Читать книгу Jewel of Persia - Roseanna M. White - Страница 9

Xerxes settled onto his throne and scanned the courtroom. Even at such an early hour, it was filled with men chattering, arguing, laughing. Some in military regalia, others in the finery of private citizens. Still more in the rough garb of commoners come to seek help or counsel.

All signs of a busy, productive empire. And yet on this morning, the empire made his smile dim. This morning, he would prefer to forget he was king for a few more hours.

“My lord.” His uncle appeared at his side, a telltale line in his forehead. Artabanus could out-worry any man in the kingdom—if Xerxes listened to his every concern, nothing would ever get done. The war was a perfect example—he had very nearly changed his mind about the campaign based on Artabanus’s advice. Had it not been for that startling vision they shared two years ago . . .

Even his uncle could not maintain his skepticism in the face of the god.

Xerxes greeted him with a smile. “What is it today, uncle?”

“Another stretch of canal has collapsed at Athos.”

Xerxes stifled a groan. This was not how he wanted to spend his day. He would rather dwell on thoughts of his sweet Kasia and her excitement at another night in his arms. “Naturally. A plan we adopted to avoid problems, and it causes more. I wonder if sailing around the mountain could prove any more a travail than bypassing it. Repairs?”

“They are reinforcing the walls, I believe, but the collapse killed a great many workers.”

Xerxes rested a knuckle against his lips and sighed. “Something must be done about these continual collapses. Has every group encountered it?”

“All but the Phoenicians.”

“An exception worthy of note.” Xerxes straightened and lifted a brow. “What are they doing differently than everyone else?”

Artabanus’s mouth flopped open for a moment. “Well . . . I recall hearing something about how ridiculously wide their excavations were at the start—twice as wide as the rest of the canal. There was some grumbling about it.”

Sometimes it felt as though the rest of the world were idiots. “Artabanus, there is a reason we put the Phoenicians and the Egyptians in charge of the bridge over the Hellespont. Their engineering acumen is unsurpassed. Has it occurred to no one that they made it wider to avoid these collapses?”

“I know not, my lord, I was only apprised of all this recently. But of course, you speak rightly. Should all adopt the model?”

“Where possible, unless it would take longer to widen it than to shore it up and finish. They must use discretion, if that is not asking too much.” Perhaps he ought to have put Phoenician overseers in charge of this entire project too. He had instead opted to maintain autonomy between the different nations working on the canal, but what he gained in peace he lost in quality.

“I will make your wishes known.”

“I trust you will. Mardonius!”

His cousin and oldest friend set his course for the throne. Artabanus stiffened but managed a polite greeting.

Mardonius offered him a taunting smile, then nodded with more sincerity to Xerxes. “The king is looking well this morning.”

Xerxes chuckled. “For once I believe your flattery. Have you seen Haman yet?”

His friend shook his head. “He is probably riding with your brother, master.”

“If you see them before I do, tell him to come to me at once.”

“Certainly.” With a courteous bow, Mardonius strode off.

Artabanus released a pent-up breath and muttered, “I maintain that such a wise king ought not surround himself with such injudicious advisers.”

His lips wanted to twitch up. “Uncle, need I remind you that the advice you consider his greatest offense is the war you now believe in?”

“If a man advocates a wise course for the wrong reasons, it makes him not wise, my lord. Only lucky. It is obvious from our visions that the god wishes you to lead us against Greece. That does not mean the evil one will not try to turn your certain victory into defeat through the bad advice of fools.”

“But even within the advice of fools is often hidden a pearl of wisdom. A wise man searches it out before dismissing the rest. And when a wise man has a wise uncle to help him discern those pearls . . .”

His uncle’s lips finally curved up. “Then blessings will follow, and soon enough you will rule all the world. You know my worries are only out of my devotion to you.”

“Indeed. Go, write your missive to Mount Athos. I will speak with Darius for a moment.”

“Ah, of course.” Artabanus turned and offered a warm smile to the young man hurrying toward them. “Good morning, my prince.”

Xerxes’ eldest son stopped a step before the throne and grinned. “The same to you, uncle. Father, you look well this morning.”

“So I am told.” He drew in a deep breath and, as Artabanus said his farewells and disappeared into the crowd, measured his son. He did it often these days. The law said he must name his successor before he went on campaign, and though Darius was the logical choice, he needed to be sure.

At eighteen, he possessed a man’s height. But his shoulders were just beginning to broaden; his strength was stored in muscles slight and wiry. His face was fine-featured with the beauty his mother was famous for, though thankfully he had avoided Amestris’s temperament.

It felt like a mere week ago Darius had been nipping at his heels like a pup. Could he possibly be old enough to rule half the world, to be the king of kings? And yet when Xerxes was his age, he had married Amestris, just become a father, and was even then plotting how to convince his own father to name him king instead of his older brother.

Not to mention that though Darius was too young, his other sons were younger still. The only answer for it was to live a good while longer and give this man-child more time to mature.

A determination made doubly pleasurable given the company he would have waiting in his chamber whenever he willed it. Kasia could keep a man young while he waited for his sons to age.

