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.