Читать книгу Jewel of Persia - Roseanna M. White - Страница 13

Darius cuffed his brother on the side of the head with a laugh. “Hystaspes, you make me late. Go bother Mother.”

The ten-year-old lunged at him with a mighty roar. “I am a lion! You must fight me off, Darius. What if you get attacked by a lion on your way to Greece? They have them in one of the mountain passes, you know. My tutor told me of them today.”

Hence why he had been fending off these lion attacks all afternoon. Yesterday it had been bears. What would come tomorrow? Crocodiles? He flipped the boy off his back, careful to help him land gently. “There, lion, you are defeated. Now stay that way. Father wants me at the feast.”

Hystaspes scowled and rested his elbows on his knees. “It is unfair. Why do you get to meet all the dignitaries while I am expected to eat in the nursery? I am a man too.”

Darius arched a brow. “Amytis and Rhodogune would miss you.”

The boy made a face. “Girls are so dull.”

Darius laughed and tousled Hystaspes’ hair. “If you were a man, you would not think so.”

The boy wrapped his arms around Darius’s legs and held on tight. “Take me with you. I will hide under a rug if I must, but please do not send me back to Mother. She was raving to Haman about some Jewess and will be in a sour temper all evening, then leave for her feast. And I do not want to go to the nursery!”

Darius’s heart tripped at the mention of the new concubine, but he pushed her image away. “Then go find some of our other brothers to play with. What of Parham?”

“He got in trouble, and his mother told him he may not play this evening. Please?”

Darius sent his eyes to the dimming skies. “You can come with me as far as the hall, but then it is up to you to stay out of the way and hidden from Father’s eyes.”

The boy leapt off with a whoop of victory. “Yes! Thank you, Darius. I will be invisible as a specter, I promise.”

Darius straightened his brightly colored tunic and gave his brother a light push, just for the point of it. “Hurry. Hopefully the new guests will still be presenting their gifts, and I will not have missed anything important.”

With Hystaspes dogging his heels, Darius sped to the ceremonial palace where the new guests would be received. At least he was not the only late arrival—Haman rushed up the steps ahead of them.

Darius looked down at his brother. “Why was mother talking to Haman about the Jewess? Did you hear anything?”

Hystaspes shrugged. “They stopped when I came in.”

“Hmm.” He jogged up the endless stone steps and passed through the first of the columns when he realized his brother had stopped. “Hystaspes!”

The boy stood with head craned back. “I have never noticed before that those are griffins up there. Have you ever seen a griffin, Darius? In the wild, I mean?”

His tutor obviously needed to work a little harder. “They are mythical, you blockhead. Are you coming or not?”

“Coming, coming.”

Darius led the way into the great reception hall. Its ceilings soared high overhead, precious stones embedded within the cedar. The black marble columns gleamed and reflected the low light of the sun like a hundred mirrors. Under his feet stretched a carpet as long as the hall, its pattern an intricate mosaic of every color. He motioned his little brother into the shadows and took a moment to survey the gathering.

All around him his father’s military commanders were gathered into tight groups. At the front of the chamber the throne dominated on its step. Father still sat, scepter in hand, and smiled down at the visitors before him. One carried a huge gold bowl, another a length of rolled textile.

Excellent—they had not adjourned to the enclosed garden yet. He skirted the room until he had made his way to the front where several of his uncles waited.

“Ah, Darius, there you are.” Artabanus smiled and motioned him to his side. “A bit late, are you not?”

“I was waylaid by a ferocious lion.”

His father’s uncle loosed a rich laugh. “Was the lion named Hystaspes?”

“How did you guess?” Darius looked toward the back of the hall but could not see his brother. Good.

An unmistakable shadow fell over him. “I am glad to see you emerged from the attack with your limbs intact, my son.”

Since laughter coated his father’s voice, Darius smiled up at him. “I wrestled the beast into submission with my bare hands.”

“An able warrior indeed.” Father nodded to one of his attendants, and a moment later a trumpet call rang out. All eyes on him, Xerxes raised his arms wide. “Welcome, noble guests and esteemed friends, to the final night of our feast. Let each man sit where he will and drink his fill—to the garden!”

A cheer went up. On most nights, no one could drink more than the king, and all was ordered at his command. He must be in a prime mood. Persia had Kasia the Jewess to thank, Darius suspected.

A sigh snuck past his lips as he followed his father to the garden. Xerxes was not just the king—he was the epitome of what a man should be. One of the tallest men at court, his figure was well hewn from years of military training. Though he passed most of his days on the throne, he could wield a spear or loose an arrow with the skill of any Immortal. He held his authority with a firm fist but a ready smile. He was fair, he was affable, and when his temper snapped, usually without much warning, he was as fearsome as the god.

