Esther (3 page)

More hooves pounded up from the rear, driving the soldier's horse ahead of me. “The king wants these girls unharmed, Dalphon,” the second soldier said. It was Erez.

“Though this one looks down, her back is too straight,” Dalphon replied. “She is too proud for a peasant girl going peacefully to the harem. I want to better see her eyes.”

I could have told him I was descended from the great king David, the second king of Israel who had lived some five hundred years before, but then he would know I was a Jew. Besides, however royal my line may have been at one time, it was true that my parents had been closer to peasants than royalty.

“The king does not concern himself with what you want, and neither do I.”

I gazed from the corner of my eye. By the butt-spikes of the two men's spears I could see that one was a soldier, one an officer. But not as I had hoped. Erez had only a silver butt-spike. Despite how he had spoken to Dalphon—an officer—he was just a soldier. Except that, unlike any of the other soldiers, he rode a horse so huge it could only be a Nisaean, one of the king's most sacred mounts.

“You are lucky the king likes you, Kitten Tamer, or I would take your tongue. But Xerxes is no less fickle with soldiers than he is with harem girls. When your valor at Thermopylae is forgotten, I will have you sent to the farthest reaches of the empire.”

Erez rode closer to Dalphon. I was glad to see that the closer he came, the smaller Dalphon looked. “You are only an officer because your father is an adviser to the king. You are no more a rightful officer than I a king.”

Dalphon's voice no longer overflowed with confidence. “The men are behind me.”

“They are behind looting and plundering. You matter little to them.”

“I think I will not send you to the farthest reaches of the empire, but to the gallows.”

Erez lowered his voice. “You assume your father will always be powerful. But perhaps, Dalphon, it is he who will end up upon the gallows, and you will sway beside him.”

I felt a pull upon my wrists. Cyra was stumbling. There was little I could do to help her, except to remain steady as she regained her balance.

Suddenly Dalphon's whip cracked so close beside my face that I felt the air move against my cheek. There was a terrible, wet sound—sharp leather against Cyra's flesh. Cyra let out a scream that was as much surprise as pain, then began to wail.

“Walk,” I said quietly, “do not think of your flesh but of the palace and the soft cushions and wine that await you.”

“She will make a good concubine,” Dalphon said, “she will not lie silent beneath a man like some.”

I suddenly had the thought that if Dalphon had been the one to storm my parents' hut during the last revolt of Babylon, he would have slit their throats with as little hesitation as the soldier who did it while I watched. I hated him. “How much training did it take to perfect the whipping of defenseless girls?” I said before I could stop myself. “And are there not women who will have you without being forced?”

Dalphon turned to stare at me. This time I did not avoid his eyes. I had been wrong to think that they were just like his twin's. They too were beautiful, but they were not like drops of honey that had just begun to melt. They were big and almond colored, or would be if almonds could contain both sunlight and darkness at once. Why had God given such beauty to someone so cruel? His hand tightened on his whip. “I have clearly not trained enough if a prisoner dares talk back to me.”

Erez hit his heels against his horse and hurried to cut Dalphon off. I saw that he carried no whip. He stopped just far enough from me that his horse did not knock me to the ground.

He leaned down toward me, sending a winged figure on a chain around his neck swinging back and forth.
“Quiet.”
He had sharp cheekbones, and though most of the other men had beards of tight curls, he had only stubble along his jaw. “You are not a defenseless girl, or any other sort of girl. You are
property
of the king. Unless Dalphon makes you his property first.”

He turned and delivered a couple of hard slaps to the flanks of Dalphon's horse. Dalphon looked over his shoulder at me and spat upon the ground. I was afraid he would bring his horse around, but Erez reached out and grabbed the animal's bridle.

As they rode away, I looked beneath where Erez's hair fell a short length from his saffron headband, watching the clasp of the chain he wore bounce lightly against his neck. Across his broad back he carried a bow and a quiver of arrows. Though he had spoken harshly to me, I knew he was the closest thing I had to a protector. But who would watch over him? If the other soldiers ever turned against him, his wicker shield would not be big enough to protect him.