Darius grinned anew. “Rumor says your excellent mood this morning is due to the latest addition to the harem. Is it true you rushed this girl through the preparations in only a week?”

Xerxes returned his grin. Perhaps his son was more man than he gave him credit for. “I hardly have time to waste, considering how soon I shall leave to inspect the gathering armies.”

“Mother is in a snit about it.” Darius chuckled. “Not that that is unusual.”

Xerxes thanked the god again that his son shared his good humor. “You have seen her this morning? How is she feeling?”

“When I asked her that, she said ‘large.’ Which undoubtedly contributes to her snit. She droned on for a while about how she is ever expanding with another of your babes, and you are entertaining yourself with a wench young enough to be your daughter.”

Xerxes rolled his eyes. “I shall pay her a visit and assure her she is yet the most beautiful woman in all Persia.” If her vanity was not given its regular stroking, they would all pay for it.

“More beautiful than the new one then? She will be glad to hear it.”

“There is no face lovelier than my queen’s. But remember, my son, that there is more to a pleasing wife than her face.” He arched a brow. “I suppose it is time to find you a wife of your own. Has anyone caught your eye?”

An odd expression flitted over Darius’s face. “I . . . would rather wait until after the war. I have little desire to get attached to a woman only to leave her within a month or two.”

He doubted it was so simple but saw no reason to press. “When we return triumphant, then. Ah, there are your uncle and Haman.”

The two men drew near, looking merry. When they stopped beside Darius, Haman gave Xerxes a courteous bow. “Mardonius said the king wishes to speak to me. You saw your Jewess again last night, did you not?”

Xerxes folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, though she was unaware of the ‘again’ until I entered the room. Why did you not inform her I was the one she met before?”

“She did not recognize her own king?” Haman snorted. “I assumed she knew.”

“Or wanted her to be in as much discomfort as possible? My friend, your distaste for her people is too consuming.”

Haman looked none too concerned at the rebuke. “They are a race of slaves.”

“As is your own. How grateful you should be, then, that your king is one who grants grace to the peoples he conquers. Hmm?”

“I am most grateful, master. It is the Jews who refuse to acknowledge your power and might.”

Masistes laughed and slapped a hand to Haman’s shoulder. “You will never convince him, my lord. And I must say, I too wonder how she could not recognize you.”

“I daresay she did not expect the king to be riding with only one attendant—she would not have seen my eunuchs. And since Haman did not make it clear and Hegai had assumed it was you Haman rode with . . .”

Haman attempted to fight back a grin. He failed. “Fascinating. Masistes, your brother’s new wife thought herself in love with you and yet forced to marry another.”

Darius shook his head. “What a terrible week she must have spent.”

Haman rolled his eyes. “It serves the girl right for her shameless conduct.”

“Shameless? She is shameless for trying to talk her way out of a situation she considered dangerous?” A familiar heat thrummed to life in Xerxes’ chest, pushing him to his feet. “Whatever your opinion of her and her people, Haman, you will do well to remember that she is now my wife.”

One thing must be said for Haman—he always knew when to back away before Xerxes’ temper could flare too hot. “Of course, master. I am glad you have found some entertainment with the girl.”

Masistes took a step away. “Well, I am intrigued. I say we visit the women, flatter the queen, and get a glimpse of my brother’s newest paramour. What say you, my lord?”

Xerxes grinned and fell in beside his brother. “The queen could use some flattering. Let us go.”

He had not paid a visit to the women’s palace in several weeks, but he was not surprised to find the gardens flourishing, the adornments shining. The younger of his children ran about, darting this way and that, though the older ones were at their studies. He kept a close eye on all his sons’ progress—some of them would be generals, other satraps, governors. All must learn to bear the burden of responsibility.

His gaze raked over the women that were out of their rooms. A few sat at looms, others stitched, some fastened gold decorations onto their clothing. Still more, Amestris among them, merely sat. Usually she made it a point to outdo the others and produce the loveliest garments for him, herself, and their four children. But she was not exactly a young woman anymore . . . perhaps carrying this child was harder on her than he knew, especially with the added stress of this week’s feast. He ought to arrange for a special gift for her. If he were lucky, it would deflect her irritation over “the wench young enough to be his daughter.”

Kasia he saw nowhere. It took a moment for the expectant spike in his pulse to smooth back down to normal.

After pausing to greet each child and its mother he finally reached Amestris and gave her a smile. “There you are, my queen. The child in your womb must be blessed indeed, for you are lovelier today than ever.”

Amestris turned her eyes up. They were a perfect almond shape, the color of a round of amber. But the only spark to light them these days was of irritation. Her temperament had worsened when she became queen. It seemed power fed her discontent.

Her smile, if insincere, was nonetheless stunning. “How kind of you to visit me. Unless it was another of your wives you came to see?”

Yes, there was that spark that could so quickly be fanned into a dangerous hatred. Xerxes grinned into it. “Naturally I must pay my respects to the group, but seeking you was my primary goal. Is it not so, Darius?”

His son smiled guilelessly. “The moment I told him you were not feeling well this morning, he hastened to see you.”

