Harvest of Rubies (13 page)

My hasty step brought me too close to the person of the king, and suddenly the golden-tipped spear of one of the Immortals, Artaxerxes’ personal bodyguard, was shoved in my face. The golden apple at the end of that distinguished spear almost slammed into my nose. I was sorry it did not; I thought a bloody nose might give me a good excuse to sneak out of the coming interview with my father-in-law.

Artaxerxes noticed the guard’s gesture and waved him aside. Before Lord Vivan could reach me, the king took hold of my hand once more. This time he bent down to kiss me on both cheeks.

This rare gesture of favor, of welcome, of personal condescension was so astonishing that the gasps of the guests filled the room. His lips were cool and dry and his meticulously curled beard tickled my face.

“You’ve been a most entertaining bride,” he said so that I alone could hear him.

There was no room for proper obeisance; he stood too close. Bowing my head, I croaked, “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. It was unintentional.”

“Nonetheless, you shall pay for it. I can only aid you so far. There are too many people in this room who would like a piece of your hide at the moment, not the least of whom is my dear queen.”

u
nder the thick layer of powder covering my face, I blanched. Artaxerxes gave me a bear-up-you-must-be-courageous smile, then turned and gestured to his cousin, Lord Vivan.

“Meet your new daughter, Vivan,” he said aloud, his voice stern with warning. Lord Vivan understood the underlying message of the king’s words, as did everyone else in that banqueting room. He expected this evening to proceed with the full honor due a noble wedding.

Artaxerxes stepped aside to give Lord Vivan room to draw near. Trying to make up for the disrespect implied in my appearance, I bowed low before my father-in-law. His voice was cold as he said, “Welcome to your new home, daughter.”

I bit my lip and mumbled, “Thank you, my lord.” What could I have said in the space of those short moments that might have explained my strange appearance? Had I consented to Damaspia’s arrangements and permitted Pari’s ministrations
days before, I would still have been a disappointment to father and son, for I knew myself to fall vastly short of their expectations of beauty. But my stubborn resistance and bold-faced lie had turned mediocrity into repulsiveness. I hoped Lord Vivan could detect the regret on my face. If he did, he showed no sign of it.

Artaxerxes hovered near us in conspicuous splendor until the last greeter had passed. His presence forced every tongue to be civil and every malicious smirk to be wiped clean. I had heard tales of his kindness before; tonight I had tasted of it. I would never forget it.

My bridegroom and I were ushered into the Throne Hall, a magnificent square structure decorated with a hundred fluted columns made of black marble, and opening to eight carved doorways that made the hall seem even bigger. The north portico was flanked by two massive gilded bulls. Beneath our feet priceless handwoven carpets sparkled with the shimmer of gold and silver thread, and above us the ceilings stretched so high that twenty tall men standing atop each other’s shoulders would still not touch the cedar rafters. Hundreds of lamps lit up the room like twinkling starlight. The effulgence was lost on me, however, as I wallowed in my own private well of misery.

Darius and I were seated next to each other once more. He grabbed a silver goblet of wine and stared into its fiery depths before taking a long swallow.

“Why?” he said in a voice at once soft and dangerous. “Why did you pester the queen into arranging our marriage and then demean me publicly?”

I whipped my face toward him in astonishment. “Pester the queen to arrange our marriage? I did no such thing!” I cried, too outraged by the lie to remember that I
had
wronged him, though without intention.

“The whole palace is abuzz with how you manipulated Damaspia into arranging this union.”

“And everyone knows that palace rumors are utterly reliable.”

He took another deep gulp of his wine. “Not always, no.” His green-eyed glance in my direction was brief and sufficiently insulting to make me blush. “But why else would Damaspia want me to marry
you?”

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.