Chosen

by Ginger Garrett

  “That was Yoon-Mai. Do not let her disturb you, but do not cross her path if you can help it while you are here. She is favored to be the new queen, and she has a taste for blood.” Ashtari related this all in a calm voice, but I felt more uncertain with every word.

  As Ashtari stood to leave me, I found the courage to ask the question that had been itching at the back of my mind for several minutes. “Ashtari, if the king is looking for a beautiful girl from this harem to become queen, why have you not gone into him yourself?”

  Her gaze became cool, and her eyes swept the room for servants. Seeing none, she leaned closer and, her gaze still even with mine, lifted her skirt to one side. My stomach lurched, and I forced myself to meet her eyes once more. The flesh over her right thigh was purple and spoiled, dark scars shooting like sunbursts from the edge of the wound. Satisfied that I had seen my answer, she lowered her skirt and explained.

  “When I was a young girl, I lived with my family along the banks of the Nile. One day when I had gone to the river to fetch some water, I stepped near a cobra. When I saw its hood, I screamed and startled the river animals. One animal fleeing the water trampled it, but the cobra still was able to strike my thigh before it died. My parents called on a healer, a Jew, and he worked many days to save me. He succeeded, but my parents could not pay his fee. He insisted on receiving the money immediately. He said he had to make a holy pilgrimage. It was time for the Jewish sacrifices, he said. My parents begged him to wait another week, until our harvest came in, but he refused. My parents sold me to the king’s service to pay the healer’s fees. So I was spared, but lost forever to them. I do not know why the Jews are tolerated in this land.”

  Ashtari was looking off the balcony now toward the horizon, and I wondered if she was seeing her family in her mind’s eye. She turned and smiled. “Hagai has made me the highest ranking servant in his care, for only a truly beautiful woman knows how to find the beauty in another. And I see he has again chosen exceptionally well, for you are indeed more lovely than the others.” She leaned closer. “We all heard rumors of a girl in the village who was more beautiful than Vashti, though none of us dared to dream it.”

  I blushed, feeling betrayed that this beauty she saw in me dared to take me places I would have resisted.

  “But there will be many days for stories,” Ashtari said. “Mine has ended, and tomorrow yours begins in earnest.”[3]

  [1] While Susa, Esther’s village, was the administrative capitol where Xerxes and his court spent their winters, Persepolis was the grand social and spiritual center. Persepolis, built by Xerxes’ father, Darius, housed a harem, the king’s palace, a treasury, and the greatest wonders of the ancient world, The Gate of All Nations and the Throne Hall. Persepolis was the favorite spring and autumn home of the king. Both cities are located in what is now modern-day Iran.

  [2] Ahura Mazda was a pagan deity worshipped in the empire, and closely tied to the early religion of Zoroastrianism. It is unclear whether Xerxes was a true Zoroastian, although he made use of many of the religion’s teachings and beliefs in his public works and rulings.

  [3] See corresponding commentary in appendix.

  17

  Thirtieth Day of the Month of Tevet

  Seventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes

  Year 3398 after Creation

  Niloufar is her name. She told me when she woke me in the morning, sitting on my bed and draping warm cloths over my eyes, swollen from crying myself to sleep. Niloufar is the servant I scorned by refusing her service at dinner last night. Clearly she is a girl who loves to serve, and she doted on me as a mother might have, except that Niloufar is several years younger than I am. I wondered if I had said anything in my sleep; if she had been near to hear his name from my lips.

  “Ashtari is waiting for you upstairs, in the garden bath,” she said softly.

  In a moment between cloths, I tried to rub my eyes with the back of my hands, but Niloufar grabbed them quickly. “You must not stretch the skin around your eyes!” she admonished me. From her expression, I understood that she was surprised at my clumsy error.

  “Niloufar,” I sighed, “my people are not so concerned with these things. You will have to give me time to adjust to your ways.”

