by Tessa Afshar
He wiped his hands on his knees. “There’s no need for that. Anyone would have done the same.”
To his relief, he saw Meres running toward him. As soon as he reached Darius, he bent over and ran an experienced eye over the wound. “That’s a nice one, my lord. You’ll have a grand headache, no doubt about it. Being a hero doesn’t come cheap.”
Darius growled. No doubt Tirzah had cast him in the role of champion to anyone who would listen. Meres didn’t bother to hide his annoying grin. “It’s not funny,” Darius said, clenching his teeth.
Meres’s grin grew wider. “Not funny at all, my lord. Now let’s take you to your chamber. I’ll fetch Lysander to have a look at you.”
Another wave of nausea convinced Darius that a few hours of rest in his chamber might not be a bad idea. “Get someone to replace me, in case that vermin decides to come back.”
“Already done. Now put your arm around my shoulders.”
“Don’t make a fuss. I can walk.”
“I have no doubt you can, my lord. If you prefer, I’ll put my arm around your shoulders.”
Darius did not feel well enough to rise to the bait. He tried to keep up with Meres’s measured steps and stumbled.
Without comment, Meres placed a strong arm around his waist. “We’ll have you home in no time at all.”
Darius hoped he was right. He felt weaker with every step.
Stubborn will kept Darius conscious during the long walk back to Nehemiah’s residence. The combination of blood loss, heat, and the blow to his head packed a powerful punch. With relief, he spread out on his lumpy bed and closed his eyes. “Just let me sleep,” he mumbled. “I don’t need Lysander.” Meres didn’t acknowledge that he had heard him as he slipped out of the room.
Moments later he felt the bed dip next to him. “Leave me alone,” he said, frustrated, thinking Lysander had come to apply his healing arts to his injury.
“Charming.”
“Sarah.” Darius forced himself to sit up. “Pardon. I thought you were Lysander.” She looked pale and strained. She should not be in his chamber. He had not sent for her. Nor was he thrilled at the idea of her seeing him in this weakened state.
“I am all right, as you see.” She did not take the hint. If anything, her hip shifted so that she was sitting closer.
“Why don’t you go back to your quarters and rest? I’m going to sleep. I’ll call for you when I awaken.”
Even gripped by dizziness, he could see that he had hurt her. She bit her lip and bent her head before rising. “As you wish, my lord,” she said. She hadn’t called him my lord last night. It had been Darius then. He frowned. A sudden wave of nausea made his stomach cramp. He whipped around looking for something to shove his head into, and regretted the abrupt motion.
Sarah must have sensed his need. Somewhere she found a bucket and held it before him. The contents of his stomach came up in violent waves. He kept on heaving even when there was nothing left to bring up. He noticed, through paroxysms of misery, that Sarah didn’t flinch at the mess he was making. She remained efficient, her touch full of compassion. Exhausted, he leaned back against a pillow. His head pounded.
Sarah gave him water so that he could rinse his foul-tasting mouth, and ran a damp linen towel over his face, wiping the blood and the sweat. Even though he wished she wasn’t there, he was glad for her ministrations. She brought him a cup of watered wine. He took one swallow and the cramps came rushing back.
“Why don’t you close your eyes?” she said, her voice taut.
He did as she suggested. His ears were ringing, an annoying sound in his head that would not stop. Through the noise of it he heard the door creak. He slit his eyes open and saw Lysander. The Spartan took in the soiled bucket, the bloody towel, and the wound on Darius’s temple with a comprehensive glance.
“I don’t need you,” Darius barked.
“Let’s make certain. Between you and your wife, you sure know how to keep a physician busy.”
“You’re not a physician, and even if you were, I don’t need one. Get out and take Sarah with you,” Darius said, out of patience.
“Aren’t we in a sweet temper.” Lysander pulled a stool next to the bed and made himself comfortable on it. “Let’s have a look at you.” He examined Darius’s temple, his vision, and his hearing before pulling herbs out of his box and making a poultice for his head.
