Chapter Sixteen
Hadassah
I HEARD THE NEWS AT THE WELL, the center of our little Jewish neighborhood. The woman who had greeted us with the story seemed to think the decree an elaborate joke, but when one of the king’s courtiers rode by with a sealed scroll beneath his arm, we wondered if the report might be true.
Did the king really want to marry an ordinary girl?
After Babar left Susa for parts unknown, Parysatis and I had renewed our friendship. Though a shadow would cross her face at any thought or mention of her brother, she had finally reached a place where she could be happy again. Like me, she’d been thrilled to see the city come back to life with the king’s return. The streets once again streamed with soldiers and courtiers, and Parysatis and I kept craning our necks for some glimpse of a royal litter.
I couldn’t help feeling grateful that she hadn’t believed Babar’s ridiculous stories about the king. After all, one only had to look at the king—prosperous and adored—to know that Babar had been lying. The royal household of Persia deserved to be praised and lauded.
Yet in those days I didn’t find as much joy in girlish gossip about royalty and the nobility. I had become too well acquainted with reality, and I found it difficult to escape into fantasy when a new and more somber life would be mine within a few weeks.
I hurried to the bazaar where I knew I’d find Parysatis working in her father’s silk shop. I wasn’t surprised to learn that she’d already heard the rumor.
“Can you imagine?” Parysatis sighed, wrapping her arms around the basket she carried. “To live in the palace! To eat whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted it. To have servants and beautiful gowns and drink from golden goblets, none of them ever like the one before it—”
“You’d have to marry the king,” I pointed out. “And isn’t he old?”
“He’s not so old,” she argued. “I’ve seen him riding across the plain, and he looked quite handsome on his horse. He rode straight and tall, not hunched over.”
“Would you really like to be queen?” I stared at her, unable to believe what I was hearing. “I know he was out of his mind, but perhaps Babar had a point. Even Mordecai says that court can be a treacherous place.”
“Listen to you.” Her brows drew downward. “A year ago you were dreaming about our handsome king yourself. You defended his honor in front of Babar.”
I blew out a breath, conceding her point. “A lot has changed in the past year.”
“And have you changed so much? I still adore Mushka, but if the king needs a new queen, why shouldn’t it be me?”
Her question hung on the air, silently accenting the rift that had developed between us. Parysatis was still the spoiled daughter of a rich merchant who would marry her off to the highest bidder, but I was no longer a carefree girl. I had lost Miriam and surrendered my youthful dreams of travel and adventure. Now when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a bowl or brass, I saw the tired mother I would become.
I offered Parysatis a weary smile. “I shouldn’t waste my time thinking about foolish things. I will be married soon.”
“You shouldn’t talk like you’re an old woman.” Parysatis brushed off my comment and exhaled a happy sigh. “Living in the palace would be wonderful. If you were chosen for the harem, everyone would know you were one of the most beautiful girls in the entire world—”
“Hush, will you?” An older woman stepped out from behind a bolt of silk and glared at us. “Have you no sense? No one would know you were beautiful, because no one would know you at all. You’d be swallowed up by the seraglio and forgotten by your friends. If you’re thinking such a life is a dream come true, think again.”
She tucked the end of a length of silk around the bolt. “I’ve seen beautiful women arrive in caravans from the east, destined for a life in the harem. They will have nothing to call their own, nothing. Yes, they live in a palace, but with hundreds of women to choose from, do you think the king would even remember your name? Living in a pretty palace might appeal to you now, but you’d think differently if you’d ever done it. Now get back to your home and get a veil to cover your face. If you’re smart, you’ll think twice about showing yourself in public until all this foolishness is over.”
I glanced around, searching for a way to escape. This woman might be speaking nonsense, but something in her eyes made me wonder if she’d lived the life she was describing.
Still, why should I worry about the king’s proclamation? No one was going to search for royal concubines in my neighborhood, and I was about as likely to live in the palace as to grow another head.
Obedient Jewish girls simply did not have to worry about such things.
I had planned to prepare a simple meal for Mordecai, Binyamin, and his father, when I found Mordecai pacing back and forth in our courtyard, his hands locked behind his back.
The tight lines of his face relaxed when he saw me. “Come in at once,” he said, hurrying to undo the latch of the gate.
When I was safely within our walls, he turned me to face him. “I wish I could keep you safe,” he said, his voice low and tense, “but the king’s edict will affect everyone in the empire.”
“Not me.” Surprised by his concern, I sank to the garden bench and folded my arms. “I am not the kind of girl they will be searching for.”
Mordecai put on the look of a man who has just been knocked down by a charging goat. “Hadassah, have you not seen yourself? You are a beautiful woman.”
“Cousin, I am not.”
“You are. And I’d be foolish to think no one has noticed you. Someone will turn you in; they will come for you within the week.”
