Harvest of Rubies (9 page)

In her most famous act of revenge, Amestris had put to death the wife of Masistes, her husband’s brother, after first cutting off her nose, ears, lips, and tongue. Some whispered that this was an action motivated by jealousy, for the woman’s daughter was said to have become King Xerxes’ lover. I doubted that the queen mother had committed the murder out of romantic jealousy. Given that Masistes and his sons rose up against the king in a revolt but a short while after, I thought it most likely that Amestris had caught wind of the plot before everyone else and punished the instigator without waiting around for lawful proof. Which did not help ease my personal anxieties.

The queen mother was the most powerful woman in the empire—more powerful even than Damaspia. And unlike my lady, she would not hesitate to condemn me to death if she believed me guilty of treason. I had little solid evidence, as Damaspia had pointed out. My words alone were my emissary. If I proved unconvincing and Amestris came to the conclusion that I lied in order to help her son’s wife, she might vent her
anger on me while her daughter-in-law remained out of reach.

The king’s mother deigned to receive me, but not until first making me wait in a stuffy antechamber for four hours. She had been Xerxes’ third queen. The first, the lovely Vashti, had been banished forever from the presence of the king for refusing to come to him when he sent for her during a public feast. The second, Esther, a Jewess like me, had never borne him any children and lost her place as queen because of it, though the king was said to have treated her with kindness all the days of her life.

Perhaps not having been Xerxes’ first choice rankled too much, for Amestris allowed no one to dismiss her grand station. She was the daughter of Otanes, one of Persia’s seven most prominent leaders, and woe to anyone who forgot her lineage or her position. I did not intend to make that mistake.

When finally permitted into her presence, I approached her with my hand before my mouth in the tradition of formal royal audiences, lest the odor of my breath offend her. I walked the length of her long audience room with my back bent low, as though she were the king himself instead of his mother. Even the king only required such honors on tribute days, when delegates and courtiers from different parts of the empire brought before him the symbolic gifts of their fealty to the empire.

The queen mother did not object to my excessive obeisance, however. She let me stay bowed a good long time until I grew quite familiar with the colorful pattern of the tiles on her floor. Each tile was made of a precious stone; nothing but the most exquisite materials the world had to offer would do for Amestris. Finally I rose when she gave me a signal, being careful to keep my hands to my sides.

In spite of her wrinkled face, it was plain to see that she had
once been a handsome woman. She shifted on her gold throne and studied me through cold eyes, then nodded at the handmaiden who stood by her side.

The handmaiden barked, “Proceed.”

I took a deep gulping breath and prayed I would remember my speech. “Your Majesty, Queen Damaspia has sent me with her compliments. She asks me to inform you of the recent developments regarding Your Majesty’s case against Frada.” In my best courtly Persian, I presented everything I knew of the case. The only detail I did not divulge was what Nebo had told me about the letter Amestris had received from Gaspar. Nebo would fall under suspicion if I were to reveal my knowledge of that document.

The old lady pinned me with her faded eyes. “You are accusing the lady Alogune of a serious charge.”

“I lay no charge before the lady,
duksis,”
I said carefully, using the Elamite title for
princess
, a term I knew she preferred. “Perhaps there is no link between this courier’s visit to Gaspar and the theft of Your Majesty’s orchard. I am merely describing the facts as I know them, so that Your Majesty might arrive at your own decision.”

She gave a snort. “You want to lead me by the nose to a decision, you mean.” She turned to the handmaiden at her side and whispered something I could not hear before turning to me again. “What you don’t know, scribe, is that I have your own lady’s seal to prove her perfidy. Talk your way out of that if you will.”

“My lady’s seal?” I asked with false innocence of which I would have to repent later, and gaped at her like I was hearing about it for the first time.

She turned her face away as though bored. “You shall see.” Then ignoring me, she turned to whisper to one of her attendants.
Not being dismissed, I stood before her ramrod straight, desperate for a seat.

A few minutes later Nebo came puffing through the door, bearing a parchment. He blanched when he saw me. I looked away as though he were a stranger to me, a gesture that must have reassured him. Amestris pointed a bony finger toward me and Nebo handed me the document. I did not have to make a show of studying it; I needed to find any telltale discrepancies of script between the first part and the second.

Gaspar clearly had a talent for forgery. Even knowing exactly what I held in my hand, it took me many moments of careful examination before I found what I looked for in the simple Aramaic script. Lifting my head I waited on the pleasure of the queen mother to speak, which she granted at her own leisurely pace.

“We have a copy of this letter in the queen’s record room,
duksis,”
I said. “I shall have it fetched that you may see the original wording. It was much shorter than this, ending at this portion dealing with the purchase of land. But by accident the queen placed her seal lower down on the parchment I now hold in my hand. This later section, which convicts Frada and my queen, is in fact a fraudulent addition. The forgery is very good, I grant you, and hard to detect. It is no fault of your own scribes,
duksis
, that they did not perceive it. I myself have only discovered the irregularities because I wrote the original in my own hand.”

“Send for this original now,” Amestris demanded. I realized that she did not want me to have time to forge a document of my own. I nodded for Pari to come forward and gave her instructions to take to my assistant. She looked fearful enough to faint as she glanced at the old queen from the corner of her eyes.

