by Tessa Afshar
“No! What do you mean? I’ll ride tomorrow, I promise. I won’t be a bother to you or the others. I won’t complain.”
“Sarah, you don’t know what you say. Without this treatment, you will be in no condition to ride by dawn.” Forgoing further argument, he grabbed the jar and taking a liberal amount of balm he began to massage it into one calf, then another. My embarrassment paled in comparison to the pain. I ground my teeth and did my best to swallow my groans. When he was finished, I barely had the strength to sigh with relief. I pulled down my trouser legs. “Thank you, my lord.”
He sat back and did not move. He was wearing the impassive expression that I had come to recognize as a signal for trouble. Usually for me. With sudden certainty it dawned on me that he was not done. I squeezed my eyes shut and begged. Lord, have mercy.
“There’s more,” I said.
“The worst pain will be in the flesh of your thighs.”
If I had been his wife in more than name, this situation would have been nothing but a painful inconvenience. But we had shared no intimacies. He had not held me as a bridegroom holds a bride. Which made the notion of baring myself to his touch utterly disconcerting.
Again I realized that the more time I spent arguing, the more I delayed his rest. It was no fault of his that we were caught in this situation. He was trying to help, and my bashfulness was an added discomfort to him. After all, he must feel as awkward as I in the circumstances. I decided that the best thing for us both would be for me to comply with his wishes, and to do so without fuss.
“Would you turn around for a moment, please?” I asked. There was a spark of surprise on his face. For the shortest moment I thought I caught a whisper of approval in the softening of his lips. Then he turned around and I focused on removing my trousers. I pulled down the tunic as low as it would go and threw the blanket over me as I turned facedown.
“I’m ready,” I said.
He was right; the flesh of my thighs was in worse condition than my lower legs. Though he did his best to spare me, I felt dizzy with the agony of it. When he was, at long last, truly done, he said, “I’m sorry to have caused you pain.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said, my face half buried in the blanket. “You’ve done me a service; I thank you.”
“I’ll wake you before dawn,” he said and from the sound of the tent flap opening, I knew that he had left.
I cannot recall much from the rest of that journey other than it seemed interminable, although we achieved in ten days what it usually took the queen’s caravan three weeks to accomplish. After three days my body grew sufficiently accustomed to riding that the pain in my muscles gradually lessened. By the end of our journey I could sit a horse well enough to satisfy my Persian husband’s notions of horsemanship. Even on the high mountain passes, far from the breadth and comfort of the royal highways, I kept my seat with confidence. Toward the end of our journey, I was sufficiently accustomed to the rigors of fast travel that I began to take notice of the changing landscape around us. Sweltering desert gave way to the steppes, which gave way to wooded mountains and breathtaking forests. As we entered the region of Media, its splendor and verdure took my breath. Every hour brought us upon a new stream, a frothing river, a fertile field.
We arrived at Ecbatana on the morning of the feast of equinox. As I rode past the city’s walls, I remembered again my time of prayer with God. I thought, I am not riding in alone. The Lord is with me. He will be my help and my shield.
I recalled the endless practical difficulties that I faced—getting ready for a royal feast in a handful of hours without Pari, looking presentable so that I might undo some of the damage I had done to Darius on our wedding day, facing the queen’s questions—and rather than being overcome by anxiety, I felt an inexplicable peace. I knew my capacity for failure; knew how badly I could mishandle this night. But as I yielded to God, I felt more consoled by His power than fearful of my weaknesses.
Ecbatana was smaller and older than Persepolis. Yet its fabled splendor was the subject of many stories, new and ancient. Though I had been there before, I still found the sight of carved, gilded columns and cedar ceilings with beams plated in either gold or silver awe-inspiring. It was as though the very building accused me of being unworthy to walk its august hallways.
