THE Queen stirred restlessly in her bed. It was not often that it rained in the Euphrates-Hiddekel basin but when it did, it did so with a vengeance. Lightning lit up the chamber as Astur got to her feet and looked out at the downpour which fell in sheets past the arched window. In the courtyard below, figures moved and she frowned as such movement at so late an hour. She didn't know why she was so on edge, something had woken her but she knew not what it had been. Perhaps it was the call of some animal, frightened by the thunder which rolled without letup along the Zagros.
Astur smiled. She was glad Khshayarsha would be happy tonight. During the evening, she had developed a headache which she had put down to the oppressiveness of the atmosphere before the storm and, as a last-minute change of plan, she had offered Melane as a substitute. Astur knew that her young maid had the youth and vitality to draw out the best from her husband and king.
Realising that sleep would no longer be possible, Astur threw the blue gown around her shoulders and stepped out into the corridor. She paused. Further down the hall, she could hear voices in hushed conversation. Frowning, she stepped quietly towards the royal chamber and noticed that the door was ajar. Khshayarsha would not be happy about being disturbed at so late an hour. The matter must be very urgent indeed to require his attention at this time of night.
Creeping towards the open doorway, she peered through. It was dark inside the room but she could just make out the shapes of several people who were gathered around the bed. Suddenly, there came the sound of a muffled scream which seemed to go on forever as she tried to make out what was happening. She stood, petrified, as she realised the sound had to be coming from her maid. As the screaming gradually died away, the men muttered and laughed softly amongst themselves before releasing their victim and walking towards the doorway. Instinctively, Astur ducked behind the long curtains and held her breath as they passed by less than a cubit from her.
'Let us see if Megabyzus has dealt with Darius,' came the voice she recognised instantly. 'If he has, he can leave immediately for Persepolis and then I will go and take care of Marduka.' He laughed to the other men. 'You men can have his woman if you want her.'
Astur shook with terror as they passed her by. Surely not, she thought. Please let it not be so. As the voices retreated down the passageway, she rushed to the bedside and grabbed Khshayarsha by the arm. The light was poor but she could see that he seemed to be sleeping so peacefully, a broad smile upon his face. Melane must have pleased him well, she thought.
The King didn't stir, even when she shook him frantically. It was then that she noticed the small dark patch on the front of his nightshirt. Stifling a scream, she peeled back the garment and saw the deep incision under his ribs. The King was not breathing.
She wanted to run, to hide, to wake up from her nightmare but, instead, stood and stared at the man she had loved so dearly. Her eyes drifted to Melane and, as they became accustomed to the dark, she saw that her maid was on top of the bed and that a pillow had been placed over her face. Carefully removing the pillow, she then saw the gaping mouth, the staring eyes and knew by the frozen expression that Melane had not died from being suffocated by the pillow.
Carefully, she reached over to the table and struck the tinder to light to a candle. With the dim flame to guide her, she turned back to the bed and almost dropped the light. It seemed that she had been thrown back eight years in time as she stared at the scene before her and realised that what she could see had been intended for her.
MORDECAI woke at the hammering at the door. Artaynte touched his arm. 'What is it?'
'I will go and see,' said the Prime Minister, slipping on his robe.
As he descended the stairs, the butler opened the door and Astur rushed in, soaked to the skin, still in her night gown.
'You must leave,' she cried. 'Artabanus is coming for you.'
'Leave? Artabanus? What are you saying, my child?'
'The King is dead!'
'Dead? The King?'
'Father, stop repeating everything I say. Artabanus has murdered Khshayarsha and is now on his way for you and Artaynte.'
'Then we must warn Darius and Megabyzus.'
'Too late. For whatever reason, Megabyzus has thrown his lot in with Artabanus. I think he believes his great-uncle will live up to some promise of power or riches. He obviously does not know him well.'
'Then Prince Darius?'
'Killed by Megabyzus.'
Marduka reached for his cloak. 'We must warn Artakhshayarsha.'
'But he is at Persepolis, supervising the work on the palace.'
