Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294) (23 page)

Panic welled in my throat. He meant Mordecai, of course, but how did he know these things? He had passed Mordecai's post by the time I spoke to my friend yesterday . . . which meant Haman had spies in the King's Gate and possibly on the streets of Susa.

Drawing on my years of experience as a slave, I decided to play dumb. “I did go out yesterday, sir, but I spoke to several people. And as one who has served the king for over twenty years, I know many people in the palace—”

“I'm referring to a most peculiar man.” Haman's eyes narrowed. “He wears an untrimmed beard and dresses in a dark tunic with fringe at the hem of his robe. He lives alone in the eastern part of the city.”

Haman had more than spies on the street—he had
moles
he'd bribed to dig up information. If he knew how and where Mordecai
lived, he had to know my friend's name. He was searching now for confirmation.

So I could do no harm by replying.

“You must mean Mordecai.” I smiled the carefree smile of an imbecile. “He has served the king faithfully for many years.”

“He is a troublemaker.” Haman spoke in a flat voice, then lifted a warning finger. “I have heard that he might associate with a most peculiar and troublesome people—”

“Accountants?” Again I flashed a wide smile. “I have known many accountants in my life, and while some of them are not very talkative, most of them are good company.”

“Not accountants.” He spat the words at me. “He lives near others of his kind. You must know the people I speak of. They are close-knit, they worship an invisible god, they intermarry and will not give their daughters to anyone outside their clans—”

I responded with a wide-eyed stare.

Haman drew an exasperated breath, then tried again. “Perhaps you have heard the word
Jew
? The people who came here from Judea?”

“Ah.” I smiled even more broadly than before. “I have heard of them. They have never brought the king any trouble.”

“They should be wiped off the face of the earth.” Haman glowered at me, then tugged on the edges of his robe and rearranged his face into pleasant lines. “If you see your friend again, remind him of the king's latest edict. He must obey or accept the consequences. And those consequences, as you know, can be severe. I pity the man who breaks the king's laws.”

I nodded, then stood by a column until the crowd dispersed and I alone remained in the polished stillness. Then I shook off my alarm and hurried out of the throne room.

S
INCE
MY
HUSBAND
BEGAN
SPENDING
all his time with a new favorite, my life had fallen into a peaceful and largely pointless routine. I woke every morning and submitted to the ministrations of my handmaids. They drew my bath, rubbed my skin with salt and oil, rinsed me clean, washed my hair, and anointed me with perfume. After the bath, hairdressing, and application of cosmetics, they dressed me in garments I would have desperately coveted as a young girl. Now they seemed little more than an unnecessary extravagance.

After dressing, I ate a light meal with my little dog, then I played with the royal children in the queen's garden. Of all the hours in my day, I enjoyed this time most. The toddling boys I had met five years ago were now training with bows and arrows; the girls were learning to sing and dance. The crown prince and his two younger brothers were on their way to becoming young men. I watched
them all, proud of their progress, and quietly missed Pharnaces, who had never been found.

I once had Hatakh make discreet inquiries about the boy's disappearance, but after a day or two of searching he appeared in my chambers and told me that the boy's disappearance would—and should—remain a mystery. “Some things,” he said, lifting a brow as he peered into my eyes, “are better off left alone.”

I had no idea what he meant, but accepted his response as a reminder that a queen's power was quite limited.

When we finished our games, the children and I would sit in the shade while I told stories I'd learned from Mordecai—tales of David and Solomon, of Gideon and Joshua. I told them about King Saul, who had been richly blessed until he disobeyed, causing Adonai to give the throne to another.

The story had already escaped my lips when I realized it could come back to haunt me. If the king heard that I had taught his children a story about a failed ruler who lost his throne . . .

I smiled around the circle of young faces, hoping to change the subject. “And how are all of you today? Have you heard any interesting stories lately?”

“I have.” Darius, the crown prince, lifted his chin and boldly met my gaze. “I heard that you are a mere commoner and ashamed of your heritage. That is why you never talk about your father's family.”

“An interesting rumor.” I smiled without humor. “Unfortunately, it is not true. I am descended from a great king, but I never talk about my father's family because they are all gone. And I have learned that it is better to be concerned with the living than the dead.”