As Pari began to withdraw, the queen mother turned her
attention back to me. “Show my scribe here these discrepancies of which you speak.”

I began to point Nebo to the difference in the strokes of the ink when Amestris barked, “Louder!”

In her old-fashioned court, she considered it beneath her dignity to become directly involved in such plebian matters, yet she was also unwilling to give up the least bit of control. I thought how differently she directed her household from the queen and was grateful to work for the younger woman. Pitching my voice louder, I began my explanations once more, pointing to each letter, with Nebo following carefully. When I finished, Amestris nodded once and Nebo went to her side for a whispering conversation that I could not hear.

Pari appeared at the door, and at my signal made her way to me with rapid steps.

Glancing at the record to ensure it was the correct one, I handed it to Nebo. He studied it before engaging in another long whispering conversation with the queen mother. Finally Nebo stepped aside, and the queen mother’s attendant shouted, “You may leave.”

I may leave?
But what was the verdict? I looked at Amestris in confusion, but could read nothing in her impassive face. Nebo gave me a reassuring smile, and having to be content with that, I took my official leave. I wondered what I could report to the queen.
Nebo smiled, so all is well?

Damaspia demanded for every detail of my audience with Amestris. Far from being disappointed, she laughed like a child and clapped her hands. “What I wouldn’t have given to see her face. She hates to be proven wrong.”

“It was not very entertaining, Your Majesty. Her face never changed expression; she certainly showed no sign of remorse for falsely accusing Frada.”

The queen laughed. “She is like the Sphinx—old and expressionless. We can leave everything in her hands now.”

I frowned. “Your Majesty, I doubt she will take any action. Why, she dismissed me without even telling me if she believed me.”

“Oh she believes you, my little scribe, or you would have heard the sharp end of her tongue.”

“I don’t think her tongue has any other end.”

Damaspia’s eyes twinkled with merriment. I was proving to be quite entertaining apparently. I found it a heady experience, being in the confidence of the queen of Persia, basking in her approval.

Suddenly I remembered that all danger was not yet passed. “What of the lady Alogune?” I feared greater mischief from a woman who had gone to such extremities already.

Damaspia waved a hand. “The queen mother will take matters into her own hands. Amestris will not allow such maneuvering to go unpunished. You don’t tamper with the queen mother without suffering for it.”

“What do you think she will do?” I asked in fascination.

“She’ll go to the king, and Alogune will find herself packed up and back in the bosom of the mother who birthed her in Babylon. And here is the beauty: I shall not have to approach the king and complain of one of his dear concubines. His mother shall do me the service. To help herself, Amestris must help me.” The queen twirled with grace in the middle of her room. “How glorious an outcome! Not only have we foiled an injurious plot, but we have forced the queen mother to do our dirty work for us.”

She laughed and tapped me on the cheek affectionately. “I am very pleased with you, scribe.”

Now that my special assignment was over, I sent Pari back to the queen’s apartments. I missed the girl’s unobtrusive ministrations. She had proven to be a congenial and useful companion.

Three days later, the queen’s men recovered Gaspar’s body. The queen told me it was inevitable; he had riled too many powerful people, and if someone had not done it in the dark of an alley, the king’s justice would have punished him as severely in the light of the day for daring to commit fraud upon a royal person. Rather than chastise Gaspar’s parents for hiding him, however, Damaspia gave them a little money and packed them off to a village she owned near Susa. She wanted to ensure their continued safety.

I thought it typical of her to show clemency to an old couple who would have caused her harm in their desperation. She often said that the greatest king of the Achaemenid line, Cyrus, won nations by his mercy as much as by his sword. He had set my people, the Jews, free from their captivity in Babylon, so I held him in great esteem myself. He was the only Gentile to whom our prophets referred as the
anointed one
. I honored the queen’s efforts to follow in his footsteps.

We had not even started packing for our annual summer journey north when the lady Alogune was officially exiled to Babylon in public disgrace. Artaxerxes, who had lived through the murder of his own father and older brother in a palace coup, had no patience for plots. I breathed easier after that, knowing Frada and the young servant boy under his care were safe now from threat of harm. I thought life had returned to normal, and busied myself with the tedious work of preparing for our summer move to the cool mountains of Media.

T
he queen ruined my life with kindness.

The Achaemenids regarded special acts of faithful service worthy of reward. For generations, they had grown accustomed to bestowing tangible favor on those who provided them with notable aid. Usually these gifts came in the form of a luxurious offering—necklaces and bracelets fitted with precious stones, handwoven garments, silver and gold chalices, rations of fine wine and grain. If Damaspia had given me any of these in appreciation for discovering and foiling Alogune’s plot, I would have wallowed in grateful excitement for months. If she had even given me a decorated saddle for a horse I did not own and could not ride—another common royal gift—I would have soared on wings of joy.

But no. The queen chose to bestow on me the highest honor imparted from royal hand: she gave me a husband. A Persian aristocrat.

A week before our departure for Ecbatana, Damaspia sent
for me. Puzzled at this irregularity, I tried to forget that the last time she had summoned me like this, I had become embroiled in a web of perilous intrigue. Ignoring the knot in my stomach, I forced my reluctant feet to walk faster, and found myself ushered into her presence.