Jewel of Persia

“He does not care.”


He buried a hand in her hair, making jewels rain to the floor. He would leave. He would. After one kiss. Just one, to show her she was desirable, no matter what her husband

said.

*

Abydus, Mysia



Xerxes stepped upon the white dais that had been built into the hill for him and drew in a deep breath. At his feet swarmed the mass of his army. Ahead of him stretched the

wide mouth of the Hellespont where it emptied into the Aegean, completely covered by his triremes. And across the river, the hard-won bridge.

Nearly seven hundred ships, penteconters and triremes, were lashed together, aligned with the currents to take the strain off the cables. They had laid down wooden sleepers

between the ships, covered them in brush, and finally smoothed it all out with soil. Earthen walls had been built up on each side, so that the animals would feel as though

they walked across land.

A victory. He sat upon the throne his slaves had carried up and rested his chin in his hand. He had ordered a race among his ships, games for the soldiers. They deserved the

sport after marching so far and would need it before crossing into Europe over the next week.

Victory was certain with so many men . . . so why did Pythius’s words haunt him? Even the side that wins will suffer losses.

He tried to pick out familiar faces in the swarm. Brothers. Cousins. Uncles. Sons. Friends. Trusted advisors. If all went well, they may never see battle. All of Greece

could do as so many city-states already promised—welcome them, pay their tribute, and not raise a weapon.

Hopefully it would be so simple. He could march all the way to Athens and burn it to the ground, without a fight. But if someone dared oppose them, there would be battles.

And where battles, then death.

The war had barely begun, and already the losses weighed on him. Some had fallen to disease, to animal attacks, even to lightning strikes. His unborn son had been taken by

the god’s wrath. Pythius’s son by Xerxes’.

How much more blood would be on his hands by the time the war concluded? Yet if they did not die in battle, it only meant they would succumb to the ravages of time.

“When I left you half an hour ago, you had declared yourself the happiest man in history,” said his uncle as he labored over to him. “And now here you are with moisture

in your eyes. What disturbs the king?”

He smiled at Artabanas and motioned at his people. “Look at them, uncle. So many men, all with dreams and desires, with family and lovers. Yet not one will be alive in a

hundred years.”

“That is not the worst of it.” Artabanas settled himself onto the edge of the dais. “Sadder still is that at some point each one would rather be dead than alive. We are

so overwhelmed by tragedy that life seems long, no matter how few years we have. The god barely grants us a taste of how sweet life could be.”

“Mmm.” He had his taste, and she sat in his wagon even now, watching the ships race by. But her eyes had been so empty lately. Did she wish she were in the grave with

their son? By the god, he hoped not. “There is much good too. Just look at what we have achieved, uncle.”

Artabanas surveyed the Hellespont and sighed. “It is a great force, my lord.”

Xerxes leaned into the side of his throne so that he could better watch his uncle’s lined face. Each wrinkle had been etched by concern—some well-earned, others needless.

“Yet you were against this campaign at the start.”

“Sometimes I wonder even now.” The old man met his gaze only briefly, then looked at the fleet again. “I know what the god promised. We felt him in the darkness. Yet

still the fear that came upon us at Troy lingers in my heart.”

“It is groundless. Look around you. Is there anything lacking in my fleet? In the land army?”

Artabanas twisted the frazzled end of his silver beard. “No sane man could find anything lacking in the numbers. But that is precisely where my fears rest, nephew. What

harbor will we find large enough for all your ships? If a storm comes upon us, what will keep them safe?”

Xerxes shifted again but could find no comfort on his throne.

Artabanas motioned to the great flock of foot soldiers. “And the land itself will be the enemy of the army. I know you have put up as many provisions as you could, but the

deeper we go into the Europe, the harder it will be to access them. The earth cannot support us, and we have already drunk one river dry.”

Xerxes stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “No prizes are won by those who sit and contemplate all that could go wrong. Yes, there are risks. With risk comes the

greatest reward. Besides, it is not as though we are invading a collection of nomads. There will be farms as we go.”

“Which the men will descend upon like insects.”