Darius’s ear kept ringing. He heard Sarah’s voice as from a distance. “Will he be all right?” Clang. Clang. Clang.
“Oh, I imagine so. He has a hard head, if you hadn’t noticed. I’ve seen him take a knock twice as hard as this and rejoin the fray by the following day. He has impressive powers of recovery. He should be his old self in a day or two.” Mixing a few drops of a brown liquid into a goblet of watered wine, he held it to Darius’s lips.
“I hope I throw it up over your shoes,” Darius said as he drank. Lysander took a cautious step back, but to Darius’s secret relief, he did not vomit again.
Sarah caressed his hair, her touch as soft as the wings of a butterfly. He decided that he liked the feel of her fingers in his hair. Through half-lowered eyes he saw her lips move and realized that she was praying for him. His heart softened. The annoyance of moments before evaporated. He felt a sense of peace in her presence, and was glad that she had stayed with him. Sleep came and, grateful for the reprieve from the pain and nausea, Darius surrendered to it. Sarah’s white face, murmuring her prayers, was the last thing he saw.
He woke up once in the watches of the night. From his window he could see the moon, full and bright. His head still ached, but the noise in his ears had thankfully subsided, and his stomach had settled down. Sarah was perched at the foot of his bed, her head slumped against the wall. She looked fast asleep. He sat up, his movements careful. He saw that a trickle of thin drool hung against the corner of her open mouth, shining in the moonlight. A rush of warmth filled him at the sight of it. He could not credit how something as ridiculous as spittle had such an absurd effect on him. In her most helpless moments she seemed to wield the most power over him.
He stretched a finger and wiped the moisture from her skin. She jerked awake.
“Darius?”
“Go to bed, sweetheart.” He frowned as that endearment slipped through his lips. It had been months since he had called her that, and he had not intended to use it now. He must be sicker than he realized. He cleared his throat. “You’ve been sitting with me for hours. Go to your own chamber.”
She gave him a mutinous look and he saw that she intended to argue. “Think of our babe,” he said, hardening his voice.
She ran the tip of her tongue over her lip. “Yes, my lord.” Getting up took her some time. Annoyance filled him as he realized that her body had grown stiff in her uncomfortable vigil.
“Don’t come back until I send for you,” he said, sounding harsher than he had meant.
He was disconcerted when she narrowed her eyes. “I’ll not abandon you when you are sick, Darius. I’ll be here to take care of your needs.”
He felt the tug of a smile and resisted. For such a soft creature, she had a backbone as hard as bronze. “Come back in the morning, then. First, rest a few hours. My child must be as creased as a pleated robe inside you, the way you have been wedged against the wall through the night.”
She walked to the door. Before she pulled it open, she turned around to face him. “You called me sweetheart,” she said, her eyes large and luminous.
“It doesn’t mean anything.” He felt heartless when he saw her face fall before she walked out.
Lysander examined Darius in the morning and declared that while he could not return to guard duty yet, he could leave his bed. He was already up when Sarah brought him a late breakfast. Of course, she had not waited for him to send for her. He studied her for signs of exhaustion and had to admit that she glowed with health.
She gave him an easy smile as she set the tray of food on a wooden table next to the bed. To his relief, she did n
ot seem to hold his cruel words from the night before against him.
“You look much improved today, my lord,” she said.
Back to my lord again, were they? He frowned. Even though he had been the one to build this distance between them, he found that he resented it.
“I feel better.” His stomach rumbled with a loud protest. “I am famished. After I eat, I’d like a bath. I want you to help me.”
Her eyes grew round and her skin took on a pink hue. He had never asked her to tend him in a bath. “You said you wanted to take care of my needs,” he goaded.
She gulped. “Of course.”
Darius could hardly hide his smile. Call me my lord now, wife. He found his mood improving with every bite, thoughts of Sarah tending to him in his bath accompanying each mouthful. Why had he never thought of arranging this before? He began to sing a snatch of song under his breath. If he looked in a mirror, he suspected he would find that he had the look of a prowling wolf that was sure of its prey: hungry and self-satisfied.