She looked far from appeased. “The others are muttering about this Jewess. Why must the king shame us by adding a slave to our numbers? One the very age of his esteemed daughter?”

It was all he could do not to roll his eyes. His brides were always within a certain age group. Could he help that his eldest daughter was now of marrying age as well? “I assure you, Amestris, all I do is out of concern for you. Have you not made it clear I am to find my entertainment elsewhere when you are with child?” Or with a mild ache in her head. Or a sore toe. Or in a sour temper. Or sometimes, he suspected, if her hair would not lie just so. Between all her complaints, she would not receive him three hundred sixty of the three hundred sixty-five days a year.

Amestris settled her arms over the protruding round of her stomach and scowled. “Is she pretty?”

“Pretty enough. Not so beautiful as you.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

The tension around her mouth softened. “I am ready to deliver this babe and present you with another son, that is all. This new girl—is she a full wife or a concubine?”

“Uh . . .” He straightened and glanced to Haman.

Haman arched a brow. “Her father had no money for a dowry, master, so she received the lesser contract.”

Amestris’s lips turned up. “Very well. Enjoy her while she holds your attention. And see that she is cautioned to stay out of my way. I am in no mood for the airs of an upstart concubine who knows not her place.”

“Of course.” He stepped back, giving the others a chance to smother her with flattery. His eyes tracked over the courtyard again.

Hegai stood in the corner—if anyone knew where Kasia would be, it was the custodian. He moved toward him.

Hegai bent low in greeting. “My king. We are honored to welcome you this morning.”

“Certainly. I was very pleased with Kasia. You did well with her.”

The servant smiled, his eyes bright. “Thank you, master. The young lady was very open to my advice, so I took pleasure in sharing your preferences. She is a lovely girl. A disposition unlike any of your other wives.”

“Indeed. Is she settling in well?”

Hegai’s smile curled into a grin. “You may want to see for yourself. She is in the back garden.”

Since his companions said their farewells to the queen, he motioned them to join him. “We will do that. She selected her room?”

“Yes, master.” Humor laced his tone.

Xerxes lifted a brow. “Let me guess—the smallest, barest one she could find.”

Hegai chuckled. “You know her well for so short an acquaintance.”

Darius, Masistes, and Haman drew near, so Xerxes only nodded and led the way down the hall that would open into the rear gardens. He stopped them just inside the door.

Amidst the trumpeting blooms and trees stretching toward heaven, a gaggle of tots sat entranced around a cross-legged Kasia. Though the eldest of the children could not be more than four, they all held still, faces intent upon her. And she sang. Hebrew, but he needed no vocabulary lesson to understand the playful tone. Her voice clear and sweet, she moved her hands in a dance of movement. When she tapped each child on the nose in turn, a chorus of giggles broke out.

Finding a woman who had a way with children was no great thing. But finding one whose face betrayed total delight as she lifted her voice? One who laughed along with them as if there were no greater joy? He had never met another creature who mustered such passion for each moment of life.

His brother stepped close to his side. “Lovely. I can see why you were intrigued.”

“Lovely, yes.” Haman sounded nowhere near impressed. “But better suited for a nursemaid than a wife of the king of kings.”

He shot his friend a glare. “She pleases me. Let that be that.”

“I will speak not another word of her.”

He glanced at his son to see whose side he would take up, and his breath bunched up in his chest. It was a look he knew well, that expression on Darius’s countenance. Knew it by feel. The same intrigue he himself was given to, the very one that had overcome him upon his first sighting of Kasia.

No. He would not suffer his son mooning over her, risking scandal and bad blood. He would not allow himself to consider that Darius was far closer to her in age. He would not let himself wonder if she would get a glimpse of the pup at his side and realize that her husband was, as Amestris helpfully pointed out, old enough to be her father.

Curse it.

“Father!”

The happy squeal stole his thoughts back from that vortex, and he looked down in time to scoop up little Chinara, who was aimed at his knees. With a chuckle, he settled her on his hip. “And a good morning to you, little sweet. Have you run off from your mother again?”

The wee one offered him an impish grin and no apology. “That is Kasia. She told us a story about a shepherd boy who fought a giant, and he won! And then the boy grew up to be king, but his sons were bad, and their people would not listen, and so eventually your father’s fathers carried them away.” She clapped chubby hands to his cheeks. “I know not why that made them cry. I like it when you carry me away, Father.”

He laughed and rewarded the mite’s wit with a kiss upon her brow. Chinara always brightened his day. “Shall I carry you around all day with me? You can help me pass judgment and plot out our great war against Greece.”

Her face gathered into a mask of consideration. “No. I shall listen to more of Kasia’s songs. But perhaps tomorrow I will help you, Father.”

“I will look forward to it.” He placed her back on her feet and then made himself face reality. The exchange would have caught Kasia’s attention. When he looked up, would he find her gaze had shifted and locked on Darius?

Her attention had indeed been snagged from the children. She had pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them. Her expression registered fascination, her eyes reflected what he would have called love, though she may apply the word more carefully than he. But she looked not at Darius. Nor at Masistes, at Haman, at any of the children. Her attention was his, and his alone.

Evening could not come fast enough.