The sun rose higher overhead and beat upon us without mercy. But the heat wafting up from the road was even more intense than the heat from above. It felt as though we were walking through a great fire that grew hotter as it fed upon our bodies. “I cannot go on,” Cyra kept muttering, “I cannot go on.”

Her tunic was ripped where Dalphon's whip had hit her. Blood came from the lash upon her neck and back and a blister formed on her right heel. She began to pant.

“Cyra,
Yvrit,
listen to me.
You can bear whatever burning you feel in your feet and the cut upon your back.
Soon we will be in the palace and you can lie upon soft pillows and only rise when slaves lift you.”

Cyra's panting quieted but blood continued to flow from her wound. We marched until the sun reached the top of the sky. Then Cyra stopped in her tracks and started screaming.

Dalphon galloped toward us, yelling at her to be silent. She screamed louder and fell to her knees.

The column had come to a stop. Girls were turning back to see what was going on.

“Silence or you will feel my foot upon your throat,” Dalphon said. “Get up.”

Cyra swayed slightly where she knelt, then collapsed over her folded legs, her head falling hard upon the road. Her long brown hair spilled from her head scarf and lay around her, shining in the sunlight. Though she had fainted, it looked like she was kneeling before Dalphon.

Dalphon jumped off his horse and untied the loop connecting the rope around Cyra's wrists from the line.

“I am her sister,” I said. “Let me tend to her.”

“No, she will be put to better use lying across the back of my horse—covering him to keep the flies from his flanks.”

“A true officer would not bring his king a girl riddled with fly bites,” Erez said. He pushed past the other soldiers who had gathered around and jumped off his horse. “You go on,” he said to Dalphon. “We will bandage this girl and return her to the line before we reach Shushan.”

“Return to your place, soldier,” Dalphon said. “Even if you were a physician I would not let you waste time on a girl who is no longer fit for the king.”

“I am the soldier the king calls his most trusted. I am going to tend to the damage you have done. If you try to stop me, I will tell the king of how you abused one of the most beautiful girls—one he would not like to be deprived of.” Erez quickly untied the rope around my wrists from the main line. He threw Cyra over his shoulder, took hold of his horse's bridle with his free hand, and forced his way through the watching soldiers.

Dalphon pointed at Cyra and yelled loudly enough for everyone to hear. “This one in the blue head scarf will not return to the line. She and any other girl who cannot be quiet and keep pace have fallen from Ahura Mazda's favor and will suffer worse than this march.”

I hurried after Erez.

Erez led us to the shade of the nearest palm tree. He set Cyra gently on the ground and turned to me. The sun had pounded the strength from my limbs, and my feet burned in my sandals. But when Erez undid the rope around my wrists, I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. My arms fell limply to my sides.

Erez laughed lightly and I realized that I had sighed aloud. I bowed my head so I would not have to meet his gaze, and then I opened my eyes. Where the sleeves of his tunic ended, his forearms were thick, the veins swollen from the strain and heat of the day. Forgetting my embarrassment, I said, “You do not look like herding girls is all you do.”

“I have not trained to be an Immortal since I was seven for
this.
”

Immortal. I hated that they called themselves Immortals, as though no one could hurt them and they did not need to heed any laws or perform any kindnesses. They were so proud of their lives and careless with the lives of others. The Immortal who had killed my parents had not even looked at their faces first.

I gazed back to where the girls were being marched away, down the Royal Road to the king. “Perhaps if you had gotten off your horse and joined us you would not feel quite so immortal.”

“I replaced a dead
Immortal.
It is the number ten thousand that is immortal, not any of us. As quick as a man dies he is replaced.”

