Harvest - 02 - Harvest of Gold

by Tessa Afshar

  Late on the evening of the third day, Sarah heard hushed voices outside her door. Startled by an intrusion so late at night, she cracked her door open and caught the tail of Nehemiah’s robes swishing down the stairs, accompanied by his brother.

  “What is it, my lady?” Pari said, her tones too soft to be overheard.

  “The new governor is up to something. He’s sneaking about in the night. Shall we discover his intentions?”

  Pari shook her head. “It’s precisely this attitude that gets you into trouble, you do realize?”

  “Does it? I had not noticed,” Sarah said, as she covered her head in a modest linen scarf.

  In the courtyard, her cousin was surrounded by a handful of men, his brother Hanani and Lysander among them. One small torch lit their way. There were no pack animals; obviously, Nehemiah was more interested in secrecy than in comfort, and the noise of the animals would have alerted half the city to their late-night activities. Nehemiah rode a biddable donkey; the rest were on foot.

  Sarah cleared her throat. Seven heads swiveled in her direction.

  “Good grief, girl! What are you about, sneaking around this time of night?” her cousin said.

  “Funny you should mention, sir. I wanted to ask you the same thing.”

  “A few of us are going to inspect the city secretly, if you must know. And before you ask—no! You cannot come. It is too dangerous for a pregnant woman. Go back to bed, where you belong.”

  “I have no intention of coming. However, I would appreciate a report after your return. For the records, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Once they left the densely populated area of the city, Nehemiah directed several torches to be lit. They proceeded through the Valley Gate, located southwest of the city where there were few settlements, past the Jackal’s Well. Then they trudged over to the Dung Gate at the southern end of the eastern wall.

  Just beyond the gate lay the Hinnom Valley, where the people of Jerusalem discarded their garbage. The smell of rotting rubbish was so overwhelming that it almost made Nehemiah gag. He wrapped his face in a kerchief and noticed that even Lysander was doing the same.

  From the back of his donkey Nehemiah could observe the devastation of the walls with grim clarity. No part of the once impenetrable structure stood whole. The foundation remained solid in parts; in other places, the wall was halfway up. Most sections, however, had suffered utter destruction. In the white light of the moon, brightened by the fire of their torches, the desolation of Jerusalem cried out like the howling of mourning women. Defeat sat at their door like a living presence.

  The men of his party had to walk with care, for their path was strewn with broken masonry and rubble. While this became an inconvenience, it also proved promising. Some of the stones scattered about on the ground were whole enough to be used again. Many large pieces had survived the devastation. Already cut, and having sustained minimum damage, they were ready for building again.

  Without uttering a word, the group walked all the way to the Fountain Gate and from there to the King’s Pool. The debris became so bad at one point that Nehemiah’s donkey could no longer get through. He changed their course, heading for the Kidron Valley instead to inspect the state of the wall there.

  No improvement could be found in this section of the wall; it seemed as ruined as everything else they had seen thus far. They ended their expedition here and backtracked, returning to Jerusalem through the Valley Gate. Their inspection had only covered the southern part of the city. Nehemiah reckoned it was more than enough to give him the information he needed.

  Sarah awoke early the next morning and found Judah’s governor already busy.

  “Ah, good. I can use your help,” he said when he saw her. “I’ve sent for the Jewish leaders. They are about to find that their lives are going to change.” He pointed to a diminutive alcove set behind the farthest edge of the hall. “Sit in that corner, behind the half wall. Don’t say a word, mind. Not one chirp. I doubt the men of Judah will take kindly to a female scribe. A pregnant female scribe.”

  Sarah patted the growing bulge of her belly and grinned.

  “I’ve kept my own notes and memoirs concerning this journey since we were in Susa. But having your records will add details that I might not have time to include. Have you brought your writing implements? Good.”

  Soon, the priests, the nobles, the officials, and other important administrative staff of Judah began to trickle in.

  Judah’s new governor began the meeting with a description of his findings the night before. Sarah wrote down his words as fast as she was able.

  “But I tell you nothing that you don’t already know,” he said when he finished recounting what he had seen. “You see the trouble we are in. People of Judah, the city of our fathers lies in ruins. There is not one gate that remains standing.”

  Nehemiah pulled an elegant hand through his dark red hair. The rustling of his silk garments sounded stark in the heavy silence. “The state of our nation disgraces us. Our enemies gloat over our diminished circumstances. The Lord’s people suffer because of it. A vibrant life cannot be established in this city unless it enjoys the protection of well-made walls. As it stands, the city of Jerusalem is not large enough to sustain farming; it’s not busy enough for commerce; and it is not safe enough for crowds. We cannot build our homes in Jerusalem unless it can be defended against raiders.

  “Let us end this shame, brothers. Let us rebuild the wall of Jerusalem. The Lord has opened a way for us. The king himself, who stopped this project when he believed our enemies’ lies, has given me leave to commence it once more.”

  A quiet murmur rose in the room. Men’s voices gathered strength as they questioned the new governor’s news. Nehemiah held up his arms, silencing the chatter.

