Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294) (27 page)

“Haman, as always, you have spoken well.” Smiling, my master clapped to summon the guards waiting outside his chamber, then pressed his hands to the vizier's round shoulders. Haman flushed, lowered his gaze, and looked as though he were about to melt from the fervent heat of his own humility.

The king beamed at him. “My friend Haman, hurry and do just as you have said. Take my robe and my horse, and adorn the horse with royalty. Do not leave out anything you mentioned. Do all this for Mordecai the Jew who works at the King's Gate.”

I bit my tongue just in time to stifle a squeal of pure pleasure, but thankfully the king didn't seem to notice.

The flush receded from Haman's face, leaving him pale and tottering beneath the king's broad hands. But my master didn't seem to notice. He turned and approached me, for I stood near the king's wardrobe.

“What about that one?” He pulled out his coronation robe, the gold and pearl-encrusted tunic he had worn when he first claimed his father's throne. “I can imagine nothing finer.” He tossed the tunic to me. “Eunuch, you will assist Haman in this. Make sure the horse is regally dressed. And make certain that all the city hears of this long-overdue honor.”

Struggling to keep a triumphant grin from my face, I bowed. “I will assist him with the greatest of pleasure, my king.”

O
N
THE
DAY
OF
MY
SECOND
BANQUET
, I woke with the sun to oversee the preparations. I could not invite the king for a third banquet—his patience would not endure further testing—nor could I stand another meal in the company of that horrible Haman.

I was about to undress for my bath when the sound of a shout broke the morning stillness. Two of my maids flew to the window and peered at something below, then looked at me with bewilderment on their faces.

My stomach twisted. In my experience, any shout emanating from the palace signaled bad news, and I did not need bad news today.

Hulta called from the window: “Do not worry, my queen, all is well. But Haman—perhaps you should see this for yourself.”

What trouble could the man be stirring up now? I flew to the window and peered out at the palace courtyard beyond my garden.
I saw two mounted Immortals in full armor, followed by a bearded man on the king's black stallion. A man in fine attire led the horse, which wore its royal trappings, complete with a gold crown tied to its forehead.

Shock flew through me when I recognized the jeweled garment the rider wore. Had Haman finally coerced his way into the king's wardrobe? No, the man's beard was too long and unkempt to be the vizier's, and his figure too portly.

“Haman?” I asked.

“Walking,” Hulta said. “He's leading the king's horse.”

I looked down again and saw that Hulta was correct. “Then who—?”

The rider shifted to look over his shoulder, and I gasped.
Mordecai
sat astride the horse, while Haman struggled to control the skittish beast.

I felt the world shift around me as my head spun. “Who has wrought this?” I murmured, staring at the incredible scene. “Is Haman up to some sort of trickery?”

None of my maids could explain the situation, but Nehorita volunteered to find Harbonah, who would surely be able to explain the odd sight. I considered sending her, then thought the better of it. We had a banquet to plan, and the meal had to be perfect. Nothing could irritate my husband or darken his mood.

“We will hear details soon enough.” I stepped away from the window. “But now I have to prepare for another meeting with the king and his vizier.” I couldn't stop a wry smile as I gestured to Hurfita, who had readied my bath. “I only hope this morning's activity doesn't completely spoil the vizier's appetite.”

“I
F
THOU
ART
A
MASTER
,” a wise man once said, “be sometimes blind. If thou art a servant, be sometimes deaf.”

Years of serving my king had proved this adage many times. My master often overlooked my faults, and I kept his secrets. Though I was as devoted as a eunuch could be, I was not above taking an hour or two to find pleasure for myself.

I stole one of those hours the afternoon of my queen's second banquet. Haman had hurried from the palace immediately after returning from leading Mordecai through the streets of Susa, but he had to return for the queen's feast. A company of guards would be dispatched to escort him to meet the king and queen, so I decided to be part of that company.

I donned a head covering and exchanged my white tunic for the simple kilt of a litter-bearer. I told the astonished slave that I would take his place on this errand. He was only too happy to relax in the barn while I picked up a pole at the back of the litter.

