Harvest - 01 - Harvest of Rubies

by Tessa Afshar

  “I found I resented you even more for your beauty; I didn’t want to admire any part of you. To my astonishment, the vile image I had built of you in my mind began to crumble with such rapidity that I could not keep up with the evidence before me. You were kind and gentle. My most trusted servants adored you. You had the valor of one of the king’s Immortals and the intelligence of one of his advisors. You were funny. I liked you.

  “But the most disconcerting development was when I realized I desired you. That very first night. Tired as I was after my grueling ride from Ecbatana, and facing the appalling betrayal of a trusted servant, I found myself moved as you sat next to me in your midnight blue dress. You leaned over to show me your scroll. I remember I had to stand so quickly, I overturned you.”

  “You jest!” My voice came out in a squeak. “You never wanted me then.”

  “I did, I tell you. And it put me out of countenance. I wished to stay as far away from you as I could. Desiring you proved an inconvenience I had not counted on. I wanted nothing to do with you. I had no intention of forgiving you. And then I saw how you loved Caspian, and it broke through my resolve to ignore you.

  “Things only grew worse on that interminable journey north. The first few days, I had to bear with sitting in the saddle with you nestled in my arms for hours at a time. Then as you grew strong in the saddle, I had to come to grips with the fact that you weren’t nestled in my arms. The whole state of affairs made me cantankerous beyond forbearance. You must have noticed?”

  I leaned against him. “I assumed it was your normal disposition.”

  “I’m generally as affable as a lamb.”

  “Of course you are,” I said. He laughed.

  “You were very kind to me, that first evening in the palace,” I said.

  “By then, the thought of you remaining a laughingstock in the court stuck in my throat. I did not want you, but I did not wish you to suffer, either. I had planned upon our arrival in Ecbatana to drop you in Damaspia’s keeping and be rid of you. I had committed myself to supporting you in public, but I had no intention of spending personal time with you. Then again, I hadn’t contended with the queen’s devious mind. Having to share a room with you was utter torture. You were witty and charming. I wanted to spend all my time with you, and yet could not bring myself to trust you. I avoided that room as much as I possibly could.”

  “Ah. I wondered where you spent the nights.”

  “As far away from you as I could devise. You almost had to die before I realized I could not walk away from you.”

  My heart melted as I lifted my eyes to his beloved face. “In that case, I bless the day Teispes took me hostage.”

  “Well, I don’t! That was one of the worst days of my life. I don’t know how one small woman can cause so much trouble.”

  As soon as he mentioned trouble, my mind brought me back to the fact that all was not resolved between us. There was a shallow foundation beneath my marriage. I wondered with a sick feeling if all the admiration he felt for me now could bear the weight of his mistrust.

  Then he whispered my name, softly, like he liked the sound of it on his lips, and kissed me, and I forgot my worries.

  “Do you know, I don’t think you did that quite as well as you normally do,” I said when he lifted his head. “Perhaps you should try it again. I think you are out of practice.”

  He must have taken me seriously at first, for he looked disconcerted for a moment, before giving a shout of laughter. He pulled me into his arms with a rough motion. “My life must have been utterly boring without you.” Then he kissed me again and we both forgot about the idea of boredom.

  That evening, I found myself supping alone with my husband.

  “Your father wishes to see you,” he said without preamble.

  I choked on a piece of lamb. “My father?”

  “You are not on good terms?”

  “It’s complicated. I was angry with him for signing our marriage contracts without trying to protect me. You won’t understand. You were in the same position and bore your father no ill will.”

  “Do you wish me to send him away, then?”

  “Away? Is he here?”

  “Yes. Didn’t I say? He showed up this evening to ask my permission for a visit.”

  I stood up, almost upending a tray of food in my haste. “Where is he?”

  “I sent him to your rooms.”

  My father was standing near the far wall, studying a tapestry. He turned around when he heard me walk in. I expected him to remain on the other side of the room, keeping his distance. Instead he stepped toward me with hesitant steps.

  “Sarah?” his voiced brimmed with astonishment.

  I had forgotten how much I had changed since he had last seen me. “Yes, Father.”

  “Why … why you’re beautiful!”

  I had heard a number of similar compliments recently. But none pierced my heart so deeply. I lowered my lids to hide the glaze of tears.

  To my astonishment he covered the gap between us and enfolded my hand in his trembling grasp. “Child, does he treat you well? Are you unhappy? Because I will take you away from here if you want. I care not if your husband is related to twelve kings. I cannot bear that you should be unhappy.”

  I gave him a blank look, almost beyond comprehension. “You would do that for me?”

  “Yes! Let’s go now. Come. We will leave at once. I have a cousin in Bactria. We can go to him for a start. And then, we shall find our way.”

  “What? No! I mean, I am not unhappy, Father.”

  He took a step away. “This is all my fault. I’ve been thinking about it since the day you wed—that terrible day with everyone scrutinizing you with such vicious judgment. If I had been a better father, you would have been more prepared. You wouldn’t have found yourself in a marriage you deplored.