“Which king?” several of the children chorused, but I shook my head. “What does it matter? Your father is the greatest king in the world, and I am his. I am yours too, so why shouldn't we live together in peace?”

My time with the children touched the barren place in my heart—
sometimes filling it, sometimes opening the wound that still ached every time I looked at those sweet little faces. But I had turned my yearning for babies into a desire to influence the king's children. Someone had to teach them as Mordecai and Miriam taught me. They needed to know that life consisted of more than jostling for power and destroying one's enemies. They ought to know that they'd been created for a purpose, and that purpose was to know the one true God.

The Persians knew gods, of course—a plethora of them. The king worshipped Ahura Mazda, in statuary inscriptions at least, and on every important feast day my king would meet a priest, travel to an outdoor altar, and sacrifice an ox to ensure prosperity in the coming season. In private, however, rarely did the king ever talk of his god as anything other than a distant entity who required seasonal acknowledgment in order to keep the annual cycles of harvest and reaping on course. The priest's prayers were more like ritual recitation than conversation, and if Ahura Mazda
had
ever performed a bona fide miracle, I was convinced no one would have been more astounded than my husband.

In truth, my years of marriage had convinced me that my husband was the god of his own life—he did what he wanted, when he wanted to do it. Only the great law of the Medes and the Persians constrained him, yet the king could amend those statutes so long as he did not change any decree that preceded his amendment.

Did I still love him? I did, but in a far different way than I had in our early months together. My giddy infatuation, born in the first blush of physical intimacy, had matured into something more compassionate, even maternal. As I shared weekly meals with my husband, I realized he was prone to extremes of light and darkness—he could be delighted with a new horse, a new treasure, or with me, and on those occasions he would laugh and talk as though shadows had never lain across his heart.

On other occasions, some dark memory or nightmare would
torment his mind, leaving him sleepless and irritable, desperate for surcease. When he was in the grip of such darkness, I couldn't help being relieved when he chose to leave me in my chambers . . . but then guilt would avalanche over me. What if I had the power to lighten his mood? Couldn't my love make a difference in his outlook? I contemplated going to him on my own, but I never carried through. No rational being would approach the king unannounced while darkness occupied his thoughts.

By the time my king prepared to enter the twelfth year of his reign, I knew my marriage would not be the romantic dream I had envisioned as a girl. But I had learned to adapt and was happy pouring my love into the royal children and my little dog. The situation might have continued for many more years, but then I met the interloper who had come between us.

One day the king asked me to join him in the audience hall. I did, and I was amazed to discover a stranger standing by my husband's side. “Haman,” one of my maids whispered. “He has become . . .
close
to the king.”

At our first meeting, I thought the new vizier charming. He was not a handsome man, nor unusually dignified, but he had a bright charisma that seemed to compel the other nobles to include him in their conversations. He also had obvious wealth, which he lavished on his wardrobe and on gifts for those in the royal circle.

I had no trouble understanding why the newcomer had become so popular. When he was presented to me, he knelt before my gilded chair and produced a necklace from a velvet bag—a gold chain featuring a pearl pendant. Pearls were a rare sight in our court, and Haman quickly explained that they were formed when a common sea creature discovered an irritating grain of sand inside its shell.

“The humble oyster wraps a material around the sand,” he went on, peering at me through half-closed eyelids, “and from trouble comes beauty. Judging by the size of this pearl, this oyster was
troubled indeed.” He then offered me the gift, along with a wish that my troubles would always result in beauty like that of a pearl.

I accepted his gift with a polite smile, then handed it to one of my maids. In truth, I wasn't sure I wanted to be indebted to this stranger—he reminded me of the sort of man Mordecai referenced when he warned about those who flatter with their lips.

But Haman paid only perfunctory attention to me, and before I left the throne room I realized I'd been tricked. Despite what Vashti wanted me to believe, my king wasn't in love with another woman; he had become fascinated with this man. Still, I wasn't terribly concerned about Haman until I learned that the man had begun to eat late dinners with the king, often talking with him well into the night . . . when the king could have been with me.