Darius and I had been given lodgings in the palace proper for the duration of our stay. I had expected to be assigned space in the women’s quarters. Instead when we arrived, I discovered that an apartment had been designated for the two of us. It was a shocking arrangement and felt like one of Damaspia’s artful plans. I tried not to think what motive lay at the foundation of such an unusual provision. Another bet with the king, probably.
I found our chambers to be a tight squeeze. There would be no room for either Darius’s man or my Pari. The main room, exquisitely tiled in deep blues and greens with drawings of peacocks and flowers, boasted one bed. I had spent years sleeping soundly on a simple bedroll on the ground; I’d have no problem spreading one on the floor of the tiny annex to our chamber.
What I wanted more than anything was a hot bath. I smelled of horse sweat. An oily mixture of dust and my own perspiration covered my skin. Darius was busy seeing to his men. I decided to try and arrange a bath for him also, knowing that he was no less eager to feel clean. To my delight, I found my old nemesis, the queen’s chief handmaiden, standing outside my door when I pulled it open.
She addressed me as her lady and bowed as if she meant it. I remembered not to allow my mouth to hang open for too long. No wonder Darius thought I had tried to trap him into marriage. It was extraordinary how differently one was treated after becoming the beneficiary of a title.
“Her Majesty sent me to assist you with your preparations. She’s been on the lookout for your arrival since yesterday.”
Trust Damaspia to be one step ahead of me. “Thank you. After a ten-day ride, I’m in dire need of a bath. And the lord Darius will no doubt need one as well. Is it possible to arrange a private one for him in these rooms rather than send him off to the palace bathhouse? They are bound to be very busy so close to the feast.”
I used the women’s bath, with which I was familiar from previous stays at Ecbatana. The queen’s handmaiden sent a servant to see to my every need while she whisked away my wrinkled clothes. Within the hour, I was blissfully clean; I had started to dread I might never know that feeling again. Wrapped in a crisp robe and matching veil that smelled of orange blossoms I wound my way to our apartments.
My husband bid enter when I knocked. I found him immersed in a steaming tub.
“I beg your pardon!”
“Ah. I thought you were the servant with more hot water.”
I counted the cracks in the ceiling and examined the design in the tiles. Anything to keep me from looking in his direction. “I will prepare in the women’s quarters,” I said and grabbing what I needed, slipped out. I thought I heard him laugh as I shut the door firmly behind me.
The chief handmaiden herself saw to my preparations. Damaspia clearly had no intention of leaving matters in my hands this time. After hours of careful ministrations I was as ready as I could be for the evening. I returned to Darius and my rooms, hoping he would be presentable by now. Arta opened the door before I knocked.
Darius was arrayed in a long ceremonial silk tunic. Its design, form-fitting and long with a bank of pleats in the front and tight trousers peeking beneath, emphasized his massive chest and made his legs seem even longer. I realized the colors of our garments were made to match; his tunic was of the same midnight blue as my undergarment, which peeked through my overdress of aqua and gold.
I had been made up carefully, my hair arranged in dainty tucks and braids atop my head and decorated with gold bands, my lips painted a deep red that accentuated their fullness.
Darius held out an embroidered box to me. “I believe these match your garments.”
Inside the box, I found two identical gold pins in the shape of rosettes, with
flawless turquoise centers, and a dazzling pair of hanging gold earrings decorated with more turquoise.
Darius stepped forward. “May I?” he asked, holding out his hand.
I placed the pins in his outstretched palm. He attached one to the top of each shoulder, causing the neckline of my dress to open wider. His lids lowered so that I could not see the expression in them. “They suit you,” he said.
My heart was beating so hard I could scarcely speak and I didn’t try. With trembling fingers, I hung the earrings in my ears. For a moment we stared at each other. I could not fathom what he was thinking; I only knew that my own heart was filled with longing. In that moment I recognized that longing for what it was. I recognized that I loved my husband.
Unaware of the enormity of my discovery or the sheer terror that filled my soul in its wake, Darius waved a hand. “Shall we?”
