“A Greek? Daniel, what would a Greek be doing in the Jewish Quarter?” Samamat demanded.
“Having an affair with Susannah, obviously.” Daniel shook his head. “Clearly the two men hadn’t bothered to come up with a consistent story.”
“Of course not. Accusation constitutes proof, against a woman.” The bitterness in Samamat’s voice made Daniel wince.
After a moment, he continued, “It was simple, really. The two men claimed Susannah and her lover lay together under a tree in her garden. So I asked Susannah’s accusers what kind of tree she and her lover lay under. One said it was a mastic tree and the other said it was an oak.”
“Just as her lover was both dark and fair. So that’s how you knew they were both lying,” Samamat said earnestly, and Daniel looked at Arioch and saw that Arioch, too, was trying not to laugh.
“Sama, it didn’t matter what kind of tree they said it was. These two men supposedly watched a beautiful naked woman in the arms of—”
“An equally beautiful naked man,” Arioch added helpfully.
“—so it is extremely unlikely that they paid the least attention to the tree,” Daniel finished. “But yes, their stories didn’t fit together at all.”
“And?” Samamat prompted.
Daniel sighed. “And then, since they had borne false witness against an innocent woman, the two men who accused her were sentenced to death. I came away as soon as I gave Joakim some advice.”
“What did you tell him?” Samamat asked.
“To let his wife wear whatever veil she wished.”
“Preferably one made of very, very thick cloth,” Arioch added, and Samamat slanted a glance at him.
“Because all the gods forefend that men act like civilized creatures.” It might have been a jest; her tone made that possible.
But Daniel didn’t think Samamat jested. “I think you’re right. A man acts like a rabid beast, and claims it the woman’s fault—that can’t be either just or righteous.”
“And you?” Samamat turned to Arioch. “What do you think?”
“What I think,” Arioch said, “is that Susannah’s husband needs to build a much higher wall around his wife’s garden.”
* * *
The Susannah affair sealed Daniel’s reputation as a truly wise man for all time—and sent Daniel from Babylon to Shushan. For saving Susannah, Daniel had been repaid with open hostility from much of Babylon’s Jewish community, a fact that baffled Daniel. Arioch seemed unsurprised. “You made them realize they’re so stupid they’d stone a woman first and look at the facts later.”
“Now, Arioch, that’s not completely fair—” Daniel began.
“Just how many of those commandments of yours did they all break? Two? Three? Do you think they like you for pointing out their stupidity and hypocrisy?”
“And you deprived them of their fun,” Samamat added. “Those men looked forward to stoning a beautiful woman to death. You stopped them. Arioch’s right. Now the Jews here hate you too.”
Daniel sighed. “I don’t know what I can do about it. I had no choice. Susannah was innocent.”
Arioch smiled. “I’ve done something about it. King Darius is finished with Babylon. He’s going back to Shushan and we’re going with him.”
The king had appointed a governor to rule the city and ensure Babylon would be reminded it now existed as a satrapy of the great empire Darius had carved out of dozens of bickering kingdoms. The king and his court were to return to the ancient city of Shushan, and Arioch had—“Tactfully,” Arioch claimed—suggested the king take Daniel Dream-Master with him. “The king wanted to take you along anyway, but you know how considerate he is. He hesitated to offend the Jews here by stealing away their famous and pious—don’t forget how pious you are—Daniel Dream-Master. So the fact that the Jews here hate you is an excuse for King Darius to do what he wanted to do in the first place. A really good excuse.”
“Don’t look so tragic,” Arioch said, as Daniel stared at him. “Sama and I are going too. And I suppose your priestess and her dragon—”
“Elu-ki isn’t my priestess,” Daniel began, and then abandoned the effort. The news that they were all moving to Shushan stunned him. Daniel had lived in Babylon since he had arrived at the Gateway of the Gods when he was a fourteen-year-old captive from conquered Israel. “But Arioch, I’ve never been to Shushan. And I’m no good at traveling…”
“Oh, Daniel, you are so!” Samamat put her arm around him. “You traveled with King Nebuchadnezzar on hunting trips and—”
“And I didn’t like it.”