A couple of Nehemiah’s servants hauled a wooden tub with buckets of warm water into his room, and with quick efficiency, filled the bath and left. The tub had high ends and dipped low in the middle; steam rose from the water invitingly. Sarah turned her back, busying herself with fetching scented oils, towels, and a washcloth.
Darius could no longer hide his smile. He focused on untying his fabric belt. He had not bothered to undress after the attack, preferring to sleep in his clothes than to go through the trouble of shedding them. During the night, the knot had grown tangled and now it refused to budge. His fingers struggled to loosen the tight folds to no avail. Frustrated, he let out a growling expletive under his breath.
He took a step forward, intending to ask Sarah for assistance, his eyes still focused on the knot as he tried to undo it. At the same moment, Sarah turned, her hands outstretched and full of bathing paraphernalia. The inevitable collision, when it came, was not hard, but it hit Darius at an odd angle, so that he lost his balance for a moment. He took a hasty step backward to regain equilibrium. The back of his leg hit the low edge of the tub. His eyes widened in disbelief as he pitched backward and landed fully dressed in the bath. He had managed to protect his head from hitting anything. Dignity, however, had gone overboard.
Sarah stood transfixed, both hands clapped over her mouth, towels and oil bottle scattered around her feet. Darius, stunned for a moment, could not resist the ridiculous humor of his predicament; he threw his head back and roared with laughter.
“Oh, Darius!” Sarah gasped and ran to his side. “Are you all right? I do beg your pardon. I don’t know how it happened.”
“No damage done. You weren’t at fault. I wasn’t paying attention.” He laughed again. “You better help me out of these wet things. We might need a dagger for the belt; it’s tangled beyond hope.” He stood up, water dripping from his short tunic and trousers in wide rivulets.
“Let me try. I have smaller fingers.” She plunged her hands into the knot at his waist and leaned against him as she tried to undo his belt. The scent of her filled his senses. Suddenly, he wasn’t laughing anymore.
By the next day Darius had improved so much that Lysander pronounced him fit to take up his watch for half a day. He looked forward to being active again. At the same time, knowing that Hanun and Tirzah would insist on heaping him with thanks made him uncomfortable. He greeted them, his expression shuttered, hoping that the scowl on his face would keep them at bay.
They seemed to sense his mood, and apart from a cheerful greeting and wide smiles, left him to his work. With relief, he took up his spot, noting that Benjamin was absent. He couldn’t blame the parents for the precaution of keeping their son away from the construction site. Benjamin, no doubt, had pouted with disappointment. Poor boy! In his shoes, Darius would have wanted to be working alongside his father and mother too.
A pleasant breeze cooled the air. The buzzing of a bumblebee as it flew past Darius’s nose made him smile. It was quieter than usual, and he could hear the conversation between Tirzah and Hanun with embarrassing clarity.
“I fear for you, beloved,” Tirzah said. “When I’m not here by your side, I wonder what manner of trouble you might get into.”
Hanun placed a soft kiss on his wife’s cheek. “Have you no faith in my work? Do you think these stones will topple down on my head without you here to supervise my efforts?”
“I’m being serious, Hanun. What if the next time they use arrows? What if there is a skirmish and I lose you?”
“I don’t dread losing my life. Death comes for all of us, and I can say with King David, Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
“But when I think of you and Benjamin alone, with no one to protect you—to provide for you—it sends a chill down my back. I’ve left you with nothing. It grates on me, that failure to make certain you would be well cared for if something should happen to me.”
Darius felt a frisson of shock at Hanun’s admission. Not only did he concede to being afraid, he also acknowledged that he had failed his family. He spoke to his wife as if he held nothing back. As if he had no secrets from her. Darius had not unlocked his heart to anyone with such openness since childhood.