I walked alongside him, balanced on my dainty high-heeled slippers, reeling inside. I could not allow him ever to know my secret, I decided. At best he would pity me.
“The king and queen have invited us to a private audience before the feast,” Darius said.
“Oh.”
“I forgot to thank you for arranging my bath. That was thoughtful.”
“Mmm.”
“I don’t believe I have ever known you to be so parsimonious with your words. Is anything amiss?”
“No.” Of course there is. I’m in love with you and you barely tolerate me.
The guards ushered us before the royal couple with flattering haste. The king descended from his throne to stand before me; he lifted my lowered head with his own hand. “So this is what you really look like?”
“No, Your Majesty. I fear I only look like this when the queen’s chief handmaiden is done applying her craft to me.”
Artaxerxes burst out laughing. “An honest woman.” He turned to Darius. “So how do you like your bride now, cousin?”
“She has certainly improved her appearance.”
“I hear she’s done more than that. I hear she’s cleansed your household of a piece of reeking garbage.”
“How in the world would you know that, Your Majesty? We just arrived into Ecbatana.”
The king grinned. “I know everything.”
Darius crossed his arms. “And I assumed my men reported solely tome.”
“Don’t hold it against them. I’m hard to resist. Besides, I received the merest hint of a story and am impatient to hear the details.”
To my growing discomfort, I found myself the center of the king and queen’s attention. They were more exacting in their questions than a military interrogator. I did my best to keep my account as general as possible. The king, dissatisfied with my brief overview, pressed for specifics. And Damaspia, too shrewd to let any detail go and more familiar with my nature, managed to drag out of me the account of how I stole Teispes’s key as well as the details of my conversation with the shopkeeper.
“You told him you were a what?” Darius barked when he heard that part.
The king sputtered. “You were wasted as a scribe. I should have used you for a spy.” Which was quite a compliment coming from the king of an empire whose network of spies set the spine of great foreign leaders atremble.
Thankfully, Darius picked up the thread of the tale at the end and told our royal audience about the poisoned wine. Artaxerxes forgot his good humor. “The man tried to kill your wife?” He seemed lost for words for a few moments. “Though being the king of a vast empire is fraught with many threats, I fear no other kingdoms or rulers. It is our own people who will determine the future of Persia. If we are birthing and nurturing men like your steward, then their deceit will bury us alive down the coils of time. One Teispes can hold many good folks under the yoke of his lies, as you have seen. A whole nation’s character can be twisted by the actions of a few corrupt men.”
I understood why the king found it hard to swallow Teispes’s rampant corruption. Persians believed themselves the most honest people in the world. Woven through the fabric of their religion was the belief that without truth, the universe itself would be undone, lost to perpetual evil. Honesty was more than a mere ideal. It constituted the very foundation of life.
I sympathized with Artaxerxes’ outraged distress. And yet, it seemed to me impossible to keep a whole kingdom sheltered from subterfuge and corruption. Beliefs, no matter how lofty, could not overcome human nature. Evil was not a Persian problem; it was a human problem. This was why the Lord, whose standards for truth and honesty were even more exacting than a Persian’s, also provided us with sacrifices to cover our inevitable failures.
“And how does the dog fare?” Damaspia asked.
“The dog died, Your Majesty,” Darius said, his voice grave.
“I am sorry to hear it. He sounds like a noble creature.”
It was considered ill-mannered to cry before the king or queen. I swallowed the pricking tears as best I could. “He was a delightful animal, duksis.”
“A great loss then. And yet, had he not died, it seems certain that our Sarah would have. I cannot regret the exchange.”
I was shaken by Damaspia’s gracious words. “You are too kind, Your Majesty.” She gave me the benefit of one of her ravishing smiles. “And now we really must inaugurate that feast, my love,” she said to her husband. “They will not begin without us.”
