardia was busy working. Pari and I had joined him, pulling out persistent weeds and helping to plant some late seedlings. As with most things, Bardia was running behind with the planting of his herbs. His part-time assistant was busy in the almond grove, which left him with us for help.

  He made no objection to our assistance, for this was considered a noble pastime, suitable for people of high or low rank. Pari made me wear linen gloves to protect my hands, however, and insisted on bringing a parasol to shield me from the sun. I always felt like a fraud when she treated me like the lady I was not. I may be married to a nobleman according to official documents, but in truth I remained the daughter of a scribe and a servant at heart. It did not help knowing that my husband and I were in perfect agreement on this one subject. For the sake of peace, I bore Pari’s shows of courtesy with leashed unease.

  “My lady, I want to show you something,” Bardia said and beckoned me to go to him. He was standing near a willow tree with sweeping branches, its narrow leaves already unfurled and twinkling their green reflection into the irrigation canal that flowed past. It was a breathtaking sight. I had a soft spot for the willow, a fairly recent transplant to this part of the empire. An adventurous traveler had brought it along the Silk Road to Persepolis, where it gained wild favor and quickly spread across the rest of Persia.

  “She is lovely,” I said. “When did you plant her?”

  “I did not. My Lord Darius did when he was no more than a lad.”

  “Did his father command him to do it?” I asked, thinking it unlikely that Darius would have the patience for agricultural pastimes.

  “Oh no, my lady. His lordship sought me out himself. He was home on a rare leave from the palace. The magi had just completed an agricultural training for the lads his age at court. With so few hours at his disposal, he elected to spend a good deal of his time planting this tree.”

  It was hard for me to imagine my husband as a young lad at his studies. Sons of aristocrats were sent to the palace at the age of seven to receive a rigorous and comprehensive education. Through their years of training, they learned the arts of war and leadership. They were given breathing lessons to make their voices audible on a noisy battlefield. A Greek scribe had once told me that Persian warriors were known to have the loudest voices in the world. I had never heard my husband shout; he didn’t have to. His quiet tones were sufficient to reduce me to a state of near panic.

  The magi also taught the older pupils ethics and right living, and trained them to hold truth more sacred than every other virtue. Their goal was to raise honorable leaders who practiced the principles of truthful living. I had not realized that the magi included gardening in their training.

  “Did you choose the tree for him, Bardia?”

  “No, no. He chose his own tree.”

  “That’s odd. I wouldn’t have thought a willow as typical of his taste. Perhaps a walnut tree. Or even a cherry—something strong with a useful harvest.” The willow bore no edible fruit and offered little practical use other than cool shade on hot days.

  “He loved the willow—loves it still—not because of its usefulness, but because of what it is. It touches the soul, that’s all.”

  I shrugged, not comprehending. In fact, I could not see why Bardia was so bent on sharing the story of this tree with me. I would rather plant my own herbs than hear stories of my husband’s prowess in the garden.

  If Bardia sensed my impatience, he ignored it and continued with his tale. “His lordship came and sought me out. I haven’t had a chance to talk with you for months, Bardia, he said. You can supervise me, but you are not to touch anything. I’ll do the work. Just keep me company.

  “He chose this spot himself, and as he worked, told me stories about life in the palace. Wouldn’t let me dig one shovelful of earth for him. He was a young man to be proud of—strong, humble, caring. He was everything a lord should be.” I ground my teeth. “Why do you tell me this?”

  “Because you don’t know your husband. You see the state of this palace and you blame him. You think he takes ill care of his people.”

  “I never said so.”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s plain to see on your face. You have no respect for him. Begging your pardon if I speak out of turn, my lady, but you commit a grave mistake in what you think of him.”

  My jaw would have landed at the base of the willow tree had it not been attached to my head. “I commit a grave mistake in what I think of him? Here is irony.”

  Bardia pulled on his beard. “Did you really appear at your wedding looking like a creature of darkness?”

  Was there anyone in the entire Persian Empire who did not know the full extent of my disgrace? I felt like Job, for what I feared had come upon me; what I dreaded had happened to me. I had turned myself into the laughingstock of courtiers and servants alike.

  “It’s true.”

  “So you cannot blame my master for being mistaken in you.”

  I sank to the ground and leaned against the tree my husband had planted. “Given what you know, how is it that you never held me in contempt, Bardia? Why do you not resent me for mistreating your beloved master?”

  “I’m privy to a few things that Lord Darius cannot know. He was away attending school at Persepolis at the time and will not remember, but years ago my lord and lady had a great friendship with the king’s cupbearer.”

  “Nehemiah?”

  “The same. He’d often have supper with Lord Vivan and Lady Rachel. Sometimes they would stroll in the gardens. Whenever I was present, Lord Nehemiah engaged me in conversation, and treated me with cordial respect.

  “I am a good judge of plants and trees. I can tell you with one glance what is hardy and what sickly. And I am a good judge of men too, and I judged this man to be wise and trustworthy. Every word that passed his lips was truth, though sometimes he was fiery with expressing it.” Bardia flashed a gummy smile. Fiery was a good word for my cousin, I thought.