Xerxes' forces had recently lost many men in their humiliating defeat to the Greeks at Salamis. Perhaps it was this defeat that made them so cruel. Yet this soldier seemed to have none of the others' cruelty.

“I spoke carelessly. Please forgive me.” Before he could respond with either anger or forgiveness, I asked, “Is there water to spare for Cyra?”

The soldiers had been having the girls cup their hands for water, but instead Erez handed his waterskin to me. My tongue was swollen with thirst but I did not drink. As I knelt beside Cyra I drew in my breath at the sight of the blood on the side of her head. I pressed one hand over her wound and used the other to bring the waterskin to her lips. Her mouth filled with water, water which she did not swallow. It ran from the corners of her lips.

“I will try again when she wakes.” I wanted, more than I had ever wanted anything, to feel water upon my tongue, but I handed the waterskin back to Erez.

He did not take it. “Have you already forgotten how to drink? Do you need me to hold it for you?”

I hurried the huge waterskin to my lips before Erez could change his mind. The water stung my lip where my teeth had tried to open it, but still, it tasted better than any sweet wine ever had.

While I drank, Erez took off his bow and quiver and set them on the ground. When his hands were free again, I gave the waterskin back to him. It was much lighter than when he had given it to me.

“I am sorry,” I said. “I—”

Before I could tell him I was parched, he interrupted, “You are right to quench your thirst while you can. Dalphon did not think to bring enough water for the march. Or did not care to.” Erez had only a small sip and then turned away to fasten the waterskin back to the saddle of his horse.

It was not easy to hate him, except that from behind I could not see his face, only that he wore the same uniform as all the other Immortals, including the one who had killed my parents. His tunic was a shade of saffron so rich that not even a layer of grime could fully dull it, and his calves looked like small, dust-covered boulders. He turned around and saw me staring.

My cheeks felt as though they had burst into flame.

Erez fastened his eyes upon me and then did something surprising: he laughed. Not lightly like before, but fully, his body shaking with the force of his sudden happiness. Without the serious expression he usually wore, he looked no more than nineteen, five years older than me. I feared he was laughing at me.

“There is no reason for happiness.”

“You underestimate yourself,” he replied.

I do not think that is possible
. I could not forgive myself for standing back, sobbing uselessly, while my parents were killed. If I did not save Cyra now, I would have three deaths on my conscience. I looked down at her with even greater urgency. “I have to bandage Cyra before too much blood has spilled from her. She is parched and will not survive the loss of any more.”

“What would you have me do to help?” Erez asked.

“Bring us home.”

“That is where we are taking you—home. A much better home than the one you came from. Have you not seen the palace at Shushan?”

I had seen it many times, walked in its massive shadow when I went to the market. Once a woman entered the harem she was never seen outside the palace again. How could Erez believe this was better than the home I came from? I ignored his question and said, “Then there is nothing more you can do. Would you be kind enough to look away? I will have to take off Cyra's head scarf to see to her wounds.”

He inclined his head in a slight nod and turned to tend his horse.

I tore swathes from the bottom of my tunic and bandaged Cyra's head and back. At the sound of the fabric tearing Erez cocked his head, but he did not turn around. Cyra's brow was dry as parchment, and sometimes she gasped for air. When I put my hand over her heart it fluttered fast and weak against my palm. I told her she would be well soon. I do not know if she heard me.

Erez had taken the saddle off his horse and was letting the huge animal drink water from his cupped palm. “May I turn around now?”

He did not need to ask, just as he had not needed to turn around, and just as he had not needed to help us in the first place. But he had.

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you for the kindness you have shown us.” His kindness gave me courage to ask, “How can the king allow this march?” I looked down at Cyra. “What if this is his future queen?”

“He will never know of this girl or any of the others who have been bloodied by the lash.”

“Where will they go?”

“Dalphon.”

“She will be a wife of Dalphon?”

“Not a wife, and not just Dalphon.”

“I do not believe you.” But as the words left my mouth I knew they were no longer true.