Harvest of Rubies (10 page)

She smiled widely when she saw me. She was in good humor, I thought, a little reassured. It seemed that every member of her court had gathered about her; her handmaidens and eunuchs and lesser servants turned in unison to gaze at me. I began to feel myself perspiring under the scrutiny of so many people. I was not accustomed to such attention.

Disconcerted as the stares continued, I approached the queen with misgiving.

“You are very good at uncovering secrets, scribe. But I have kept a few from you for some days now,” Damaspia said.

I made some inane comment about her wisdom and began to feel a prickling of worry. It was clear that everyone in the room knew of this secret and was amused by it at my expense.

“Some nights ago as I supped with the king my husband, he told me of the predicament of one of his cousins, the lord Vivan. This predicament, I wish to share with you, Sarah, for it concerns you now. Before I do, however, I must tell you Vivan’s story.

“Many summers ago, when Lord Vivan was still a young man, he fell in love with the daughter of his steward, a beautiful girl named Rachel.”

My eyes widened at that name, which was not Persian, but Jewish. The queen acknowledged my recognition with a faint nod and continued. “She was one of your people—a Jew. Lord Vivan’s love for Rachel was so consuming that he refused to take her as concubine, which befit her station, but married her instead and elevated her above his other wives. Her son,
whom they named Darius after the great king, became his heir.

“Of course Lord Darius was not raised as a Jew, but a Persian. When he was seventeen, to the sorrow of father and son, Rachel died.

“Since then, Darius has proven himself an honorable son in every regard save one: he has refused to take a wife, though well past marriageable age. This has been a sorrow to his father, whose greatest desire is to behold the children of his son. Vivan holds this one shortcoming against Darius, for in every other regard he is a man of honor and the epitome of what a Persian nobleman ought to be.”

I did not understand why the queen would wish to parade this young man’s admirable qualities before me. I bobbed my head up and down like a fool and waited the queen’s good pleasure to explain.

“Some weeks ago, goaded by his father’s great unhappiness, Darius finally confessed to his father the reason behind his stubborn desire to remain unwed. It happens that before her death, Rachel made her only son promise that his first wife would be a Jewish girl. He knew that his father wished him to marry into Persian nobility. Caught between his youthful promise to his mother and his father’s certain disappointment and wrath, Darius kept quiet, hoping that in time a solution would present itself.

“By this time Lord Vivan was so relieved that his son was willing to marry at all that he cared little where the girl came from. His remaining dilemma was in finding the right Jewish girl for his son.”

An uncomfortable prickling sensation made me squirm where I stood. Why had the queen expressly called me to her chamber to share family gossip?

Damaspia went on. “As I said, the king told me this story as we supped two nights ago. His cupbearer, Nehemiah, was in attendance as usual. He is your cousin, I believe, is he not, Sarah?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, on my mother’s side.”

“A good man.” Damaspia waved a bejeweled hand, to emphasize her words. “The king admires his wisdom. So I asked him, when the king had finished regaling me with his tale, if Nehemiah could recommend a worthy wife for Prince Vivan’s son. Before he could answer, however, I said that I myself had a name to suggest.

“The king and his cupbearer turned to me as though I had suddenly learned to speak the language of the Greeks. ‘Who do you have in mind, my love?’ the king asked me. Do you know whose name I gave, Sarah?”

“No my lady,” I said, beginning to feel sick.

“Yours, you simpleton!”

“
Mine?”
I croaked.

Everyone around the room laughed. The sound came as though from far away. I felt the room sway and feared that I might faint. Perhaps I would wake up and find that this whole scene was a nightmare—that I had fallen asleep while overseeing the packing of records. I would wake up drooling over a pot of ink and have a good laugh over the absurdities that my mind could conceive.

“Yours,” the queen repeated remorselessly, unmindful of the effect her words had on me. “I told the king you were the one who had discovered Alogune’s perfidy, and that it was you who had approached the queen mother with the truth. Then I asked Nehemiah what he thought of you and your family.

“He said he held you in the highest regard; though you were poor, you were trustworthy and loyal. Well, I could have
said as much myself. I told the king that I owed you a reward for protecting my good name. Marriage to a Persian aristocrat—the king’s own cousin, no less—seemed as good a prize as anyone could have. And Lord Vivan would have his heart’s desire, which was marriage for his son. It was a perfect solution for everyone. The king and his cupbearer agreed with me heartily and the next evening we invited Lord Vivan and told him the good news.”

I kept waiting for the ending of the story, the part where the queen would tell me that someone came to his senses and stopped this disastrous chain of events. The world operated according to rules and regulations. Insignificant Jewish scribes simply did not marry Persian aristocrats. It was rare enough for Persian aristocracy to marry outside their own ranks. But when they did, they did not choose women who brought no political advantage, no wealth, and no beauty. Someone must have thought of this at some point and recognized the impossibility of such a scheme. I would be all right, I kept assuring myself. There would be no marriage to some spoilt courtier who would stifle the life out of me with his lofty expectations. This was a jest.

“There is one difficulty,” the queen began, and I breathed out in relief. Here it was: the voice of reason. “Lord Vivan must leave for Ionia before we depart to Ecbatana. He will be gone a full year on an assignment from the king. And he does not wish to wait that long to see his heir married. He wants to celebrate his son’s wedding before his departure at the end of the week.”