  Niloufar studied me for a moment, then glanced at my scrolls lying on the table nearest my bed. Only my diary was left about in plain view; the other, the scroll written in Mordecai’s hand, was safely hidden until I knew the right time had come to read it. He had shoved two scrolls to me as I was taken. On the caravan I discovered one was a letter from him, and I waited to be truly alone before I opened it. The right time had not yet come, as these servants and girls swirled all around me with their endless list of chores: baths, hair, and meals. And now I knew even my sleep would be attended to, lest I undid their magic around my eyes.

  “You are the one who reads and writes?” she asked.

  I nodded and pressed the warm cloths against my eyes once more. I could hear her picking up the scroll to look at it. I wasn’t worried she would read it, for I already had guessed from her tone that she couldn’t.

  “You are too pale to be Egyptian. This is an Egyptian scroll.” She sat, waiting for an explanation, although already I knew from her demeanor that she had no rank here to request one.

  “No, Niloufar, I am not Egyptian, although I write on scrolls much like what the Egyptians use. That is because animal skins as the Greeks use are too precious in my village, and the clay tablets others use are deemed for more important matters than a girl’s quiet thoughts.”

  Niloufar seemed satisfied with the answer. She picked up a sea sponge and large robe and led me upstairs for another bath.

  Now it was my turn to ask a curious question. “Who carries the water up to the roof, Niloufar? It must be a terrible chore.”

  Niloufar again rolled her eyes at me. I could tell her patience with my ignorance would not last. “Whoever heard of carrying water? The water here flows from the mountains. Channels were cut, aqueducts they are called, and they carry fresh water to the palaces.” Niloufar was glad to give me this information because it meant she could barrage me with more questions of her own.

  “If you write,” she asked, “you must also be allowed to read, perhaps even books? I have heard that a Greek has penned a story called The Odyssey. It’s a bit old now, but I hear it is still quite entertaining. Have you been allowed to read it? You could recite passages to the servants.”

  I shook my head that I had not read it.

  “You must give me details about your life and your people. I have lived in this harem since I was weaned,” Niloufar implored, disappointed that I would not be a source of amusement.

  I stopped for a moment on the stairs. What could I tell her? “My people live here in Susa.” I finally answered and resumed our ascent.

  “But Susa is the capital! How can your people not know the practices of the land?”

  I did not have time to reply, mercifully, as we emerged into the morning sun. Ashtari waved Niloufar away, who was still staring suspiciously at me. Ashtari motioned me to stand before a basin. A man stood close by with a razor. Another woman hovered near him, armed with a slender thread she held between her teeth and the fingers of one hand.

  “Do you prefer to shave your head, or keep your hair?” she asked.

  “No!” I gasped, involuntarily grasping the ends of my hair.

  Ashtari and the man laughed. Then she lifted her hair entirely off her head—she was bald!

  “It’s a wig, Esther. My people wear wigs and keep their heads shaved cleanly. But I see that I will not convert you to this custom. We will, however, begin your preparation for the king by removing all other hair. You are to be stripped completely clean of hair, save for your head, and then washed once more. Our first few months together will consist on
ly of preparing your body to receive the king’s touch. You will bathe daily and be rubbed down each morning and eve with oil of myrrh. You are to eat the portions set before you without question, for your body is to be rounded out. Only after you have been softened and conditioned will you begin learning the arts of seduction and presentation. For now, Niloufar will stay to escort you back to your chambers and there we will begin to attend to your diet.”

  Ashtari circled me slowly, pointing to my arms and legs, and giving commands to one of the eunuchs.

  “You are too thin to be brought to the king, you know. No man wants to reach for a woman and find only bones,” she told me. “You must eat everything set before you, Esther. Even the soup.”

  She gave me a smile and motioned now for servants to step forward and begin the process of removing all hair. They worked, oblivious to my cries of pain and protest. They removed hairs I had never contemplated; surely they would not be a bother to a king who would only know me for one night? But nothing was spared attention; to my horror, even the sacred places were stripped clean.