  “I’ve been a terrible father to you. I’ve been neglectful. I know it. In my ignorance, I have done you much wrong. My own sweet daughter! I don’t know how I shall face your mother.” To my horror, he broke down and began to sob bitterly.

  “Father!” Without thinking, I took him into my arms, trying to comfort him. He placed a hesitant arm around my shoulder. For the first time since my childhood years, we clung to each other. The bitterness and sorrow of years were washed in our tears.

  “I always thought I was a bad daughter. Not good enough, somehow.”

  “You?” He gaped at me. “You were perfect. What did you ever do that was wrong?”

  “I was a bother to you,” I said, and after all my prayers, I still could not say the words without a fresh rush of tears.

  “I was a crusty scribe who had no idea how to raise such a precious child. That did not make you a bother. It made me a deficient father. Oh Sarah, forgive me. Forgive me.”

  “With all my heart. I love you, Father.”

  When our tears were spent, we stepped away from each other. To my surprise, my father grasped my hand and began to pull me toward the door. “Let us make haste and be away from this place. I have a cart waiting outside. We can travel through the night.”

  “What? No, Father! I don’t wish to leave.”

  “You’re only saying that to spare me from danger.”

  “I am not! I’m saying that because it’s true. I love my husband. He’s a good man.”

  “Truly?”

  I gave a watery laugh. “Yes, truly. I shall send for him so that you can meet him.”

  “I met him once at the wedding. It was not an experience I would like to repeat.”

  “He improves on further acquaintance. Now sit, while I send for him.”

  Darius came with gratifying speed in answer to my request. “My father thinks you are going to eat him for supper,” I whispered in his ear. “So be kind. He came to kidnap me from your cruel clutches and take me away. I’ve barely restrained him.”

  Darius sputtered. “Never know what will come out of that mouth,” he said in low tones. Then he set himself out to be
charming to my father. Before an hour was done, he had another ardent admirer, as if he needed one more. I was relieved that my husband and my father seemed to grow more at ease in one another’s company.

  My father left late that evening. Darius, on the other hand, lingered in my apartment for hours. I was half asleep when he sat up with sudden speed, dislodging the blankets.

  “I forgot!”

  “Forgot what?” My speech was slow with sleep.

  “I have something for you.”

  “For me? What?” I was fully awake now.

  “A present, which I meant to give you earlier, but you are very distracting.”

  He bounced out of bed and left my room, still pulling on the sleeves of his tunic. My door burst open scant minutes later. Darius strode toward me, cradling something I could not see against his chest. I sat up, filled with curiosity. To my shock, the little bundle in Darius’s embrace moved. I gasped as he dropped a fawn-colored puppy with liquid brown eyes into my arms. He was the very image of Caspian, only much smaller. Expelling a breath, I held him close to my chest. I turned my face toward him, which he licked even more enthusiastically than Caspian used to do. He stole my heart before I had a chance to draw another breath.

  “Oh! What a ravishing creature! What’s his name?”

  “That’s for you to decide. He is from the same parents as Caspian. I heard there was a fresh litter the day we returned, and sent for him right away.”

  “You’re giving him to me?”

  “He’s your welcome home present. I know he won’t replace Caspian. But I think he will come to occupy his own special place in your heart.”

  I was speechless. Drawing the puppy closer to me, I gave him a small kiss on his wrinkled forehead. I realized that what I really wanted was to embrace Darius, but I was too shy to go to him. Hiding my face against the dog’s soft wriggling body, I said, “Thank you, my lord. I already love him.”

  Darius sank next to me on the bed, sprawling in the careless way he had that took up most of the space. Plumping the pillows behind him, he sat up straighter. “I think a little more gratefulness is in order. You have no idea the lengths I had to go to in order to secure him. Damaspia’s agents were there ahead of me.”

  I giggled, half horrified. “How much gratefulness would you like?”

  “Pour it on thick.”

  I put the dog on Darius’s chest with delicate care. “Puppy, say thank you to your master for fetching you to me.” With impressive obedience, the puppy began to lick Darius on the face.

  “You stop that!” Darius placed the dog in the center of the bed with a gentle, one-handed tug and leaned back against the pillows again. “Not what I had in mind.”

  “No?” I threw my arms around him and gave him a crushing hug. “Is this better?”

  “Mmm. A definite improvement.”

  I rained down little kisses on his face and neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, master. I love my present.”

  “What else do you love?”

  I drew away when I realized what he wanted. His eyelids were at half-mast, and I could not read his expression. “I love you.” I said the words with slow deliberation. “I love you so much.”

  The long lips slanted. “It’s amazing how much I enjoy you saying that.” It was his turn to draw me into his arms.

  Author’s Notes

  The period in Persian history in which Harvest of Rubies takes place is a particularly enigmatic time. For such an influential and long-lasting world empire, the Achaemenids have bequeathed us a surprisingly sketchy history. What we do know about them comes to us predominantly through the perceptions of their enemies, the Greeks. In recent times, historians have begun to doubt the accuracy of some of these perceptions. Emerging archaeological finds, as well as a closer examination of the Greek material have led to interesting new observations, which I have used in Harvest of Rubies.