  “In time, Lord Vivan was transferred to a different region, and then my lady died. The king’s cupbearer’s visits grew rare, though I think the spirit of the friendship remained strong through the years.

  “Knowing that both Nehemiah and the queen had approved of you, I concluded that there was more to the story of your wedding than met the eye. Nehemiah is not a man to put his kin forward solely for the sake of advancing his connections. If he thought highly of you, then he must have had just cause.”

  So Lord Vivan had known Nehemiah and trusted him. Now I saw why he had rushed into drawing the marriage contract. He had not only the Queen of Persia’s recommendation, but also the confidence of an old friend. He had anticipated no problems and had expected the best for his son.

  I recalled with clarity Darius’s livid accusation flung at my cousin: My father trusted your word. He had placed his life in the hands of friend and monarch and they had both failed him. A man who had resisted marriage against every conceivable pressure and reasonable expectation had finally given in, relying on the word of one who had been friend to his mother. No wonder he had been so angry with Nehemiah. And with me.

  I stretched my legs and dangled my feet into the canal. The water was bone-chillingly cold. It soothed my fire-hot thoughts. “Why is it that you were able to forestall your suspicions when my own husband concluded the worst and denied me the benefit of explaining myself?”

  Bardia began to strip the tree of broken limbs. In spite of his age, there was a confident agility about his movements. His forearms, wiry with muscle, flexed and relaxed as he ministered to the needs of the tree. “If I may be so bold to point out, you’re not my wife, my lady. Much as I love my master, I can still think straight regardless of the circumstances, which he, caught in the center of them, undoubtedly cannot.”

  “You have an answer for everything, old man. I am going back to my stolen records. They don’t pester me with such convoluted arguments.” On the way back to my room I stopped
by a flower border to pick a bouquet of pale yellow lilies. Bardia had inspired a passion for flowers in me. The sight of their crisp, beautiful petals cheered my heart as I headed away from one difficult situation and into another.

  Chapter Twelve

  The problem was that my precious stolen records were turning out to be as tricky as Bardia’s revelations. I tinkered with them for days, growing more puzzled at each turn, for Teispes was not saving any money by stint of his parsimonious actions.

  To add to my vexation, it seemed I would hardly sit down to work when some interruption or other drained my time. Caspian broke my train of thought with his barking and nipping until I gave in and took him outdoors for extensive walks. Bardia kept me busy in his gardens, forcing me to enjoy the fresh air, he said. Mostly, I reckoned, I was cheap labor and human company. Pari dragged me away from my records by subjecting me to some ridiculous treatment designed to improve my looks and revive my mood. Even Shushan joined in by insisting that I eat long formal meals at table as befit such a great lady. My portions remained small in spite of the fact that it took the cook and Pari an hour to serve them.

  In the old days, I would have spent unbroken hours drowned in figures and translations, my only human company those who participated in my work. My world had taken a turn, however, so that companionship became its new center. Hard as I tried to force my existence back into the old mold, I could not. Living creatures vied for my attention. While I found their interruptions frustrating, even depleting, I could also see that spending time with them met a deep yearning in my soul. And with an unexpected twist I discovered that I could not deal with Teispes without them. Their aid proved essential to the fulfillment of the arduous task before me.

  “The oddest thing about these records,” I told Bardia, Pari, and Shushan eleven days after I started my search, “is that there is no change in the amount of money being spent on Lord Darius’s estates since Teispes’s coming. Same incomes. Same expenditure. He’s not saving any money by his drastic … industry, shall we say?”

  We were in the herb garden working. “Industry?” Shushan lifted her head and made a rude noise with her tongue that startled several birds into flight. “I give that for his industry.” Everyone laughed.

  “He is a clever man, that one. But not so clever that he can outwit me.” I stopped for a torturous pause. My audience straightened from their various tasks.

  “Well, what is it?” Pari burst. “Have you solved this puzzle?”

  “Not solved it, exactly. No. What I have discovered is that the money he saves by impoverishing this estate is being poured into another of Lord Darius’s properties. A textile factory that his lordship owns in Ecbatana. It is run by an arassara.”

  “Isn’t that some kind of female overseer?” Shushan asked, squinting her good eye.

  “Precisely. The royal family uses them often. The arassara supervise a variety of factories, particularly those that require child labor. These women are skilled in management and earn good wages, sometimes as much as a man, though they remain unmarried. When I worked for Queen Damaspia, I supervised the payment of allotments to several such arassara. So I’m familiar with the range of their rations.”

  “And this one is getting paid more than she should, is that it?” Pari asked.

  “A lot more. The first year Teispes arrived here, the records show that Mandana, that’s the name of Lord Darius’s arassara, gave birth to twin sons. As you know, mothers of newborns receive larger rations according to Persian law. They receive even greater rations when they give birth to boys. Imagine the tidy raise when it’s twin boys. Here things become interesting. Mandana’s raise in rations and wages were ten times above that which would normally have been given to a woman in her position.”

  “Wait! I thought you said she was single,” Pari interjected.

  “Never met an arassara who wasn’t.”