“—it’s not as if you have to walk to Shushan, you know.”
“And good luck never lasts forever. I’m amazed you’re still alive. So this move is a good thing,” Arioch told him. “I don’t know about you, Daniel, but I’m very, very tired of mad kings. At least King Darius has the sense to get out before he’s worshipping alien gods and eating grass.”
“Well … I hear Shushan’s a fascinating city,” Daniel had said hopefully.
“And I hear Shushan’s hot as Ahriman’s hells and dusty as Nineveh’s archives,” Arioch said. “But at least it’s not Babylon.”
Samamat had pointed out that Shushan’s merits and drawbacks were irrelevant. “Since we go by the king’s command.”
“There’s one other good thing about Shushan…” Arioch came over to stand beside Samamat and draped his arm around her shoulders. “Those three bigoted friends of yours won’t be there.”
“They haven’t really been friends of mine in years.” Daniel tried to be sorry, but as the years passed Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego had grown so intolerant, so rigidly pious, that they could hardly bear to acknowledge Daniel at all. Not seeing them was the simplest way to avoid endless argument.
* * *
Somewhere, somehow, along the road to Shushan, the priestess Amunet-Nefer-Setmut-Elu-ki and the dragon Bel had vanished. Daniel assumed the priestess and her pet god had seen a chance to return home to Egypt and taken it. Daniel suspected Arioch knew more about their disappearance than he would ever admit.
And since Samamat would happily recount her own intervention on their behalf, Daniel knew better than to ever ask her.
Sometimes, in his dreams, Daniel saw Elu-ki leading Bel over pale hot sand, girl and dragon walking steadily into the west.
Toward Egypt.
Toward home.
* * *
At last the day came when the three of them stared across the flat plain at the city that was to be their new home. There was a long silence no one seemed in a hurry to end. At last Daniel said,
“That’s Shushan?”
“Yes, Daniel,” Samamat said, “I’m very much afraid it is.”
“Why does everyone call it ‘Shushan the Beautiful’?” Daniel asked plaintively.
“Because, Daniel, if everyone called it ‘Shushan the Flat and Ugly,’ no one would ever come here,” Arioch said.
“The palace is very—very grand,” Samamat added, after gazing at it for several long, silent moments. “And the Great Staircase is supposed to be a wonder.”
“I’m sure it is.” Arioch studied the citadel and sighed. “I wonder where—or if—the architects of that palace studied their craft?”
“Well, at least it isn’t Babylon,” Daniel offered up hopefully.
“I liked Babylon.”
“Arioch, you were the one who insisted we had to leave even before King Darius ordered us to come with him!”
“That’s because I like being alive more than I like Babylon. Come on, let’s get this over with.”
* * *
Distance deceived under the steady blazing of the sun. Shushan had seemed to be only a few miles away—but it took hours for the king’s caravan to reach the city. Shushan seemed to hover just above the burning plain, a shimmering illusion forever beyond their reach.
At last they drew close enough to see past illusion to the Choaspes River, and past the river to the city walls
on its eastern bank. Sand. Daniel stared at the city that would now be their home. High walls built of mud brick; the harsh sun had dried the bricks to the gold of sand. The city walls veiled most of Shushan.
But you couldn’t miss the palace. It stood at the north end of Shushan—and in a land flat as a mirror, the palace loomed above the city walls.
“A man-made hill. A good idea, for a citadel.” Samamat stared at the palace; Daniel suspected she was calculating how many men, buckets, and hours of grinding labor it had taken to create such a huge mound.
“At least the river doesn’t run through the city,” Arioch said, his voice flat.
Daniel knew Arioch was remembering how King Darius had taken Babylon, and with Babylon, what was left of a once glorious empire. The Euphrates ran through Babylon, dividing the city in half. King Darius ordered his engineers to divert the river and open the water gates.
