Jewel of Persia (32 page)

In so many ways, her husband was the most sensitive of men. Yet he never seemed to notice the strain of the farmers whose livelihood his people consumed in an hour. He never looked over his shoulder to note the destruction they left in their wake.

At least he only demanded one meal a day from the landowners. Any more might prove the end of them.

She oversaw the transfer of her things and settled onto the seat of her wagon as morning spilled soft and golden onto the land. Zad stretched out on the bench beside her with a spoiled whoof and rested his head in her lap.

Kasia smiled and scratched behind his ears. A few minutes later the wagon rolled into its place in the procession, and she turned to her maids. “I recalled another Psalm yesterday, if you would like me to teach it to you.”

They grinned and reached for their instruments. She was blessed indeed to have servants willing to learn of her faith, to pray with her and support her.

Even if no one else did.

Midmorning brought Zethar to the wagon with a weary smile of greeting. “The king wishes to know if you feel well enough for company.”

She grinned at the eunuch. “Which is to say, he does not wish to come if my nausea will force the truth upon him? Well, tell the king he may join me without risk to his blinders.”

Zethar chuckled. “And you would
actually
have me say . . . ?”

“I feel much better and would love some company.”

“That I will gladly deliver.”

She exchanged a grin with her servants and urged Zad onto the floor. Leaning out the opening, she spotted Xerxes riding her way.

A cry from the side of the road grabbed her attention. It looked to be a peasant, a man gnarled and old. He called out, “Zeus! Zeus!”

Xerxes reined in his steed, his curiosity evident. “Why do you call to your god, old man?”

The native fell to his knees at the edge of the road, arms lifted. “Mighty Zeus, why do you parade about under the guise of a Persian and call yourself Xerxes? If you wish to destroy Greece, you had no need to bring all of mankind with you—you could have done it under your own power.”

Xerxes tossed his head back in a roar of amusement. The old man looked baffled, but not offended. Still chuckling, Xerxes shook his head. “Where is your home?”

The man motioned toward a ramshackle hovel not far off the road. Xerxes pulled out a few rounds that glistened gold in the sun. “If I am Zeus, then these must have been fired in the kilns of Hephaistos—perhaps that will increase their value.”

He tossed the handful of darics at the man, who scooped them up as if they were indeed manna from heaven. “Bless you, mighty Zeus, for hearing the prayers of a poor husbandman!”

Xerxes chuckled again and urged his horse alongside the wagon. Kasia shook her head. “Greetings, Zeus. I would offer you hospitality, but I already promised a seat to my husband.”

“Since when does Zeus care about such bonds?” He swung from horse to wagon in one smooth movement and pulled her close to nibble on her neck. “Mmm, mortal flesh. Much softer than what can be found on the goddesses at Olympus.”

“You are terrible,” she said on a laugh, squirming away from the tickle of his beard. Wishing every moment might be like this.

He caught her lips and held them captive for a long moment. When he pulled away, his smile looked content. “I have asked the Spartan to join us.”

She had met Demaratus several times, always briefly. “Any reason?”

“He is the only man I trust with experience in a Greek military. I would put a few questions to him.”

“I have heard only a little about his people. Is it true all the men wear their hair long, as he does?”

Xerxes smiled. “Indeed. They hold that long hair makes a handsome man more beautiful and an ugly man fiercer. What do you think, having seen Demaratus? Is there truth in that?”

“In order to judge, I would have to see
you
with long hair, my love, and decide if it could possibly increase your handsomeness.” She grinned and wove her fingers through his. “Otherwise I only look at men and think, ‘He is nothing compared to Xerxes.’”

“The answer of a woman either madly in love or smart enough to flatter her jealous husband.” He chuckled and lifted their joined hands, kissed a knuckle. “I have also heard they all exercise nude the morning of a battle, so that their enemies see their fitness, their fierceness, and are stricken with awe and terror.”

She could not tamp down a grin. “And shall I witness that for you, as well, so that I can lend you my opinion on its effectiveness?”

Zethar cut off his bark of laughter by leaning in to say, “The Spartan, master.”

Xerxes winked at her and murmured, “You will pay for that one later, my sweet. Now scoot over, if you will.”

She obliged, and Xerxes slid with her so that the once-king of the Lacedaemonians could vault up and take the spot on the end.

Demaratus greeted them with a respectful nod. “Good morning, my lord. Lady.”

“Demaratus.” Xerxes shifted a bit so that he was facing his guest. “I have a question for you, if you would offer me your advice.”

Demaratus’s brows lifted slightly. “Of course. What is it the king wishes to know?”

“About the Greeks. Tell me, will any of them stand their ground against me? It seems to me all the armies would have to unite to have any chance against my forces, which is unprecedented. I would hear your opinion.”

One of the Spartan’s brows edged higher than the other. “Would you have a truthful answer, my lord, or a comforting one?”

Xerxes grinned. “Comfort avails little on the battlefield. Speak honestly, my friend—you will be no worse off for it, even if it displeases me.”

“Very well. The Greeks are an admirable people, hewn by intelligence and law, which alone have fended off poverty and despotism.” Demaratus paused and tilted his head. “But I need only speak of the Spartans to answer your question. There is nothing you could ever say to them, my lord, to keep them from taking up arms against you. The Spartans will fight, even if no other state does.”

Xerxes folded his arms. “Yet it is a small state, your Lacedaemon.”

“True. There may only be a thousand fighting men, possibly fewer. But they will fight.”

