Harvest of Gold (20 page)

Lysander leaned back after covering Sarah with the sheet again. He looked pale. For the first time Sarah began to feel an inkling of fear.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing. You are in perfect health.” There was a slight tremor in his voice. He shoved his hand through his flaxen hair and shook his head. “You see … well. I have some news.”

Pari sank next to Sarah. “What is it? Will you spit it out, man?”

“My lady, you are pregnant.”

“What?”
Pari’s voice mingled with her own as they stared wide-eyed at Lysander.

Sarah swallowed. “Were you mistaken when you said I had miscarried?”

“No. I was right about that.”

“I can assure you I could not have conceived since.”

“I believe you were pregnant with twins. It’s the only explanation. You lost one of the babes. But the other has been flourishing in your womb. You must be about five months along. When you collapsed against me earlier, the idea seized me with sudden conviction. Your continued struggle with nausea, your lingering tiredness, the interruption of your cycle—they all pointed to one conclusion: that you must still be pregnant.”

Sarah turned to her friend and saw a reflection of her own shock in Pari’s face. They were too overcome to say anything for long moments.

“Are you certain?” Sarah croaked. “I mean—could you be mistaken? Perhaps I’m simply fat. That’s what I thought.”

Lysander shook his head. “There’s no mistake. I am confident you are with child. The babe may be small. You don’t show as much as other women at this stage. He will make his presence unmistakable in the next few weeks, no doubt.”

Slowly, Lysander’s incredible news began to sink its way into Sarah’s benumbed heart. A flood of emotions overcame her. Joy. Astonishment. Doubt. Longing. Hope. Fear. Regret. There was such a tangle of feelings that she could not make sense of them. A babe grew within her. She was still pregnant. In four months, she would hold her child, wailing and squirming, in her arms. She had lost one child. Then against all expectation, against all reason, she had gained another.

God be praised … God be praised … God be praised … God be praised …

She began to laugh, overcome. Tears mingled with the laughter. Pari enfolded her in her long arms and the sound of their joy and weeping filled the room. When she had spent the last of her strength, Sarah looked up. Lysander stood near the door, pulling on his ear with an awkward repeated motion. Sarah wanted to run and grasp him in a sisterly embrace of jubilation, but she doubted he would welcome it. As it was, he appeared desperate to leave the room and escape the bubbling over of feminine sentimentality.

She realized that the person she truly wished to embrace in that moment was her husband. To share with him this unexpected joy and celebrate the miracle of the child they had made together. The desire was so strong that she would have jumped on the back of a horse and chased after him if she were not concerned for the well-being of her child.

“If only Darius knew,” she said, springing up from the bed. “I did not tell him the first time. I wish I could tell him this very instant that he is going to be a father. I could write him a letter, couldn’t I?”

The Greek shrugged. “It would be too dangerous to put that kind of news in a written message. If it fell into the wrong hands, your safety would be compromised. We assume that Darius’s mission remains secret from the king’s enemy, but we cannot be certain. If he has uncovered Darius’s true intentions, the knowledge that his pregnant wife is within easy reach could prove too tempting, leading into a thorny hostage situation. Best you wait until he returns.” He turned to leave.

“Lysander!” Sarah cried.

“Yes, my lady?”

“You are sure? Positive? I am truly with child?”

The pale blue eyes crinkled in the corners. “I would stake my life on it. You need have no worry on that score.”

God be praised … God be praised … God be praised … God be praised …
And yet, while her joy grew explosively, Sarah also felt a deeper ache for the baby she had lost. To have the one did not wipe away the grief of the other.

By the time they arrived in Lebanon, Sarah’s battle with nausea faded, restoring her to a vitality she had not enjoyed for four months. They intended to collect an enormous shipment of timber from Asaph, the keeper of the king’s forests. Nehemiah came to visit Sarah on the afternoon they were to meet with Asaph.

“I need a competent scribe, Sarah. Someone has to keep accurate records of that timber. Are you well enough to accompany me and help?”

“I am feeling in excellent health, Cousin Nehemiah. Thank you.” Sarah found herself at a quandary. She wanted Darius to be the first to find out about her pregnancy. But given the rapid expansion of her stomach and his prolonged absence, she could not hide this secret for long. In addition, she could not receive a commission from Nehemiah without letting him know of the added complexity and risks that were involved with her condition. If he wished her to work for him, he deserved to know. She prayed that Darius would find no offence in her decision. That he would not feel left out once again.

“I do have a surprise that I must share with you, my lord. You will find out for yourself soon enough; there will be no hiding this. I am with child.”

The brown eyes widened; the dark red eyebrows raised so high they almost touched his hairline. Sarah could barely keep herself from laughing out loud at his utter astonishment.

“You are with child
again
?”