  Whenever possible, I have tried to keep an accurate accounting of facts, or at least to present the story line in such a way that is plausible in the context of history. While there is no evidence of female scribes working in the Persian court, there is substantial documentation supporting the role of women as scribes in ancient Mesopotamia. According to respected historian Will Durant, “some women kept shops, and carried on commerce; some even became scribes, indicating that girls as well as boys might receive an education” (Our Oriental Heritage: The Story of Civilization, vol. 1). Hence, I felt that placing a Jewish woman in the role of the queen of Persia’s Senior Scribe was not unrealistic.

  Modern ideas about life in the “harem” provide an inaccurate picture of how royal Persian women in the Achaemenid Empire lived. Although assigned separate quarters, they were not cloistered, and were free to own and manage property. They traveled and hunted in the company of men. Royal princesses could ride, and some were proficient at the use of the bow and arrow. At least one Greek historian mentions that royal Persian women traveled in enclosed carriages. While this was probably true in general, considering their freedom to hunt with men, it is reasonable to assume that in some cases, at least, they would have been allowed to travel on horseback. Women of royal rank were allowed to attend certain public functions and could entertain men other than their husbands under special circumstances (as in the case of Esther who invited Haman along with her husband, Xerxes, for a private dinner in her apartments). Female commoners enjoyed even greater freedom. The arassara are an example of this. Women who worked as heads of factories show up occasionally in royal payroll documents.

  Persian men displayed prodigious fashion consciousness. Jewelry, exotic perfumes, and luxurious clothing were all the rage. Shoes with platform heels were quite popular in courtly circles among men (Tom Holland, Persian Fire). In the novel—I assume this is true for women as well—I depict Sarah in high heels and sumptuous costumes. While we don’t have as much information about women’s clothing, I was able to use pictures of royal women as seen in seals and statues to describe their fashion.

  Some comments regarding several characters in this novel may prove helpful here. While Alogune is a historical figure, the plot involving her in this story is entirely fictional. However, archaeological records indicate that Alogune’s son, Sogdianus, goes on to murder Damaspia’s son, Xerxes II, shortly after his ascent to the throne. I felt that the plotline involving Alogune would give Sogdianus a convincing motive (besides good old-fashioned ambition) for the later betrayal of his half brother.

  There is no extrabiblical record of the existence of Esther or Vashti. The only wife of Xerxes recorded in history is Amestris. This need not indicate a conflict between the Bible and history; Persians were in the habit of only recording the names of the wives and concubines of the king who bore him children. If Esther and Vashti did not bear Xerxes children, then Persian tradition would have left their names out of public records. Some scholars suggest that Vashti is Amestris, but there are problems with that theory. I suggest my own theory in Harvest of Rubies, though it too offers certain difficulties, the most pronounced of which is the age of Amestris by the time Xerxes marries her.

  Several ancient historians refer to Artaxerxes as a kind and tolerant ruler, a personality trait I try to highlight in the novel. While he was known as “the long-handed” because of a congenital defect, he had no problems with his taste buds that we know of. That was literary license on my part. Along similar lines, I was inspired to give Shushan a fake eye when I read an article on the discovery of a skeleton from around this period, which according to Iranian researchers, sported a stone eye.

  Some readers have asked about the appropriate term of address for God amongst the Israelite community at this time. By the Middle Ages, the Jewish community had set themselves a narrow standard; any direct mention of G-d, whether orally or in written form, was seen as breaking the Third Commandment. A number of scholars believe that this practice began as an oral tradition that has much older roots. Other scholars contend that this practice was of later origi
n. I chose the latter, because the biblical writers address God much more freely in their prayers as well as in their teachings. If the book of Nehemiah refers openly to God, then the most accurate depiction of the time is simply to follow his example.

  Although we are not certain of the exact era during which the Psalms were gathered in written form, one stream of thought suggests the Persian Period as the start of this endeavor. Nehemiah’s gift of a collection of some of the Psalms is a reference to this significant moment in time.

  I hope you have enjoyed Sarah’s and Darius’s adventures in Harvest of Rubies. I look forward to continuing their story in my next book as I write about Nehemiah’s journey to Jerusalem. Once again I will tackle the symbol of walls—this time the importance of building them. You can read a chapter starting on page 357.

  Recipes

  unfortunately, no recipes survive from the Achaemenid period. However, lists of foods used for the king’s servants and retainers give us a good idea of ingredients. The Persians loved using a great variety of meats, and were extremely fond of sweets.

  The following recipes are derived from current Persian cuisine. Some of these recipes have been slightly altered from their traditional form in deference to healthy eating habits. I have tried to choose dishes that use ingredients available in ancient Persia, except for one thing: rice. To the modern Persian, life without properly steamed rice is a fate almost as bad as death. But historically speaking, our earliest evidence of rice in Persia dates to the first century AD. This does not necessarily mean that rice would not have been available at Artaxerxes’ table; the king had access to the rarest foods from around the world and his cooks traveled to far-flung corners of the empire, gathering recipes and ingredients. It merely means that the average person would probably not be eating rice during this period.

  Pureed Eggplant and Onion

  (as served to Darius in chapter 15)

  2 large seedless eggplants, washed

  2 large onions, chopped