Free Harvest of Gold by Tessa Afshar Page A

fingers.
    “And why shouldn’t he compliment you?” Lysander said. “Such a pretty girl. Look at the size of those eyes. A man could drown in them.”
    More giggles. Darius rolled his eyes. “Did he tell you his name?”
    “Achaemenes.”
    Darius’s spine stiffened. “Are you certain?”
    “Of course. It’s not a name I would forget, being so royal sounding and all. He’s an important man, I’m sure of it, although he never brags.”
    “Does he have friends? Anyone in particular he speaks to or spends time with?”
    “Not that one. He likes to keep to himself.”
    “Do you know where he lives?”
    “What do you mean? I would never visit the home of an unmarried man.”
    “I meant no offence. Only, seeing as you are friends, I thought perhaps he has let you know.” Darius knew that Achaemenes—if that were his real name—would never reveal the location of his lodgings to an indiscriminate young woman with a loose tongue. Their man might have a taste for flirtation, but that did not render him careless. However, Darius did not put it past the girl to follow him puppy-eyed, determined to find out for herself.
    He was not disappointed. Ten minutes later, he and Lysander were inside the modest house the man had rented while in Susa. They lit a lamp and began a thorough search, sparing nothing in their zeal to unearth the man’s secrets.
    As he shoved his hand through one pillow, then another, Darius vented his questions. “Achaemenes? A Persian name to be sure, and very royal. One of the rulers of the Pasargadae tribe. I believe Xerxes named one of his sons after him as well. But our man did not come from Persia; he spoke with a foreign accent. He had arrived here with the express purpose of killing the king. How could he be called Achaemenes? He must have made it up.”
    “Then again, there is that tattoo.” Lysander rummaged through a sparsely-filled chest. “A foreigner who is Persian and yet hates Persia. An admirer of the Achaemenid dynasty who plans to kill the king. What a riddle.”
    “It gives me a headache. Artaxerxes is going to have a conniption when he finds the man is dead, and I have no viable lead to follow.” Frustration boiled over. With uncharacteristic violence, Darius shoved a fist into the wall above where Achaemenes had laid out his pallet. The wall was made of thin, cheap boards. It rang hollow. Darius sucked his bruised knuckles thoughtfully before tapping another long plank with a probing knock.
    “Whoever put up these boards performed a shoddy job and left a space between them and the outer wall. If I were going to hide something, I’d pick the other side of one of these panels.” He continued to walk around the room, knocking against the boards, with Lysander doing the same in the opposite direction.
    Darius jumped back as a long wooden plank swung up and almost hit him in the chin. Then his eyes lit up. “Finally!”
    He fished out a leather pouch and a diminutive flask from inside the hidden cavity behind the board. Lifting the lid of the amphora, he sniffed. “Poison,” he said, his voice grim. “This is what he intended to use on the dagger.”
    With a quick motion, he undid the leather strap around the pouch and upended the contents into his palm. Gold coins. Darius blew out a deep breath and smiled. Here at last, was the clue he had sought. Those coins could lead him to the location where the plot had originated.
    The Persian Empire allowed the nations under their standard to rule themselves by their own laws, mint their own coins, speak their own languages, and practice their own religions. So long as each province paid its annual tribute in a timely fashion, good will abounded to everyone. The Persians had proven themselves magnanimous in their mastery. Different provinces in the empire enjoyed a great deal of freedom, retaining their unique traditions and customs.
    The coins in the Persian Empire were, therefore, not uniform. Depending on where they were minted,