Darius would be like that. A man of reputation, one who had earned respect through war and wise counsel. He would prove his bravery in battle, he would increase his strength through training.

Maybe then Artaynte would greet his advances with something other than laughter. She would realize that his being heir apparent was in fact not his only attribute, as she had accused a week ago. Those enticing lips would turn up in welcome instead of mockery. She would realize how blessed she was to have his heart.

If he asked his father for her, Xerxes would arrange a marriage with a snap of his finger. A better match could not be made—she was his cousin, her blood pure and strong. Masistes would be ecstatic to know his daughter would reign as queen someday. If Darius asked, she would have no choice but to wed him. She would be his.

But she would not be his. She would be like Darius’s mother, the wife with all the honor but no affection for her husband. That was not the marriage he wanted.

Better first to earn her love. Right now she was but a girl who saw him as a boy, one she had known all her life. But once he returned a hero from Greece, that would change. She would see him differently, would come to love him. Then he would ask his father for her hand, and their marriage would be celebrated through the whole world.

Xerxes settled beside him with lifted brows. “I know that look. What lovely curves are you dreaming of, my son?”

Darius felt his face flush and cleared his throat. It took firm resolve to keep from darting his gaze to his uncle, who sat on a couch at his father’s other side. “None worth mentioning. What of you? Is your pleasant mood thanks to that exquisite concubine we met the other day?”

The Jewess was a far safer subject than Artaynte, and thought of her had provided a welcome distraction over the past few days. Claiming such a creature was one of the benefits of being king. Concubines could be enjoyed and dismissed at will.

Strange though . . . that flash in his father’s eyes spoke of involvement. Perhaps nothing was ever simple. “She pleases me well, yes.”

Masistes laughed and picked up his rhyton of wine. “I imagine. Will you take her with you into Greece?”

Xerxes took a long drink from his gold cup. “I have not thought on which of my concubines will travel with me.”

“My wife and daughter are already begging to go with us as far as Sardis.” Masistes shrugged and chose a piece of meat. “I imagine it is safe enough for them to go that far. With your blessing of course, my lord.”

Darius’s father waved a dismissive hand. “As you wish, Masistes.”

A bite of bread lodged in Darius’s throat. It would take them over a year to meander to Sardis, gathering the army as they went, and then they would likely wait out the winter there. Time he thought he would spend away from Artaynte.

“What of the queen? Will she go into Lydia with us?”

“Doubtful.” Xerxes surveyed the assembly. Darius looked over the garden too. The white and blue tapestries fluttered in the breeze as guests chose their couches of gold and silver. Slaves circled the room offering golden goblets of wine. It was a fine feast.

“It would be rather soon after her confinement,” his uncle mused. “Parsisa will miss her, I am sure.”

The words were right, but the tone of his voice made them all smile. It was no great secret that his aunt Parsisa did not get along with his mother. Most people did not get along with his mother.

Xerxes laughed outright. “Well, we must think of the health of her and the babe. I shall have to make do with concubines and send the wives to Persepolis where it is safe.”

Masistes shook his head. “You agreed that Sardis would be safe enough.”

“Safe enough for your wives. Not for mine.” Xerxes winked and took another drink of his wine.

His uncle loosed a guffaw. “Which is to say, you would rather not be bothered with them. Understandable—your mind will be occupied with stratagem. And the Jewess, perhaps?”

Again, Darius saw a strange flash in his father’s eyes. “Did I not just say I had not made up my mind?”

“But if rumor is to be trusted, you have seen no one else this week. Surely if she holds your attention so completely, you would not want to be parted from her. She must be an exceptional lover.”

“Masistes. Enough.” Temper colored the smile he turned on Darius. “What of you, my son? A man at war often needs a woman to soothe him. Will you choose a girl to take with you?”

A fine idea. He could find a slave so beautiful Artaynte would grow jealous, one who fawned over him instead of pointing out his shortcomings. “I may, at that. One with a fire to match what I saw in your Kasia. Does she have sisters?”

His father looked none too amused at the joke. “Four of them, but the next eldest, twins, are only twelve.”

Masistes arched his brows. “You know the ages of her sisters? Planning to add them to your harem after they age a bit, too? A wise idea. If one is pleasing, then three—”

“Masistes! Shall I define ‘enough’ for you?” With a motion of a single finger, Xerxes ordered his cup refilled. “Her sisters will be left alone. And while we are leaving things alone, no more talk of Kasia. If you wish a companion but not a wife, my son, look not among the Jews.”

Darius grinned. “A shame. If yours is typical, they are a people worth looking twice at.”