I might have borne my concerns privately, except for a chance meeting with Harbonah in the king's garden. Harbonah bowed, wished me life and good health, then lowered his voice and asked what I thought about Haman the Agagite.

“I've only spent a few moments with him,” I said truthfully. “What do you think of the man?”

The eunuch's mouth curled as if he wanted to spit. “I don't like him.”

I lifted a brow, for Harbonah rarely spoke so bluntly. “What has he done?”

“As far as I can tell, he has done nothing improper, but his talk is so smooth and flattering I know he cannot be trusted. Worse still, when the king is in a dark mood, Haman tells him not to worry, for
he
will take care of everything. So the king takes the man at his word, surrendering his authority and his position to that upstart.”

I knew I shouldn't be listening to gossip from a slave, even one I trusted as much as Harbonah. But he served the man I loved, and he undoubtedly had a better understanding of the situation than anyone else.

“That's not all.” Harbonah took a half step closer and lowered his voice to a confidential note. “This Haman has been spying on your cousin. Mordecai has never prostrated himself before Haman, and he will not do so despite the king's edict. Every day Haman rides past Mordecai's post, and your cousin merely stares at him. Haman has not reacted yet, but I fear for your cousin and my friend. Haman has the king's ear—”

So do I.
The words sprang to my lips, but I could not utter a lie. I shivered as my blood ran cold. “You must warn Mordecai.”

“I've tried.” The eunuch's voice cracked with desperation. “I've talked to him, but the man is as stubborn as a bloodstain. He won't lower himself to a creature such as Haman.”

“Does he give a reason?”

Harbonah grunted. “He says something about his people and your people and ancient rivalries. And he doesn't like Haman's attitude.”

“He must be more careful.” I pressed my lips together as my thoughts raced. “Harbonah, you must take Mordecai a note from me. Maybe for my sake he will obey the law.”

Harbonah drew a deep breath, then pressed the bridge of his nose as if his head ached. “I pray you are right. A sincere warning from the right person might break the man's will.”

“Let us handle the matter at once.” I walked toward the garden gate, quickening my pace as Harbonah followed the required distance behind me. Once we reached the queen's palace, the eunuch waited in the antechamber while I went to my desk and scratched out a note on a sheet of papyrus. I folded it, sealed it with wax and the imprint of my ring, then went into the antechamber to deliver the message.

“Hurry, Harbonah,” I said, placing the letter in the eunuch's hand. “Take this to Mordecai before the king notices your absence. This foolish standoff must not continue for even one more day.”

B
REATHLESS
FROM
CLIMBING
THE
KING
'
S
STAIRCASE
for the fourth time in a single day, I paused at the upper landing and braced my heaving body against a glazed portrait of minions offering treasures to King Darius. I was too old to play errand boy, even for the queen and her cousin. I had carried her warning to Mordecai; he sent back a terse reply: he would not bow to a son of Amalek. After delivering his message, I ran back down to the accounting office to whisper that the queen was upset to the point of tears; wouldn't her cousin capitulate and obey the king's law? Mordecai, as stubborn as a stuck door, again told his ward—his queen—that some things were more important than pleasing a king. He would not bow.

To make matters worse, Haman was now striding toward me, his strides long and his brow set in a straight line. He must have heard about my sprints up and down the grand staircase, and he
would want to know why I had so many dealings with a Jewish accountant in the king's treasury.

“You! Eunuch!”

As I bent and prostrated myself on the cobbled pavement, I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath, overcoming an inexplicable urge to slap the vizier for ruining my afternoon. “Sir?”

“You are acquainted with the scribe called Mordecai, are you not?”

Too weary to play the idiot again, I looked up and nodded.

“Did you obey my order and visit him? Have you asked if he has a death wish? If he wants to be impaled? Or perhaps he would prefer to be tied between two stallions and pulled apart? Such are the penalties for those who break the king's laws.”

I swallowed hard. “I'm sure you know the empire is made up of many different peoples.”

“I do not need a lesson in Persian affairs.”

“Well, then.” I rose to my knees, and only with great difficulty did I manage to suppress a cocky smile. “Mordecai says he will not bow because he is a Jew.”

Anger blossomed in the man's round face. “I knew it! That arrogant—”

“Excuse me, sir, but Mordecai is not arrogant. He has been humble and pleasant in all his dealings with the people.”