  “You can forget thinking those children belong to Lord Darius, right now,” Bardia said, shoving his earth-crusted finger on one of my favorite theories. “If my lord had twin sons, never mind by whom, he would acknowledge them publicly rather than sweep them under the carpet, and supporting them on the sly. This is not a family to deny its children.”

  His objection rang true. The aristocracy was not too fastidious about where its sons came from as long as it produced them. Nothing pointed to a man’s virility, outside of his achievements in combat, more than the number of his sons. Having sired twin boys was a cause for public pride, not something to be hidden in a dark corner.

  “Teispes, then?” Shushan said.

  “It’s not impossible,” I said. “Mandana’s rations have gone up with each year so that according to the records she now receives the equivalent of twenty honored arassara. It’s unnatural.”

  “That worm of a steward has been beggaring this estate in order to support his paramour?” Shushan burst out.

  “Support in style,” Pari said. “She must be as rich as a satrap by now.”

  I straightened a crooked sleeve. “Suppositions and conjecture. We cannot prove any of it. And though it sounds reasonable, there could be ten other explanations. Lord Darius might be behind this arrangement.” I held my hand up as a peace offering before Bardia could object. “Not because he has sired the twins, but for reasons unknown to us.”

  “My master wouldn’t allow this estate to fall into ruin on purpose. It was his mother’s favorite and he bears a tender regard for it.”

  “Then why would he allow this? Why would he not stop it for three years?”

  “He doesn’t know. Those of us who have been around since his childhood did not wish to burden him with our complaints. The newer servants would have been afraid to approach him. Besides, Teispes always hires temporary servants during his visits. He makes sure that the areas most often visited by Lord Darius are in good order.”

  “Bardia, it’s in the records. Can he not read?”

  “My lord can read and write. He can even speak three languages. But keeping up with accounts is not one of his strengths. You said that the income and expense of his estates have not changed since Teispes came. I doubt if his lordship would have examined more than that. You are a scribe and it took you days to find the source of the problem. He would not have seen it.”

  Aggravated because his reasonable argument poked holes into my own theories, I raked my hand through my hair, a movement impeded by the combs Pari had stuck there. I was hampered at every side: by Darius’s absence, by Teispes’s dishonest secrecy, by my inability to travel, by my lack of access to royal messengers. Now even my hair was tied up. I sent Pari a grumpy glance.

  “We need more information. If only I could get my hands on a royal courier.” Every answer we needed resided in Ecbatana. And we were stuck here. A courier, however, would be able to go where we could not.

  Royal messengers had special permission to travel on public roads. Though Persia had some of the most intricate road systems of the world, they were vigilantly guarded. Travelers needed special visas, something I no longer had access to without my former employer’s power or my husband’s influence. Teispes was the one who acted in my husband’s stead. He had Darius’s seal. If I wanted to travel, or even send a messenger, I would need Teispes’s permission, which would not be forthcoming any time soon.

  “You need to send a message?” Bardia asked, his face brightening. “I can help with that.”

  The next morning started with some excitement. Pari, the dog, and I were clattering down the stone steps leading to the garden when one of the stones became inexplicably loose. I had my whole weight on it when it went flying under me, twisting my right ankle in the process. My balance gone, I went over, headfirst. Caspian somehow managed to place himself where I landed, breaking the worst of my fall.

  “Are you all right?” Pari and I shouted at the same time, she addressing me, and I addressing the dog. The dog had miraculously escaped injury, but my ankle ached with a persistent throb that prevented me from atte
mpting to move for some time.

  Bardia must have heard our cries of alarm, for he hurried over to us after a few minutes, a young man I had never seen before trailing in his wake.

  “My lady! What happened?”

  “She fell down the stairs and bruised her ankle,” Pari said.

  Bardia bent to examine the injured limb. “Doesn’t look broken. Shall I send for a physician?”

  “No. I merely need a few moments to catch my breath.”

  Pari shook her head. “One of the stones came loose. This place is falling apart from lack of proper care. It’s dangerous.”

  The young man moved to examine the stone. He crouched next to it for several moments before straightening. “Odd,” he said.

  “I should introduce this young lout,” Bardia said. “This is my grandson, Gobry. When he was a boy, he helped me here, but now, he is a royal messenger.”

  Several things fell into place at the same time, making me forget the discomfort in my ankle. First, Bardia’s grandson was a courier, the very person I needed in order to further my investigations.

  Second, Gobry was short for Gobryas, a name familiar to me in my study of Darius’s records. To my puzzlement, I had discovered that for a number of years, the majority of Bardia’s income had been directed to one Gorbyas, presumably the same young man who stood before me. And now I knew why.

  By theory at least, every man in Persia was free to receive the education afforded a lord’s son. In practice, however, financial matters made this an impractical dream. Most families needed their young men in the workforce as early as possible in order to augment their income. There was the further complication of cost; educating a young man required additional funds—food, drink, horse and saddle, feed, stable fees, armor, weapons—all this cost money. It was an expensive undertaking. No wonder Bardia had so little. He had poured most of his wages into the education of his grandson for years. Now Gobry could ride like a nobleman and be entrusted with the speedy delivery of the secrets of an empire.