'Someone must go and tell him.' He turned to his butler. 'Go at once. Get the post-rider.'
'As you say, Lord Marduka.'
The butler left and Artaynte came down and put her arms around her friend. 'How did you get away?'
Astur bowed her head. 'They think I am dead.'
'But how?'
'Melane took my place tonight with the King. They murdered her, too.'
'Artabanus took her for you?'
'It was very dark. He... he disembowelled her alive.'
Artaynte gasped. 'Like Haman's sons did to your mother and Amestris did to mine.'
'Sarah was a good woman,' reflected Marduka.
'And so was Melane,' cried Astur. 'She was only seventeen and had seen virtually nothing of life.'
'We must think of the future,' interrupted the realistic Artaynte. 'You must get away from here before Artabanus realises his mistake.'
'So must you. They will come for you both soon.' She looked sadly at her friend. 'You have been promised to the guards.'
Artaynte swallowed. 'I would die first.'
'Mordecai will die first. I think they mean you to die afterwards, when they have used you to their satisfaction.'
'We will all leave,' announced Mordecai. 'We will go together.'
'Where?' asked Artaynte. 'Where could we go where we would be safe?'
'Eventually, we will go to Israel,' said Mordecai firmly. 'But, in the meantime, we will hide in the mountains until they have finished searching for us.'
'We will hide on the other side of the mountains,' smirked Artaynte. 'They will never find us there.'
'The Kavir?' gasped Mordecai. 'No-one has ever survived the Dasht-Kavir.'
'I know the salt-wastes. My father and I crossed them several times when I was a child.'
'It is suicide to go there. The Kavir is uncharted and without permanent form.'
'Then they will not find us, will they? We will bide our time and they will believe us to be dead.'
'I will meet you there,' said Astur thoughtfully as the post-rider arrived.
'Why?' said the astonished Mordecai. 'Are you not coming with us?'
She shook her head. 'There is something I must do first.'
'Something more important than saving your life?' gasped the frantic Artaynte.
Astur nodded. 'I must go to Persepolis.'
'Persepolis? But that is far out of your way.'
'It must be I who will warn Artakhshayarsha.'
'But you don't even like him.'
'Still, I must warn him. It is my duty and I owe that much to him. I loved Khshayarsha and so must now try to save his son.'
'But the post-rider will go.'
'Look,' reasoned Astur. 'If you were Artakhshayarsha and a post rider arrived with a message which told you that your father had been killed by his uncle and that your brother-in-law was on his way to assassinate you, would you believe it?'
Artaynte nodded. 'Probably.'
'Not without checking first, you wouldn't. Knowing the cautious Artakhshayarsha, he would send one of his own men to make sure before he acted and, if Megabyzus has already left for Persepolis, it would all be too late. I must get there first.' She turned to the patient post-rider, a young lad of about eighteen. 'Take off your clothes.'
The youth gaped at his Queen and then quickly slipped out of the breeches and tunic which clearly identified him as a King's messenger. Astur discarded her nightgown and then slipped into the coarse material and pulled on the leather riding boots.
'Wait,' called Artaynte as her Queen turned to leave.
Astur turned and, suddenly, Artaynte was behind her with a sharp, bronze dagger in her hand. As Mordecai watched, his wife cut and hacked at the Queen and then stood back.
'Now, no-one will recognise you,' she said as she grinned at the short hair which now framed Astur's face.
'Yes, they will,' interrupted the messenger. 'With respect, Your Majesty, you are far too clean to be a post-rider.'
Astur laughed and bent down in the yard and smeared mud from the courtyard all over her face.
'Better?' she asked as she prepared to mount the specially-trained Arab stallion.
'Let him have his head, your Majesty,' advised the youth. 'Mercury loves to gallop hard.'
'Mercury,' repeated Astur as she held the reins tightly. 'I like that. Mercury, the flying messenger.'
'Take care, my little Hadasseh,' said Mordecai solemnly.
'Get out of here,' commanded the Queen before swinging her leg over the horse and disappearing into the dark and rain.
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CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