And then Darius’s army had simply marched into the heart of Babylon.…
“Arioch. Done is done.” Daniel gently touched Arioch’s hand.
“The Choaspes is said to have the sweetest water in all the world.” Samamat, gentle but firm, changed the subject. “It’s said to be the oldest city in all the world, too.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Mud is cheap,” Arioch said. “What in the name of the Seven Hells is that?”
The Great Staircase, newly gilded in honor of King Darius’s return, burned bright under the midday sun. Daniel studied the wide sweep of steeps and terraces. Shushan could not compare with Babylon in beauty—but it was impossible not to admire Shushan’s hard-won magnificence.
“Who do you suppose sweeps the steps?” Samamat asked, staring.
“The royal step sweepers, of course.” But even Arioch sounded impressed.
* * *
King Darius entered Shushan to an enthusiastic welcome. Daniel hadn’t realized there were so many rose petals in the world, and all of them seemed to have been gathered to fling joyously at King Darius and his attendants. Arioch had been assigned by Darius to ensure neither Daniel nor Samamat absentmindedly wandered off to investigate Shushan; as a result, they managed to arrive at the foot of the Great Staircase with the rest of the procession.
They looked up a long hill of stairs wide enough for a dozen horsemen to ride up abreast. In honor of King Darius’s return home, the entire stairway waited, golden and empty, for him to ride up from the city to the palace citadel. Once the king and his advisors, followed by the king’s guard, the famed Immortals led the way, everyone else was at last free to climb up to the palace citadel.
It took them almost an hour to make their way up the Great Staircase. When they reached the top, Daniel looked back across the smooth plain. Babylon lay far away. Shushan was home now.
I hope Shushan proves more peaceful than Babylon. I’m tired of solving problems for kings and queens.
* * *
Daniel arrived in Shushan to discover that his part in Susannah’s deliverance had transformed him from a man who could spin meaning out of puzzling dreams into a sage as wise as Ahura Mazda Himself. Or, to the empire’s Jews, into a man wise as Solomon in all his glory. Daniel tried to live a quiet life, and hoped he would no longer be called upon to meddle in the affairs of kings.
He twice over hoped and prayed there would be no more need for him to intervene to save any more lives. Sometimes he dreamed that the two elders had concocted all the details of their accusation beforehand, that Susannah had been doomed, and he had to watch as she died.…
Samamat and Arioch helped him past those nights, all of them staying awake together until the sun rose and shadows flew west into the dark.
Yes, we survived, we three. By then Daniel could not remember what life had been like before he met Arioch and Samamat. They were part of him; he could not give either up. He had learned that when the king decreed that all captive peoples might return freely to their homelands.
Daniel spent long troubled hours trying to persuade himself to return to Jerusalem, a city he hadn’t seen in twenty years. Could he give up Arioch and Samamat? Was Jerusalem a fair exchange for abandoning his heart?
The answer, for Daniel, was no.
How could I have left Arioch and Samamat? Not been there to watch them marry, to see their son born? A boy whose parents named him Dariel, to honor King Darius and to honor Daniel …
“… because he wouldn’t have been born without the king, and you, bringing us together.” Samamat held the baby to her breast; she glowed with happiness.
“By that reasoning, we should have named the boy Nebuchadnezzar,” Arioch had said.
How could I not have been with them to watch Dariel grow up? And if I had returned to Jerusalem—
If he had returned to Jerusalem, he would not have been there when Arioch died.
If he had returned to Jerusalem, he would not have been there when Samamat needed him. He would not have been there to ask her to marry him. To his eternal wonder and delight, Samamat had said yes.…
Now we are old together, and should be at peace. Instead, I see another den being built, and lions gathering to fill it.
Daniel tried to convince himself that the contest for queen, the struggle for power in the palace, would pass by him. Perhaps Samamat and I will be left in peace.
But it didn’t take a Dream-Master to see the future they faced: a long-sleeping dragon waking.
Or to see that this time Daniel would not escape the dragon’s coils.