Our company arrived at Haman's house well before the appointed time. While the guards lingered in the vast courtyard and speculated about the tall pike standing amid lush gardens and beautiful statuary, I sidled toward the doorway and hid myself behind a stone outcropping.

From where I stood, I could hear Haman's angry voice, accompanied by the treble tones of a woman—presumably his wife.

“I shall never get over the humiliation,” Haman said, anguish in his voice. “The man I hate most in all the world, seated upon the king's stallion! That should have been
my
seat! I should have been wearing the king's robe.”

I expected his wife to comfort him, but Haman's woman answered sharply, “If this Mordecai before whom you have begun to fall is a Jew, you will not get the better of him. On the contrary, your downfall before him is certain.”

I winced as a hard slap cracked through the silence. I caught the captain of the guard's attention and gestured toward the house. “Hurry,” I mouthed. He nodded and pounded on the door.

A moment later, Haman stalked out and climbed into the litter, never even glancing at the slaves who had come to transport him. My tender hands developed blisters as I carried his substantial weight, but seeing his slumped posture and furrowed brow made the pain worthwhile. Yesterday the vizier had fizzed with glee at the thought of dining with the queen; tonight he rode to the palace like a man who had been condemned to dine in the dungeon. Before this morning he had run to and fro arranging for the destruction of the Jews, but now he was being carried toward an event my queen had arranged. He did not realize it, but he was no longer in control.

Yet I did not underestimate him. He was a changeling, able to rearrange his countenance and amend his approach as easily as he might change his cloak. Within a very short time he would be
charming and witty, though the man beneath the facade would not change.

Following the queen's explicit directions, we brought Haman to the palace by way of the grand staircase, the one Darius had designed to intimidate visitors with glory and grandeur. Haman barely seemed to notice the gleaming pillars, the glazed tiles and artistic mosaics, even the fountains that bubbled with colored waters. Not until we reached the arched entrance to the queen's palace did he look up, climb out of the litter, and paste a pleasant expression on his face. Suitably composed, he left us behind and proceeded into the royal couple's presence.

The guards and litter-bearers dispersed while I slipped into the queen's garden and hid myself behind the diaphanous curtains hanging from the framework of the garden pavilion. Torches had been planted into the ground outside, giving light to the guards who would be stationed there and lighting the dining area with a soft glow. On the hexagonal platform, three couches—two gold and one silver—had been arranged in a triangular pattern. With one glance I saw that the king and queen would dine head to head, while Haman occupied a couch near their feet.

I couldn't stop a smile. My queen had arranged everything perfectly.

I
WELCOMED
MY
KING
AND
HIS
VIZIER
with a warm smile, then led them to the garden pavilion where everything had been arranged. I greeted my husband with reverent kindness and asked him to sit near me, close enough that I could look into his eyes and read his mood with one glance.

I kept Haman at a distance, where he should be, and was pleased to see that my husband did not object to the arrangement.

The servants brought heaping trays of the king's favorite roasted meats, prepared the way he liked them. No sooner had one tray emptied than another arrived, venison and beef and pork surrounded with heaps of figs and dates, mulberries, plums, apples, pears and quinces, raw almonds, walnuts, and pistachios. The bread was soft and the beer stout. The cooks had done a wonderful job with the meal.

Yet I ate very little. I was sure the king noticed my lack of ap
petite, and I thought I saw concern in his eyes. But he said nothing, and I appreciated his discretion. I did not want to share anything personal in front of Haman, even if it were a matter so trivial as to why I only picked at the food.

I also said little during the meal, for my stomach had clenched so tightly I could barely draw breath. But Haman made up for my reticence, babbling about his handsome sons, his beautiful wife, and his fine house. Once I gave him a sidelong glance and wondered if I should ask how he enjoyed his morning with Mordecai the Jew . . . then I thought the better of it. The less Haman knew of my relationship with my cousin, the better. I could not give him even the slightest advantage.

At the end of the meal, Hatakh brought us a fine wine and a pudding of blended pomegranates and peaches. After one bite, I knew the moment had arrived. Any time now, the king would turn and ask why I had risked my life to see him, and this time I would have to answer.