  “Don’t think I have accomplished this because I am a friend of the king’s or because I am a good politician. The gracious hand of my God was upon me when I was in Artaxerxes’ presence. That’s the reason I gained his favor. Because of it, the king has given me authority to inaugurate this mission.

  “We’ve even been given timber from the royal forests. But the tallest trees of Persia and all the gold from its treasury cannot fulfill this task unless you give the Lord your wholehearted cooperation. I cannot manage this work alone. It requires every leader, every man and woman of Jerusalem, to band together. Come then: Let us commit to the task; let us face the battle; let us put our backs to the toil—each to our part, each to our position; there is not a week, nor a day, nor a moment to lose.”

  Sarah’s heart rose like thunder, motivated to do anything that her cousin demanded. Nehemiah could persuade the dead. She was not the only one affected by his speech. He spurred such a passion in the leadership of Judah that they forgot their fears and complaints and began to shout their agreement. They would begin the good work. They would rebuild the walls. And nothing would stop them.

  Nehemiah gave a modest smile and held up his hands. “We need to organize our people if we are to progress. I have made some plans.”

  When the leaders left, Sarah rose from her cramped hiding place. Her body was changing rapidly so that what might have been comfortable one day before, grew challenging hours later. She stretched and bit her lip as pain shot through her hip. A small movement in the core of her belly brought her up short. Her baby was quickening.

  “What’s wrong, dear girl?” Nehemiah’s worried voice interrupted the incredible moment of discovery.

  “I felt the babe move in my womb for the first time.”

  “Ah. He must have liked my speech.”

  Sarah laughed. For an old bachelor, her cousin handled her pregnancy with great aplomb. “My child has auspicious timing.” She patted the rise of her stomach. “That went well. I had expected resistance from them. Instead, you had them agreeing to your every suggestion.”

  Nehemiah returned to his table, which boasted a pile of parchments he had been studying earlier. “Don’t be fooled. The
re will be trouble. From within and from without. We shall have many hard battles ahead of us.”

  “Cousin Nehemiah? What makes you so determined? If you know the work is going to be hard and mired in discouragement, why do you persist?”

  Nehemiah rolled up a parchment and tapped its end against his palm. “Because I believe I was called to this. What do you think destiny is? A smooth path that never jostles you? No. When you walk in your destiny, you will crash and fall more times than you can count. But the secret is to hold on to God’s vision for your life—and for the lives of those He puts under your charge. No matter how many times you fall, crash, and fail, you get up. You get up and face your obstacles.”

  As he began to coordinate the enormous project before him, Nehemiah directed Sarah to keep an exact record of the individuals constructing the wall. He wanted her to archive their names as well as the location of their work.

  “Don’t go chasing after each one around Jerusalem. Stay away from the walls, Sarah. I will charge Lysander’s men to bring you reports twice a day.”

  Searching through her writing box for fresh ink on the first afternoon that the work began, Sarah noticed a short roll of parchment. With an unpleasant chill, she recognized the ivory-colored sheepskin: the note that had been given to Nassir by the mastermind of the plot to kill the king. It had been some months since she had studied it. Unrolling the parchment, she began to read.

  Carry out the instructions I send you. You now have everything you need for the New Year ceremonies.

  It had never been delivered to the intended assassin, of course. Sarah read the words again, this time with more intensity. The distance of months must have swept aside the cobwebs of her mind. For the first time she noticed a vital clue, which she had missed during the first round of her inspections.

  This note was not addressed to a stranger.

  As fast as her growing stomach allowed, she sprang to her feet and went in search of Lysander. She found him in the courtyard, parceling out fresh orders to his men. He gave her a sidelong glance and dismissed his men.

  “I need to speak to you. It’s urgent.”

  Lysander wasted no time on questions, following her inside the dilapidated residence. She put the parchment in his hand. “I’ve found out something important. This note is not addressed to a stranger.”

  “Start from the beginning. What note?”

  “The one we found on the Babylonians.”

  Lysander unrolled the parchment and, after a brief glance, gave it back to Sarah. “I can’t read Aramaic. What does it say?”

  Curbing her impatience, Sarah read it to him. “What I realized as I reread it is that it is addressed to someone familiar. This is not a letter to some unknown assassin. It’s a missive addressed to a person whom the author knew. May you walk in safety. That’s almost sentimental. They knew each other. They might even have been fond of each other.”

  “I see. I will send a messenger to your husband. It’s a subtle distinction, but perhaps he will find it of use.”

  Sarah nodded and turned to leave. Without warning, a sharp pain, like a small arrow, pierced her abdomen. Unlike the muscular twinges that plagued her when she stayed in one spot for too long, this pain came low and deep, as if from the center of her womb. Her eyes widened with shock. The discomfort passed quickly, but fear settled over her like a boulder. The memory of her miscarriage remained too fresh for her to ignore such a peculiar sensation.

  “My lady? Are you unwell?”

  “A passing pain. Do you think …?”

  Lysander frowned. “Let’s not arrive at premature conclusions. I must examine you.”