“But he will not obey the king's law.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but the law of the Medes and the Persians allows Mordecai to uphold the traditions of his people. The older law supersedes the newer, and Mordecai is free
not
to bow before you. To do so would violate his sensibilities as a Jew.”

Haman stiffened, then narrowed one eye in a squint. “You are much changed since our first meeting.”

I shrugged. “Though I am a eunuch and a slave, I am not made of unthinking stone. I can reason as well as any man—and better than most.”

“Then tell me, O reasoning eunuch, would this Mordecai not bow before the king? If he met the queen, would he not show any sort of obeisance?”

The insertion of my queen into the conversation set prickles of unease nipping at the back of my knees, but Haman had no reason to suspect any connection between Hadassah and Mordecai. Still, better to turn the subject away from Queen Esther.

I pressed my hand to my chest as a bead of perspiration snaked a path from my armpit to my lowest rib. “I am certain Mordecai would prostrate himself before the king and any other figure deserving of his respect. Mordecai's people fear the king and obey the law. The way my friend explained it, the only nobleman he will not bow before is you, because you are an Amalekite. Apparently the God of the Jews has cursed the people of Amalek for something that happened long ago.”

Haman gritted his teeth and drew back his hand—and I knew only my relationship with the king saved me from a hard slap.

“I should have
smelled
him,” Haman growled, lowering his arm. “No wonder that man torments me. His cursed race has afflicted my people ever since Saul decimated the city of Agag. . . .”

He stalked away, muttering under his breath, and I smiled as I watched him go.

During Nisan, the first month of the king's twelfth regal year, Haman gathered a group of toadies in the open area outside the entrance to the King's Gate. I had been out stretching my legs while the king breakfasted, but when I saw Haman holding court in such a public place, I slowed my step to see what he was about.

His minions had gathered around Haman and a priest of Ahura Mazda, who wore his traditional white robe. Haman's sons were
among the crowd, but neither they nor the other onlookers appeared at all solemn. Indeed, after some unintelligible joke and the resultant burst of laughter, one of Haman's sons produced a pair of
puru
, or lots, and handed them to the priest. The smiling priest chanted something, sprinkled some sort of sand over the stones, and then tossed them against a carved rock on the ground.

The priest stood back to let the king's vizier read the outcome.

“Ah.” Haman studied the stones with a smile. “A twelve and a thirteen—the thirteenth day of the twelfth month. They say the greatest Jew in the world died in the twelfth month, so perhaps the last month of the year is unlucky for the descendants of Jacob. Perhaps their God is tired, so he goes off to take a nap in the month of Adar.”

As the vizier's sycophants laughed, Haman strolled away, heading toward the grand staircase and presumably on his way to visit the king. I caught my breath, about to run forward and cut him off lest he interrupt my master, then I thought the better of it. Why not let him disturb the king? Maybe Haman deserved to feel my master's undiluted irritation.

I found Mordecai working at his post. “Friend,” I called, too preoccupied by what I had just witnessed to greet him properly, “who was the greatest Jew in the world?”

Mordecai looked up, his brows raised, then returned his gaze to a clay tablet filled with numbers. “Only HaShem knows the answer to such a question.”

“But what would men say? Who do you think the greatest Jew in the world would be?”

Mordecai put down his stylus and studied me. “Some would say Abraham. Some would say Jacob. But I would say Moses. We have not had a tzaddik like him since.” Mordecai's squint tightened. “Why do you ask?”

“When did this Moses die?”

“Before we crossed into the Promised Land.”

“But when? Did he die in the month of Adar?”

A line appeared between the accountant's brows. “From the writings of Joshua, yes, we can deduce that Moses died in the last month of the year.”

My jaw tightened as understanding dawned. “I don't know what Haman is up to, but he's planning something for Adar. Something that has to do with you, I'm sure. Maybe something that will affect all of your people.”

Mordecai's mouth curved in a smirk. “What could Haman be planning? I have broken no law other than the king's edict. And if Haman wanted to have me arrested for not bowing, he could do it long before Adar. As far as punishing the Jews, the king has already halted work on our temple. What else could he do, impose a Jewish tax?”