When the trays had been taken away and nothing remained but our golden goblets, the king sat upright and looked at me. “What is your wish, Queen Esther?” he said, speaking formally. “It shall be granted you. And what is your request? Be it as great as half the kingdom, it shall be fulfilled.”

I slipped from my couch and fell to the floor before my startled husband. I knew I had to be careful in what I said, for he was as involved in the threat to my people as Haman. I had to move him to action without accusing him or threatening his honor.

“If I have won your favor, my king—” I dared to reach out and touch the top of his foot—“and if it pleases the king, then what I ask be given me is my own life and the lives of my people. For we have been sold, I and my people, to be destroyed, killed, exterminated.”

I looked up, but my husband's eyes had filled, not with rage but with confusion. He had no idea what I meant or who my people
were. If I said nothing more, he might save me, but he would do nothing to prevent the destruction of the Jews in Persia.

And there was still the matter of money. The king cared a great deal for the health of his treasury.

“If we had only been sold as slaves,” I continued, “I would have remained quiet; for then the misery we would suffer would not have been severe enough to justify causing loss to the king.”

My husband, my king, stared at me as if I had begun to babble in a foreign tongue. “Who is the one, and where is he, who had the audacity to do this?”

I did not shift my gaze from my husband's. “A man hateful and hostile—this wicked Haman.”

I heard a noise behind me and knew Haman had leapt to his feet, probably realizing for the first time that I could be dangerous, too.

The king's eyes glittered with rage. He glowered at his vizier, then stood and stalked out of the pavilion, ripping aside a curtain before heading into the quiet coolness of the garden.

I did not know what he was thinking, but I had an idea. He had to be wondering how he could punish Haman for a plot he had approved. He had issued an irrevocable law that could not be rescinded. So how could he rescue his honor and his queen from a threat he had never realized?

Trembling, I lifted myself from the floor and sank onto my couch, drawing deep breaths to calm my pounding heart. My thoughts remained with the king, but suddenly Haman was on top of me, having thrown himself on my couch in desperation. He must have glimpsed the rage in the king's face and knew his hours were numbered.

I stared at him, felt his breath on my face, and realized the man who had demanded everyone prostrate themselves before him was now groveling before a Jew.

“My queen, I didn't know. No one told me, no one ever said—”

He had barely begun to babble when my husband appeared in the opening between the curtains, his hands on his hips and his face livid. “Is he going to rape the queen here in the palace, before my very eyes?!”

The moment the words left his mouth, two of the ever-present Immortals stepped up and grasped Haman's arms. They pulled the blubbering vizier from me, and then one of them tied Haman's hands behind his back while the other tossed a cloth over his head, sparing me the sight of a condemned man.

Before the guards dragged the former vizier away, the king stepped behind Haman and pulled the royal signet ring from the man's fat finger.

I breathed easier than I had in days, but the victory had not yet been won. The king had dealt with the personal insult to his honor and his queen, but the edict still stood. My people remained in danger.

Then my silent friend Harbonah, who missed nothing, stepped forward to direct my husband's frustrated rage. “Look! A seventy-five-foot pike has been erected at Haman's house. The vizier made it for Mordecai, who has only done good for the king.”

That was enough. A Persian king could not execute a man for a single offense, but Harbonah had just supplied a second one. Not only had Haman dared to throw himself upon the queen's person in the king's presence, but he had planned to attack one of the king's benefactors, an act commensurate with an attack on the king himself.

My husband's mouth flattened into a thin line. “Impale this traitor on his own pike.”

Haman screamed at the prospect of Persian justice as the guards led him away.

My king sank down onto his couch, then leaned against the curving support. He dropped his head to his hand and gazed at me in a posture of weariness and disbelief.

Then, without speaking, he reached across the chasm between us and took my hand.

“I have been blind,” he said simply. “I cannot believe he would threaten my queen.”

My queen?
Not
the Jews
, not
you, my beloved wife
. But
my queen.

What could I say? Clearly, the king cared more for his honor than for me or my people. His anger would be appeased by Haman's death, but millions of my people still lived under an irrevocable death sentence.

The thirteenth of Adar loomed before us.