  Lysander’s expression remained bland as he dried his hands on a clean towel. “I cannot be certain. This is not a branch of medicine with which I have sufficient familiarity. You have bled a small amount. I believe this happens to some women. The sharp pain you describe may also be normal for this stage of your travail. But given your recent miscarriage, I am unprepared to take undue chances. You need a physician who specializes in women and birthing, and there is none to be found in this dilapidated province. All I have unearthed so far is midwives who know less than I.”

  Sarah glanced over at Pari; reflected in her friend’s face she saw the same grim fear that had hold of her own mind. Lacing her fingers together, she squeezed them to hide their wild trembling. The thought of losing another baby was too much for her. “What do you suggest?”

  “I know of a physician in Damascus who is famed for his expertise in this area. I myself met him years ago when I was stationed there, and I have great respect for his ability. But he has a terror of travelling and would never come to us. We would have to take you to him.” He looped his hands as they hung between his knees.

  “Bringing you to Damascus would be risky in the midst of this plot business. Your husband will no doubt have my hide for exposing you to danger before I have the opportunity to explain. I see no other way, however. I cannot leave you here and just wait for nature to take its course. If we travel very slowly to ensure your well-being, we should arrive in a few days. And then you can have the best of care.”

  Sarah nodded, grasping at this ray of hope. “Darius will understand once you explain. He only wants my safety. I know that now. If being in Damascus provides that, he will come to approve of your decision, and even applaud your initiative.”

  Lysander raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Applaud it or no, he will have to live with it. I cannot make any other choice under the circumstances.” He stood up. “I’ll send him a message to prepare him for our arrival. We’ll leave at first light.”

  “Thank you, Lysander. I will let the governor know of our departure.” Nehemiah would miss both of them, she thought.

  “Try not to worry, my lady. The baby rests soundly within you. This journey to Damascus is a mere precaution.”

  Disbelief gripped Darius as he studied the message from Lysander. With narrowed eyes he read the words again. Lysander had kept it brief, no doubt in deference to the possibility that the letter might fall into the wrong hands. He only said that due to an urgent development he was personally escorting Sarah to Damascus.

  Darius crumbled the bit of papyrus in his fist. Had the Spartan lost his mind? What could have possessed him, dragging his wife into the middle of danger when he knew this was the one situation that Darius had been determined to avoid?

  He pushed his hand through his hair. Tomorrow, he would see Sarah. Not an hour had gone by since he had left her that he had not thought of her. Sometimes longing for her filled him like a tidal wave. More often, the thought of his lost baby cooled his ardor. Grief and resentment made powerful defenses against tenderness. He still could not stomach her betrayal. How could a woman who seemed so loving act with such manipulative self-interest?

  And how could a soldier as experienced as Lysander justify conveying his superior officer’s wife to Damascus while Darius was neck deep in a delicate investigation? He considered landing a powerful punch on the man’s square jaw upon his arrival in advance of conducting a reasonable investigation. The thought brought a grim smile to his face.

  Before he lost all focus, he scripted a quick note, ordering Lysander to bring Sarah to the inn where he had already concealed the Babylonians, hoping the obscure location might protect her. He handed the letter to the messenger with orders for an expeditious delivery, making certain the man knew where to find the party on the road.

  Alone, Darius poured himself a goblet of wine and inclined against a cushion, trying to make sense of the day’s events. The sound of footsteps forced him out of his reverie. He looked up with shock at the sight of Roxanna, who paraded in and threw herself on the iron bed.

  “You look like you just tasted water from a camel’s trough,” she said. “Bad news?”

  “Who let you in here?” He was outraged by her audacity, traipsing into his private chamber as if she were not an unmarried woman from the flower of Persian society. The beard did ruin the effect so
mewhat. But that was not the point. Had the world lost its collective wits? Was he the only sane person left on earth?

  “I let myself in. Your guard found himself preoccupied, I’m afraid. I could not spy for Artaxerxes if I asked permission every time I tried to enter a room.”

  “Next time, knock. You’re not spying on me.”

  “Says who? The king is very interested in the activities of his most faithful servants. Just in case.”

  Darius threw a pillow at her with the precision of a spear. It landed on her face before she could dodge, and knocked her beard askew. She sat up, her face red with rage. “Very comical.”

  At any other time, he would have laughed at her odd, lopsided appearance. He could not muster the will for humor just then, however. “You had better repair that. No one would believe you’re a man if they saw you now.”

  Roxanna settled herself on a stool with her back to him and peered into a silver mirror. “Blast. It took me an hour to get that right.”

  “While you see to your frippery, allow me to fill you in on important new information I just received.” He described Lysander’s letter.

  “A conjugal visit in the midst of secret investigations. How nice for you. I heard your wife was a handful. The details of your wedding feast entertained the women in my father’s household for weeks. I’ve been dying to meet her ever since. She’s the only woman besides the queen who sounds remotely entertaining.”

  “You aren’t coming anywhere near her, Roxanna. The two of you together will probably bring about the end of the empire as we know it.”