His father threw back the entire horn of wine in one long series of gulps.

Artabanus leaned close to Darius’s ear. “You will do well not to mention her again, my prince.”

Darius’s good humor turned into a frown. “It is a compliment of his taste.”

“Can you not see the light of jealousy in his eyes? This one is special to him. If you praise her, he will think you intend a seduction.”

“Absurd.”

“Not so much. It has been done before and will no doubt be done again.” The old man’s gray brows drew low over his eyes. “My council is ignored more often than not, but in this you ought to heed me.”

He looked back at his father. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw set, and his third cup of wine in his hands. Artabanus was right. The Jewess had dug deep into his being already. No wonder, then, that Mother despised her. He turned to Artabanus. “If ever I mention her again out of turn, I give you permission to whip me.”

Artabanus smothered a chuckle. “To avoid such punishment, you will do well to school your thoughts as well as your tongue.”

He focused on his plate but made no other response. He would grant that speaking of the girl did not settle well with his father, but even the king of kings could not read thoughts. It would do no harm to let his mind wander over the image of her curves, of the passion that filled her. He had no desire to steal one of his father’s wives, only to distract himself from the critical cousin that was far too beautiful for his peace of mind. There was no danger in that.

“Darius!”

He looked up and smiled at the second eldest of his father’s sons, his half-brother Cyrus. At the motion of his hand, Darius turned to Xerxes. “Do you mind if I go join Cyrus for a while, Father?”

“What, you prefer the company of the young princes to the old?” Father grinned and waved his hand. “Go, go. Enjoy yourself. Soon enough you will be on campaign where the luxuries will not be so abundant.”

He smiled in return and stood. Still, he heard Artabanus’s low, “Might I remind the king that he must name his heir before we set out? The time draws nigh.”

His father’s sigh sounded impatient. “I plan to make my official announcement in a few days. Not that my choice will be any great surprise to anyone.”

Darius could not help himself—he glanced at Xerxes, who offered him a crooked smile and a lift of his cup. Blood surged through him and gave him wings.

He would be king someday. He had much to learn from his father, would not wish Xerxes’ days to be cut short. But someday. Persia would be his throne, the rest of the world his footstool. He would be Darius II, king of kings, king of nations.

“Why are you grinning like a fool?”

Darius lowered himself to the couch beside his brother. “Father promised to announce me as his successor in a few days’ time.”

Cyrus raised his cup. “Excellent. Better you than me—primarily because if Father dared to name someone else, your mother would see the someone else did not live long enough to claim the title.”

He chuckled, though his brother may be right. Mother had not earned her reputation through bluster. “Better to live as a satrap than die as an heir?”

“Here, here.” Cyrus looked past him and smiled. “There are Milad and Bijan.”

They joined their friends, laughed and joked, ate and drank. Darius could not have repeated anything they said, though. His mind was too busy painting himself a brilliant future. He would continue the expansion of the palaces at Persepolis. Authorize improvements here at Susa. Conquer the world, if there were anything left to conquer after his father took his vengeance on Athens.

When darkness had fallen and the moon risen high, Bijan passed off his rhyton. “I have to be going. A wonderful evening, as usual. Give your father my compliments.”

Cyrus smirked. “Have you a tryst to rush off to, Bijan? The night is young, and you did not even finish your first cup.”

Bijan offered a tight smile. “I need a clear mind. I am off to train.”

“You have already achieved a place in the Immortals.” Darius lifted his brows. “Why train extra now?”

“Because I would live past our first battle.” Obviously not interested in being swayed, Bijan bowed and backed away.

Cyrus rolled his eyes. “He is too serious about fighting.”

“It is where his hope of advancement lies.” Darius surveyed the crowd. Most were well on their way to drunk, or already there, and the laughter and talk proved it.

His gaze fell on a group of high-ranking officials and visitors around his father. When Xerxes signaled his seven eunuchs forward, Darius wandered that way as well.

The wine had done its job on the king. Darius heard his belt of laughter as he drew within earshot.

“I have still the most beautiful queen in the world, even when she is large with child,” Xerxes said with a wide grin. “You shall see. Zethar, go to the queen’s feast and tell her to come in her royal crown so that all the world might appreciate her unsurpassed beauty.”

The eunuchs bowed and departed, but Darius’s heart thudded. If her mood had not improved . . . He heard the word fly over the room, watched as the men all came to attention. Darius groaned. “Why do I get the feeling Mother will not like this?”

Cyrus, beside him again, sighed. “Because much as your mother likes to create a spectacle, she does not enjoy being made one. Let us hope she is feeling the need to be admired.”

By a collection of men set on judging her, when she already felt large and cumbersome with the babe inside her?

Unlikely.