“I don't think Haman would hire a professional diviner to choose a date for new taxes,” I warned. “And you must not forget that he despises you. Every day you refuse to bow or even stand in his presence is another day his hatred grows. You must keep your wits about you.”

“So the man hates one Jew.” Mordecai shrugged and picked up his stylus. “I will be careful, but there are yet thousands of Jews scattered throughout the earth. Adonai has promised that we shall be as numerous as the sand of the sea.”

“But his hatred—trust me, my friend—is as deep as the ocean. And it grows deeper every day.”

I sank to a stool against the wall and crossed my legs. From what I'd seen and heard, Haman's animosity seemed to extend far beyond a feeling for one particular Jew. Yes, he hated Mordecai, but his comments about “those people” and “their God” seemed to indicate he hated the entire race.

“Why?” I looked up at the accountant. “Why would Haman
hate your people? Today he sneered as if he would wipe every Jew from the earth if he could.”

“Then we should be grateful he is not all-powerful.” Mordecai lowered his stylus again. “Some hatreds have roots far beyond the present generation, my friend. I have told you that the Jews are descended from Jacob; the Amalekites from Esau. Before those twins were born, Adonai revealed that they would produce two rival nations, and the older would serve the younger. As the Lord foretold, Jacob received the birthright and blessing from his father, Isaac. Esau's descendants have resented us ever since.”

“So nothing can be done to heal the breach between your two tribes?”

“Jacob and Esau reconciled, though Jacob never fully trusted his brother,” Mordecai answered. “And Adonai's promise cannot be denied. He builds up and He tears down, and no man can argue with His purposes.”

The accountant studied me for a long moment, then smiled. “Do not worry about me. If Haman hasn't done anything by now, he won't.” Mordecai picked up his stylus again and glanced at the scribblings on a nearby parchment. “And if he's planning mischief for Adar, that's nearly a year away. Today is much too early to worry about such a resentful little man.”

What could Haman be planning?

I carried that unsettling question with me for a full twenty-four hours before I learned the answer. At the end of the following day, at the time the king used to send for the queen to join him for dinner, he summoned Haman instead. I gritted my teeth as the eunuchs left with the invitation, realizing the king was as enthralled by Haman as ever.

I helped the king dress in a comfortable cotton tunic, then arranged his couch the way he liked it, at an angle to his dining partner's. I had just placed a bowl of sliced apples, dates, and grapes on the king's tray when the eunuchs returned, Haman strolling casually in their midst.

The Agagite ignored me, of course, but lowered himself to the shining marble floor and shouted an enthusiastic greeting, “O king, most blessed of men, most glorious and magnificent, live forever and prosper!”

“Rise, Haman.” The king smiled and gestured to the empty couch. “I hope you are hungry after our long day. This is the hour when we relax and think of more pleasant things than Babylon and taxes and famine. This is when we forget about troublemakers in Greece and your problems with that new stallion.”

Walking backward, I left the open area and tucked myself into an alcove. Through the sheer curtain that hid me, I could watch and listen without being noticed.

“My king.” With a frown on his brow, Haman pounded his chest and rose to one knee. “As much as I would enjoy relaxing with you, I fear I cannot abide talk of such trivial things as a stubborn stallion. Today I have learned of trouble in the empire, trouble that need not concern you but greatly distresses me.”

The king froze, an apple in his hand. “Rise, friend, and tell me about this calamity.”

Haman took a seat on his couch, his hands resting on his knees. “I'm concerned about a particular people who seem intent on fomenting rebellion in the empire.”

The king reached for a grape and popped it into his mouth. “Forget your concern, friend Haman, for I have dealt with this before. I will simply appoint a new provincial governor and send my army to enforce his authority.”

Haman's brows drew together in an agonized expression. “Therein
lies the problem, for they don't dwell in a particular region. Like noxious weeds, they lie scattered among all the provinces of your empire. Yet they are clannish and keep to their own. They don't intermarry with other tribes, their ways differ from those of the king's other subjects, and they ignore the king's laws. Often they flaunt their disobedience, as though the law of the Medes and the Persians had no authority over them. They have been cheats and liars since the beginning of their lineage.”