Something tightened in Kasia’s chest, though she knew not what it was. Something that wanted to believe such determination was possible, even as she hoped no one would really challenge her husband.

Xerxes laughed. “You speak madness, my friend. What reasonable person would pit himself against ten enemies, much less a thousand to his one? Especially where each man is free and so has no leader?”

Demaratus smiled, but it was hard and a little sad. “I knew my answer would not endear me to you, but with all respect, my lord, you cannot understand our souls. You are the only free man in all your empire—everyone else, even your own brothers, are your slaves. They must obey you or be killed. Your rule is founded on authority and obedience.”

She could well imagine Xerxes’ glower. “That is what
rule
is founded on, Demaratus, not just mine.”

“In a tyranny, yes. And you, my lord, wield it with wisdom. But when you march against a people suckled on freedom since birth, you cannot expect them to bow to slavery when once they were free to decide for themselves.”

Xerxes waved a hand. “Illusion. A man may think his decisions free, but everyone has a master.”

“And for the Spartans it is one unchanging law—one must never turn tail and run from a battle, no matter how many men one fights. One wins, or one dies trying. They fear this law even more than your men fear you—and it makes them free. It makes them rise early in the morning to keep themselves strong, it makes them strive to be the best. Not for riches or to avoid punishment, but for respect and honor. You have heard the saying, I am sure—a man is freer in Sparta than anywhere else in the world.”

Xerxes’ shoulders relaxed again. “Your helots might disagree.”

Demaratus chuckled. “Let us say, then, a
free
man is freer in Sparta than anywhere. And a slave, more a slave. We are an extreme people, born of an extreme land.”

Kasia leaned back and drew in a long, silent breath. That kind of freedom . . . he was right that no one in Persia could know it. Her husband spoke law and held the power of life and death in his hands. She trusted him—but before she knew him? In her father’s house, the law of Persia was obeyed only out of fear of reprisal.

Yet such freedom made sense to her, made her soul take note. She knew what it was to serve a law that made one better, that one obeyed out of holy fear.

Love the Lord your God with all your soul, with all your mind, with all your strength.

Often enough she had rebelled against first her father and now her husband—which rarely worked to her advantage. But the Law . . . it taught her how to grasp freedom of the soul through her love of Jehovah.

Xerxes said, “It is difficult to believe such a life could be sustained.”

The Spartan nodded. “Our small size is what allows it. Sparta is largely cut off from the rest of the world. Our coinage was made deliberately heavy and awkward so that it would fade from use, and we trade with few. Where your nation survives by the expansion of empire, ours survives by isolation and unification. Even our women have daily exercises to keep them in peak physical form—they are too precious to be risked in battle, but their participation in the ritual is crucial to our way of life. Spartans are warriors. It is the condition of our soul. The Lacedaemonians will hold true to that, even against you.”

“I still find it difficult to believe an entire race would choose to fight when loss is certain—but we shall see.” His smile was audible in his voice. “Thank you for speaking with me so forthrightly, Demaratus. I will think on what you said.”

Kasia sighed. As would she.

Twenty-Four

Susa, Persia

Esther paused at the end of the street to pull in a fortifying breath. The palace lay before her, only a minute’s walk away. Her cousin would be at the gate. Just beyond this street. Around one corner.

She lifted her chin and repositioned the basket on her arm. Today marked her fifteenth year. It seemed fitting that she evaluate who she had become, where she stood in life. But she had seen no crossroads, not if she continued on her current path.

So then, she must make one.

If Zechariah wanted a woman who went out into town more, then she would take her cousin a cake. If she must shine like a star to gain his notice, then she would douse herself in gold dust.

She planted her foot on the street . . . and sighed.

Did she really expect Zechariah to tumble into love just because she walked to the palace? She may now be fifteen, but that was the dream of a child.

“Are you lost, beautiful one?”

Esther jumped and turned to where a man leaned against the post of his door. He swept a lazy gaze over her. Perhaps some would have called the glint in his eyes appreciation—it sent a chill of warning up her spine.

She forced a swallow and a polite smile. “No, I am not lost. Only headed for the palace.”

After a glance at the walls looming ahead, he sent her a smile he probably meant to be charming. “Indecisive then. Visiting someone you would rather not see?”

“Not at all.”

He pushed off the post and stepped into the street. His stance carried no overt threat, but his eyes made her want to run the other direction.

He quirked a brow. “I am heading that way myself. I would be honored to deliver such a beautiful young woman safely to her destination. You are going to see . . . your husband, who serves at the palace? Perhaps I would know him—I serve there as well.”

“I . . .” What could she say? To admit she had no husband would not help her. But he would catch her in a lie. She pasted on another smile. “Thank you, but I must run home to fetch something I forgot.”

“It
is
a fine morning for a stroll about the city.” He stepped to her side and had the audacity to grip her elbow. “Allow me to escort you. I would meet your father, since your eyes say you have no husband.”

Why would the man not leave her alone? She tried to tug her elbow free. “That is not necessary.”

He would not release her. “Your father is at war, perhaps, and you cannot invite me home? Your mother then.”

“You presume too much. Now unhand me.”

He laughed, as if honestly thinking she jested. “And give up all chances of learning more about you? I would never forgive myself. I intend no harm, lovely one, only a few more moments to bask in your beauty.”

A tingle brushed her neck a second before a shadow fell over her. “The young lady has made her wishes known.”

Zechariah. Relief washed through her even as she wondered what he was doing on this street, with no delivery cart and in finer clothes than usual.