“I am with child
still
. Lysander thinks I was carrying twins. I lost one, but the other is healthy. I’m about five months along.”

“I … I did not notice.”

“Neither did I, if that is any comfort to you. I just thought I was growing fat.”

Nehemiah pulled on his beard and made a noncommittal noise. “The Lord is merciful!”

“Words cannot capture my thankfulness. He has blessed me with His goodness.”

“Does your husband know?”

“No. I found out after he left.”

“We best let you rest then. He would never forgive me if I put you to work now.”

“I can do light record-keeping. It will be good for me to occupy my mind with beneficial things. I worry about Darius when I have nothing to do.”

Nehemiah finally gave in and assigned several tasks to Sarah. With the knowledge of her pregnancy buoying her spirits, and work she enjoyed, she began to feel she could face life again. Not a day went by that she did not miss Darius. His absence ate at her like a bleeding wound. If they had not parted in such grave disharmony, she would have borne their separation better. As it was, she wondered if even knowing that she carried his child would soften his heart toward her. Once, she had hoped that he would come to love her. Now she wondered if he would stop hating her.

She spent long hours in prayer, like in the days she had first come to the Lord. He grew more real to her than Jerusalem itself.

Joy and grief settled in her soul like uneasy housemates. Guilt ate at her when she felt happy, for it seemed obscene that she should experience so much joy when she had lost a child, and when her husband seemed to have abandoned her.

Darius concealed Niq and Nassir just outside Damascus in a small inn, leaving Meres to keep an eye on them. They had strict instructions to keep out of the way until he sent for them. The last thing he needed was for the assassin to spot the Babylonian brothers. Darius knew his best weapon against the king’s enemy was the element of surprise. If the assassin found out that they had followed his scent to Damascus, he would burrow so far underground that no one would ever discover him.

The palace in Damascus resembled a miniature paradise. Luxury ruled the court. Silk hangings and carpets, the effulgence of hundreds of lamps burning late into the night, endless wine served in gold and silver chalices, priceless perfumes. Darius thought that old general Megabyzus would roar with disapproval if he saw the waste. But he lived safely tucked away in Persia, spending his waning years in comfort. Artaxerxes wished to spare him from the pressures of rule. He remained satrap in name only, receiving the honor and financial reward without having direct command.

Darius presented himself to Pyrus, the man appointed by Artaxerxes to govern the province of Beyond the River in Megabyzus’s permanent absence. The appointment was another nod in the old general’s direction since Pyrus was Megabyzus’s nephew. No doubt a few strings had been pulled to make the appointment possible. Nepotism had grown rampant amongst the new generations of Persian royalty.

“Lord Darius, welcome!” Pyrus pronounced with loud enthusiasm when Darius introduced himself. Darius, who had never set eyes on him until that day, had to endure a wine-soaked kiss and an intimate embrace from the acting governor.

He gave a stiff bow. “His Majesty sends me with his compliments.”

“How thoughtful of him! I hope our tribute pleased him? I would have come myself, except that I had a terrible bout of toothache.” The smile he flashed was grim enough to indicate he continued to harbor a decaying tooth.

“The king expressed immense satisfaction with your offering.”

“And what brings you to our court?” The lax face sharpened. It occurred to Darius that the man might not be as frivolous as he might seem. He seemed keen enough to know he was being measured, at any rate.

“I travel with the new governor to the province of Judah. The king wished me to stop in Damascus and inquire after your well-being as well as to inform you of the new developments in Judah. The new governor, Nehemiah, intends to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. The king wishes you to know in case trouble arises in the region.”

“His Majesty is famed for his generous consideration.”

Was that a touch of irony Darius detected? Or merely too much wine? The acting satrap was young—no older than thirty. Garbed in embroidered silk from head to foot, his jewelry could probably stock the treasury of the whole empire for a good many days. Darius was no longer surprised at the extent of extravagance in the court. Indeed, he wondered at it not being worse.

After a long dinner with more courses than one of Damaspia’s formal affairs, a new high official arrived who was introduced to Darius as Zikir. Dressed in mourning, Zikir met Darius with a stiff bow and few words.

“Lost his grandson to some unfortunate accident recently, poor sod,” Pyrus mumbled in Darius’s ear. “He was never a cheerful man. But now! May the divine Ahura Mazda help us. He is like a mobile funeral. It’s as if he sucks all cheer when he walks into a room.”

“I am sorry to hear of his loss. How did his grandson die?”

“No one’s bothered to tell me about it. He used to work around here. I liked him. He had gratifying taste in clothes and the kind of style one does not expect to find Beyond the River in Damascus. Much better company than his grandfather.”

Darius racked his memory for more information on Zikir, but could not recall anything. He observed the man give orders with dignity. He seemed to have a lot of influence in the court of Damascus. Other officials treated him with a grave respect, which they lacked when they addressed Pyrus.