  I looked back and forth between Ashtari and her servants. I could not believe this was happening.

  But it was.

  18

  Second Day of the Month of Shevat

  Seventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes

  Year 3398 after Creation

  I do not know how long I will be here, nor if I will be able to get more scroll as I need it. Once again, I am forced to reserve this precious scroll. I am the only one among these girls who reads and writes; all think it a waste of my precious year here to record my thoughts. But I am alone, alone in the midst of so many others, and this diary is my one consolation. It has shared my secrets, and now it shares my sorrows. No word has come from Cyrus, or my village. Other girls get messages from a network of servants bribed by their parents to deliver word from home. Mordecai has so little money; surely he will not waste it on sending word to me about our flocks, or my roses. About Cyrus, he knew so little. How could he know how desperately I long to hear of Cyrus. Has he married as his father wished? Will he come?

  The days here pass slowly—not like the days in the market. The girls at home rise early and race the sun to the marketplace. Here, the girls sleep until they are awakened, and would hardly take notice of the sun, except that the servants keep the bath schedule by it. I, however, am wakened early by Niloufar, who brings a tray of tea and fruits, and another servant behind her who carries steaming towels. The servants prop me up gently on my bed, and between my sips of tea and bites of the fruit, they lay steaming towels across my face, bosom and hands. This is not a bad way to wake up, I confess, but the evening ritual has been as unpleasant as the mornings have been gentle.

  Every evening, servants corner me and lead me to my bed, where I am slathered in oils and creams. Truly, I am embalmed nightly! There are many oils the servants use, but myrrh is their favored one. (One evening, I complained of a headache, and the girls produced a jar with a baby cobra floating dead along with rose petals and oil. This was applied to my temples. I have not complained since.) Myrrh is used on my face, often mixed with almond oil because the fat stays in the skin for so long. Lotus oil is used on my bosom, and myrrh again on my hands and the rest of my body. Then I am wrapped in strips of clean linen and laid down on my back, hands at my sides, for the night. A servant stands watch over me to make sure I remain in this position, for I must not move my hands in my sleep and disturb the oils of my face, nor must I be allowed to roll over and crease my body.

  That is why every morning I am cleansed softly with steaming towels to remove the oils I was embalmed with the previous night, and to steep my skin once more in their mystic powers. And I understand now why I have heard the girls here say the servants from the East are preferred, as any servant from Egypt would scrub us raw in their zeal for cleanliness. These bits of gossip most often come to me by accident, a carelessly loud word spoken beneath my balcony, or echoed from the baths below. Ashtari and Hagai are still keeping me separate from the others, though I long to speak to a girl from my own province. A few others are kept separate as well; I can see them across my balcony. But I have been told my quarters are the most coveted. Hagai is known for choosing wisely, and first.

  Only Yoon-Mai is content to see this loft and not abide in it. She loves to stroll the floor and scare the other girls, taking stock of her rivals. There are many servants in the pay of her people from home; she has good accommodations, I am told, and readies herself daily to take the throne. Xerxes will keep all his harems, even when he marries, they say, but I suspect Yoon-Mai will unleash a disaster upon us all if she is made queen. There are two ways to easily kill us in a moment, and these make us all tremble at night: a sudden fire, since we are prisoners with no escape, and a sickness. The girls inspected upon arrival are not only surveyed for their beauty, but for sores and lesions, for a plague could move through us all quickly and destroy us. I have no faith in the healers and magicians that sometimes move among us, feeling our bellies to know when we will be fertile, or smelling our breath to know what humor we may be in. They believe themselves to be diviners of the female spirit, but in truth, they are foolish little men with meaningless spells and potions. Like so much of what I see here, their art is only pageantry, shadowplay with no source or substance.