BOOK TWO
The Court of Miracles
HEGAI
I was seven when my father killed my mother, and fourteen when he gelded me. Seven years passed between my mother’s death and my death as a man—seven years during which I struggled to elude my fate; to run away, escape to the faraway mountains guarding the eastern horizon, or to the ever-changing sea far to the west. Yes, I tried, desperately, but my father kept me well guarded, and each time I thought myself free, his guards caught me before I reached the end of our street.
And even if I had succeeded in gaining any of the city’s seven gates, my father had paid all the guardians of all the gates well. None of the guards would have permitted me to pass; my father’s money had ensured that.
Why? Why had my father slain his beautiful highborn wife? Cut off his lineage by gelding his son?
Questions simply answered: his wife proved unfaithful, and her beautiful clever son was sired not by her husband, but by an Abyssinian slave. But that I did not learn until the day the man I called my father slit my mother’s slender throat.
The day I turned seven, my father called for my mother and me to come to him in the harem garden. My mother closed her eyes when she heard the summons, but said nothing. She took my hand and led me in silence until we stood before him. When I saw my father, I bowed to him as I had been taught. He thrust me away so hard I staggered and fell on the cool tiles.
“Father? What is wrong? What have I done?” I could think of no mischief I had done, no sin I had committed. I stood up and stared at him, puzzled. But not fearful. Not yet.
He looked past me, to where my mother stood rigid and silent. “Tell him,” he said. “Tell him the great wrong you have done. Tell him who and what he is. Speak the truth and earn a quick death.”
His words seemed to echo in my ears. I ran over and threw my arms around my mother. “What does he mean? Mother, tell me!”
“Yes, tell him.” My father smiled, and for a moment I saw, not my father, but a demon, one who served Ahriman the Dark. “Take as long as you wish. I can wait.”
My mother looked down at me; bent and kissed my forehead. “I will tell you the truth—the truth, so neither I nor your true father will be forgotten. Remember us, my son. Promise me that you will always remember.”
“Yes,” I said, even though I did not understand, and my voice trembled as I gave her the vow she wanted from me, “I promise.”
“Listen then.” Her voice took on the cadence of song; slow and mournful. “I was ma
rried very young—far too young. I was not even a woman when I wed, and I was afraid. But my mother swore to me that my husband would wait to claim his right to use my body. She told me I must be married at once, for my husband was an ambitious man, and I brought to him as dowry both my pure Persian blood—”
Here my father laughed; a harsh, cruel sound. My mother flinched, but she continued to speak, her voice soft and her words clear.
“—and my father’s influence in the king’s court. So my new husband thought the gold he paid for me money well spent.” She stared past me, as if her eyes sought to see that frightened young bride.
She fell silent; my father stalked up and stood close. There was a knife in his hand now, and he pressed the blade against the blue vein throbbing beneath her skin. “Go on,” he said. “The boy must hear the whole story, and from your lips. Tell him all the lies, all the false promises—tell him. Tell him!”
Trapped between them, I felt the man I had always called my father shake with the force of his long-banked anger; felt my mother tremble with cold fear. But while he gave his hatred free rein, she struggled to remain calm, to control her terror—and I knew she did so for my sake.
“It is a long story,” my mother said. “May I sit, while I speak?”
For long moments, he stared at her, slowly pressed the knife harder against her soft neck. I held my breath, dared neither speak nor move. At last he laughed—it was not a joyous sound—and lifted the knife away from her throat.
“Why not?” he said, and wound a handful of her dark hair around his fist. He used her hair as a leash, dragged her to her favorite spot in the garden: the bench beneath the lemon tree. There he released her hair and shoved her down onto the smooth marble bench. She suffered all this silently; once seated, she held her arms out to me, and I fled into her embrace. She settled me beside her on the bench, her arm tightly around me. She stroked my hair, and began.
“First you must understand, my son, that the world goes as the Good God Ahura Mazda desires, and not as mortals wish. If I had understood that, I would have saved myself, and you, and my husband much suffering. But I did not, for when I was given in marriage, I was still only a girl …
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