Part of him judged Hanun weak. No man should parade his darkest doubts into the light of day as if he could not handle the burden of them by himself. Wouldn’t Tirzah think less of him? Wouldn’t she, in a corner of her mind, reject him for his deficiency?
Another part of him had to acknowledge that, contrary to all reason, there was an undeniable closeness between husband and wife. They were devoted to each other in a way he had not personally experienced. Their intimacy drew him. It seemed as if the more they revealed their hearts to each other, the deeper their attachment grew.
Tirzah slapped her husband’s arm. “What, and you think the Lord is unable to care for us? Does He not love the widow and the orphan?”
Sarah would have come to a similar conclusion, though she would never have spoken those words to him. For the first time, Darius began to wonder what it cost his wife not to be able to express her faith when they were together. That faith was such an integral part of who she was.
He remembered, with sudden and painful clarity, the final months of his mother’s life. They had spent many hours in conversation about her faith. He had realized in those often awkward exchanges how lonely his mother had been in her marriage. She had loved Lord Vivan with a singular and faithful passion. Her love had never wavered. And yet, she had been solitary in the midst of it. She had been unable to share her deepest concerns with the man she loved above all else. Had he done that to Sarah?
He found himself squirming under that reflection. Until now, he had considered himself an exemplary husband. Had he not forgiven her for embarrassing him before the whole court? Had he not given her the unique position of being the only woman in his life? Had he not gone back to her after she had betrayed him by keeping her pregnancy a secret? He had been generous in his treatment of her. At every turn, he had sought the higher ground.
Yet the fact remained that not once had she spoken to him with the unselfconscious candidness of Tirzah. How could she? Whenever she had hinted at the Lord, Darius had shut her down. He had made it clear that he held no interest in her view of the world.
Neither had he revealed the inner workings of his mind to her as Hanun did to his beloved Tirzah. Would Sarah want that ridiculous level of transparency from him? His gut told him that she did. He felt certain that she would respond by loving him with an abandonment he could not begin to imagine. The thought of revealing every insecurity and fear turned his stomach sour, however. Weakness and timidity were not for him.
Darius ground his teeth. Being around Tirzah and Hanun had an unpleasant effect on him. They were poor and surrounded by danger. Starvation sat at their door from one season to the next. They belonged to a ravaged nation, one step away from utter dest
ruction. And yet they made him examine his life and emerge discontented. He had begun to believe that for all their lack, they were richer than he could ever be. That conclusion grated on him. He should swap the location of his guard duty and rid himself of the thorn this family had become.
Sarah crossed her ankles and then uncrossed them. Darius had returned home from his half day of work in a strange mood. He had not strung more than five words together as they ate lunch. Every once in a while she caught him staring at her, his eyes narrowed and thoughtful. She checked her green linen robe for an embarrassing stain and was relieved to find none. It had been weeks since she had worn the elaborate garments suited for the court. Now she garbed herself in simple linen robes, cool and loose enough to accommodate her condition. Did Darius find her appearance a disappointment? Did he think her fat and unattractive? She drew a nervous hand over her flowing skirts.
“How is Benjamin?” she asked, a fifth foray into conversation that seemed to go nowhere.
“He wasn’t at the wall.”
Sarah waited for him to elaborate. No further revelation was forthcoming, however. She sighed and leaned back, her appetite gone. “Is it me? Have I offended you in some way?”
“What?”
“You keep staring at me.”
“Do I?”
Sarah let out a breath. “Shall I clear up our lunch? We seem to have both stopped eating.”
Darius pushed away a full bowl of bean and garlic stew. “You prayed for me. When I was sick. I saw you, before I fell asleep.”
Sarah’s mouth turned dry. She tried to swallow, but could not. “I did … I ask your pardon. I did not think you were awake.”
“I liked it. You may pray for me whenever you wish.”
Eyes rounded, Sarah leaned forward. “Truly? You don’t mind?”
“My mother used to do it. I had forgotten. When I was little, she would thank God for me every morning, and bless my day. In the months of her illness before she died, she would not allow a single day to go by without praying for me.”