My jaw dropped open. I put a hand against my neckline and pulled it down to give myself some air. “End of
this
week?”

“I am afraid it shall be a hurried affair, a one-night feast instead of the appropriate seven-day celebration. In his generosity
the king has offered the use of the new Throne Hall in Persepolis; he hopes the magnificence will make up for the shortness of the celebrations. Lord Vivan shall have to foot the bill of course; the king is not
that
generous.” Everyone laughed. I began to believe that this wedding was something real in the queen’s mind. That she counted on it taking place at some point in the future.

“But, surely, Your Majesty, I am too insignificant for such a lofty lord from the Passargadae tribe to marry. It would not be fitting,” I said, desperate to remind her of reason, and to escape this unbearable fate. The Passargadaes were the greatest family in Persia. Even the Achaemenid kings descended from them.

“Nonsense. It is fitting if I say it is. You need not worry about anything, Sarah. I myself have given you some furnishings and a few robes so that you shall not go to your husband’s house empty-handed. There is no reason for you to be ashamed when a queen stands behind you. The contracts were signed by your father and Lord Vivan this morning. Everything is taken care of.”

At the mention of contracts I collapsed on the floor; my legs could no longer support me. I heard the twittering of laughter around me, and did not care. Then I felt a gentle arm go around me and a cup was placed against my lips. I tasted wine. I saw that the queen herself held me.

“Come, come, it has been too much for you, poor child. You had best go and rest now.”

I thought if I left her presence, I might not be able to secure another audience until it was too late. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” I mumbled, and forced myself to my feet. “I am well.” I grasped wildly about, hoping for inspiration. “But my lady, who shall be your chief scribe if I marry? There
will be no time to replace me. I cannot bear to think of the shambles your records shall fall into without proper care.”

Damaspia took a half step away. “You have uncovered the one weakness of my plan, I admit. It is most inconvenient to myself, this marriage of yours. You were the best scribe I ever had. Such is my regard for you, however, that I have willingly made the sacrifice.”

“You need not—”

“Enough!”

I knew that tone. The regal voice that declared the end of discussion.

I remembered that I had not thanked her yet, and that I could not afford such a breach in protocol. In a choked voice I said, “I am very grateful for your undeserved generosity, my queen.” Then bowing, I left.

My father, I told myself, would find a way out of this. I collapsed on the familiar bench in the king’s garden, utterly blind to the beauty that surrounded me, and tried hard to hold on to my sanity as I waited for my father’s arrival. Scant hours ago, it seemed, my life was just as I wanted it; I had my work, I had the respect of my queen; I had the satisfaction of knowing I chose my own path.

Damaspia had told me that my marriage would inconvenience her, yet never had she thought of my inconvenience. Everyone in her chamber had looked at me as though I had been handed the keys to happiness, as though I ought to kiss the hem of the queen’s robes with utter thankfulness.

But I knew about aristocratic marriages amongst the Persians; I saw my queen, cherished by her royal husband, yet
having to share him with many women. He called Damaspia
beloved
and yet sired children by others. I would not have the luxury of love. I was nothing but the appeasement of a promise to a dead woman. How many women would I have to share my home with? How many women would bully and despise me?

In the palace, I shared my humble room with others; but that little spot was mine; no one begrudged me its use. I earned it with my service.

The work of my hand brought me respect as well as wages. I knew I had earned the admiration of the queen and as a result, her household. In spite of my relative obscurity, I was worthy of esteem by those who knew of me in the palace. In the house of the cousin of the king I would be nobody. Worse. I would be a disappointment. These thoughts filled me with such panic I began to tremble and could not stop.

I saw my father walking slowly toward me from a distance and ran to him.

“What is this thing you have done?” he asked without greeting. He sounded tired.

“It was the queen’s doing. I only found out about it this morning. Father, how do we stop this madness?”

“It cannot be stopped, Sarah. I sealed the contracts myself.”

“Why?” I cried. “Why did you not refuse?”

“Refuse the king’s own cousin? Are you mad? He came armed with the king and queen’s blessings.”

I turned away from him to rest my head against the trunk of a sycamore tree. “Why me?” I moaned. “No doubt there are many sweet-tempered, beautiful Jewish girls who would love to become wife to a Passargadae. I will find one myself and deliver her to the door of Lord Vivan before the week is out.
Why me?”

“Sarah, it is done.”

“It is not!” I screamed. “I will find a way. I will go to Cousin Nehemiah.”

“He was there when I signed the contract,” my father said softly. “There to help, not to hinder.”

His resignation made me furious. “You have no care for me,” I said, my face cold. “You never have. This marriage will kill me.” I was pleased to see the sheen of tears in his eyes. Something hardened in my heart as I walked away from my father. In those moments, it was as if all the years of desperate love and unfulfilled yearning I had carried for him twisted into bitter anger. I knew now that I was truly alone in the world.

I was working in my cramped office, trying to put Damaspia’s records in perfect order before the court’s departure to Ecbatana, when three of Damaspia’s handmaidens traipsed in. My chest began to itch ferociously at the sight of them.

I spied Pari standing in the middle. “What is the meaning of this?” I asked, half rising.