As we walked down a wide hallway flanked by members of the King’s ever-present elite guard, the Immortals, Damaspia addressed me. “There’s so much more I’d like to ask you. I have not seen you this whole summer. Why don’t you come hunting with me in the morning? It’s an intimate gathering of close friends and we’ll have time to speak.”
At the mention of hunting I blanched. I had hoped not to come near a horse for many days yet. Of course I could not say so to the Queen. “I’m at your service, Majesty.”
“One part of the story I left out,” Darius said, “was that Sarah had never been on a horse until our journey to Ecbatana. She made it in ten days, but I doubt she’ll be much good at a hunt by tomorrow.”
I had not expected him to intercede for me. He could have let Damaspia have her way. He could have saved himself the trouble of intervening with a person of higher rank and possibly earning her ire. Instead he chose to inconvenience himself in order to protect me. I thought of how in the whole of my life I could count on my fingers the number of times anyone had spoken up in order to shield me.
Damaspia whisked her beautiful head in my direction. “You kept up with the men without ever having ridden before? How did you manage that?”
Forcing a lightness I did not feel into my voice, I said, “I was so grateful to have escaped death by poisoning that a little saddle sore hardly seemed worth mentioning.”
“You haven’t lost your sense of humor, I see. Well, we certainly wouldn’t wish to put you back in a saddle so soon. Come and visit me before supper, then.”
I bowed my head. “It would be an honor.”
There was no time for more conversation. We stood before the carved gates of Ecbatana’s great hall. The trumpet was blown to announce the royal couple’s entrance and every guest stood. Darius and I followed in the wake of Artaxerxes and Damaspia, keeping a respectful distance. To my horror, I found myself the focus of more stares than even the king and queen.
The last time I had entered a gathering of royals and courtiers, I had been the oddity whose appearance had prompted endless laughter. Tonight, the crowd was thirsty for more entertainment. Their curious stares sought me out, bore into me, examined me with minute interest until I felt my heart pound with panic.
The shame of that evening had never left me. Not all the beauty treatments in Persia, nor the most stunning garments in the world could have made me feel like I was acceptable amongst these people. With sudden force my mind returned to my wedding night. I was an oddity. I was unacceptable. I was ugly. I came to a halt and could not make my feet take one more step. In the middle of the great hall, I stopped, soake
d in shame, helpless with fear.
Chapter Twenty
I was shocked out of my paralyzed state when Darius wrapped his fingers around my shaking hand. He smiled at me, ignoring the fact that I had broken etiquette by freezing in the middle of our public procession. “I should have told you earlier this evening,” he said as if we were conversing in the privacy of our own chamber and not in the presence of every important head of state, “how lovely you look tonight.” He nodded his head once with a kind of gravity, as if assuring me that he spoke truth. Then he pulled on my hand and I followed him blindly to a couch near the head of the hall.
I hung my head low to avoid the weight of so much curiosity directed my way. Darius put a gentle finger under my chin and lifted my head up. “You have nothing to be ashamed of before these people.”
“You of all people know why I can’t face them. I feel so stupid. They will always think of me as an object of scorn. And they are right.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back. “What happened that night concerns you and me. Your account is with me. To them, you owe nothing.”
I bowed my head. He leaned toward me and lifted my chin again. This time, he held me firmly until he had my attention. “You are my wife. You are here with me. That’s all they need to know. Now stiffen your resolve and win back the ground you lost. This time, I am with you.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice wobbly.
“What was the first thing I taught you about Kidaris?”
“The horse?”
“Your mare, yes. What did I teach you about her?”
“That I shouldn’t be afraid of her even though she’s bigger than me?”
“Exactly. There isn’t that much difference between the people here and your horse.”
I couldn’t help cracking a smile at that. I was a bit scandalized by his easy scorn of the cream of Persia.
“That’s better,” he said. “You have a lovely smile.”
This was the second time he had called me lovely tonight. In spite of the fact that I knew that he abhorred lying, I could not swallow such a statement from him. I heard his words, but I couldn’t bring my heart to believe them.