  19

  Fifth Day of the Month of Shevat

  Seventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes

  Year 3398 after Creation

  This day was not as taxing to me; am I surrendering or adjusting? I have been stripped by now of all reminders of home—even much of my hair! My clothes are gone, and new ones line the room. Even the smells of home are lost to me now. If Cyrus cannot come, I must plan to escape, but as yet, I see no way, time, or place, for I am rarely alone, and even if I were to venture downstairs toward the main doors, I am too afraid of Yoon-Mai and her tiger to try. Ashtari brought me a mirror to show me the change in my skin since I have been under her care. I marveled at the image I saw; I could not put the mirror down. Ashtari was pleased with my reaction, at first, until my question.

  “What did I look like before?” I asked.

  Ashtari took the mirror away and stared at me, her brow knotted.

  “Was I so different?” I asked, in ignorance. I tried to explain that we had not had mirrors of this sort in my village, and there had been no call for them for a girl who worked in the marketplace. But it was no consolation for Ashtari, who realized her efforts were lost on me for the moment. She busied herself with other matters for the remainder of the day, and I did not see her.

  Hagai came to me today with a bowl of figs. Perhaps they were a peace offering. The girls knew how unhappy I was at being here and how poor a student of their arts I am. For I care nothing of scrubbing and oiling my skin, of dreaming of the king’s touch or making myself into the soft earth that will bear his seed. Even Ashtari has lost patience with me. I have told no one that I am one of the Jews, or of my love for Cyrus, but these secrets make me as brittle and unbendable to their work as can be imagined. I can only guess what Niloufar is whispering to the other girls, even as she turns her blank smile upon me. But Hagai seemed not to mind.

  He set the figs down next to me, and we talked. We talked of little things, which are the best things to discuss when everything else is big. He admired how soft my elbows and palms have become in just a few short weeks. He is so kind. It makes me believe this place cannot be so full of bad omens.

  I could tell by the softening of the light through the ceiling that the hour was growing late. Hagai did not rush me into words, and I was able to tell him as much as I could while keeping my secrets. But when I began telling him of my great distress at being offered to the king’s bed, that I believed it was wrong to give the body so, that I believed in love and holy marriage above greed and lust, he laid his hand on mine and moved closer. No ma
n but Cyrus had done that in such a manner. I reflexively pulled away.

  Hagai frowned and sat back. “Why did you pull away? For what reason do you disdain being touched? Do you not understand you are to give so much more to the king?”

  I tried not to choke on the tears hiding just behind my palate. “Hagai,” I began, “it is true that I believe much here is wrong. I was not meant for this harem, but it is not just my G-d who tells me so, for in truth, it is my heart that cries out the loudest. Hagai, I could never dream of happiness in the king’s bed, because I love another.” It was all I could get out. The sobs stayed imprisoned inside, and they burned against my throat and eyes, rioting at being denied their release. I gasped for air, turning away, feeling as if the air were hot ash as it singed my throat and lungs.

  Hagai laughed once. “It doesn’t surprise me that you love another. Did none of the girls here ever love or live before the king’s men carried them away? I know of no one here who dreams of truly returning the king’s love. They want his crown, Esther. But tell me, did you think I touched you because I desired you in my own bed?” He snorted a little laugh and his mood began to shift. “Did you think perhaps this was another part of your education, your preparation for the king?” he asked, sounding strange. I could not answer. “Do you not know what I am?” he insisted.

  I shook my head. “I did not wish to offend you, Hagai. You prove to be a good and dear friend. But I know nothing of what you are, of this place, these strange customs, and the way girls are thrown to the king every night as easily as wood is tossed into the fire!”

  Hagai grew still and formed his words carefully. “You are so naive. You must think the worst burden is to give love when you feel none, but there is another. There are many, many others to fear.”

  “What burdens do you bear, Hagai?” I asked tenderly. “What have you to fear? Are you not surrounded by luxury beyond imagination, and women so beautiful that the Greeks have yet to match their beauty with their words and epic poems? What harm could ever befall such a powerful man?”