I resisted the urge to imitate Miriam and shake my finger at him. “I think you’re wrong, but the answer is simple. I am betrothed, so why not go ahead with the wedding? The king would not be interested in a married woman.”
Mordecai cast me a sharp look. “Do you think the king cares if a maid is married or not? The edict calls for beautiful young women, Hadassah, not beautiful unmarried girls. And what of Binyamin? It would be far more painful for him to take you as his bride and then have you stolen away. What if you were with child when the king’s men took you? No, you cannot be married until the king’s latest folly has run its course.”
I leaned against the courtyard wall, amazed that Mordecai would give the royal edict serious consideration. “The king can’t possibly hope to gather all the beautiful young women in the empire. No one will even notice me, and if they do, they’ll not want me. I am too—”
I was about to say Jewish, meaning that I was too modest and old-fashioned to excite the attention of a Persian nobleman, but Mordecai interrupted. “Hadassah, listen to me. Every man in Susa will look at you and think of the king’s edict. They will dream of a handsome reward for bringing you to the palace. So you shall remain indoors until the king has found his next queen.”
I leaned forward, flustered by his stubbornness. “I can’t stay indoors. I have work to do, water to fetch, and a goat to milk—”
“If you must go outside, you will wear a veil. Cover your face. Do not wear a belt around your tunic, lest they see your slender form. Disguise yourself from head to toe.”
I gave him an exaggerated frown, but Mordecai was not in the mood for joking.
“I don’t understand why you’re so concerned,” I began again. “When King David’s servants announced a search for a beautiful maiden to warm his bed, every father in the kingdom hoped his daughter would win the privilege. How is this proclamation any different from that one?”
Mordecai blinked hard, as if astounded by my ignorance. “When David Hamelech’s servants sought a virgin for him, everyone understood that only one maiden would be chosen—and those who were not chosen would suffer no abuse. Those fathers would have their daughters returned, pure and unspoiled. But this king intends to take every girl to his bed before choosing a queen, and no parent, not even parents of Egyptians and Assyrians and Babylonians
will be pleased to have their daughters used and discarded in such a fashion.”
“Cousin—”
“And—” he stepped toward me and grabbed my hands—“if they do take you, Hadassah, you must be careful. You must never reveal who your people are.”
I stared at him, baffled. “What do you mean?”
“If you do not speak of your people, perhaps the king will think you are ashamed of your common roots. That you are not fit to be a queen.”
“I’m not fit to be a queen.”
“You are, child. Your roots are as royal as Xerxes’s, for you are a descendant of Saul, the first king of Israel. But do not speak of this; let everyone believe that yours was a humble birth.” He hesitated, but I saw thought working in his eyes. “If you do not divulge your heritage, every group may assume you are one of theirs. They will all claim you and love you.”
And he used to rebuke me for living in a fantasy world?
Weary of the conversation, I blew out a deep breath. “I don’t believe you have any reason to warn me of such things.”
“You must not tell them you are Jewish. You must not use your true name, lest they guess your ancestry.”
“Why?” I grabbed his hand and held it, insisting on an answer. “Why must I pretend to be other than who I am?”
Mordecai turned his face to mine as his eyes softened with seriousness. “We do not know what this king thinks of the Jews, and we dare not assume he thinks well of our people. So promise me, Hadassah—do not speak your Hebrew name to anyone in the palace, and do not tell anyone you are a child of Abraham.”
I looked at him—so earnest, frightened, and loving—and I squeezed his hand. “I am touched by your concern, cousin, but you need not worry on my account. I am safe in your care, as I have been since my mother died. Do not worry about me. All will be well.”
Mordecai nodded, then tugged at his beard. “I trust Adonai to make it so, but still . . .” He shook his head and released my hand, then went inside the house.
Within two weeks, the men in my life had settled the details of my marriage. Binyamin’s father met Mordecai at the King’s Gate, and over a table at the bazaar they worked out the details of my wedding and the marriage feast. Our ceremony would not be traditional, for neither the wedding nor the feast would take place in Susa. Mordecai, the closest person in the world to me, would not even be present.
He shared the details when he returned home. “Everything has been arranged,” he said, his eyes weary as he gazed at me over the small lamp burning in the center of our table. “Marriage may not save you from the king’s edict, but it will get you out of Susa. Though copies of the king’s proclamation have been distributed throughout the empire, I don’t believe the king’s agents will look for potential queens in the rubble of Jerusalem. You and Binyamin will go there. You will be married in the temple and start a family in the land Adonai promised to Israel.”
I blinked back sudden tears. “You are sending me away?”
The thin line of his mouth clamped tight as he tugged on his beard. “The time comes when a woman shall leave her father and mother—” his voice broke, but he cleared his throat and continued—“and be joined to her husband. Tomorrow, as soon as Binyamin and Kidon have finished packing, you will journey to Jerusalem with your betrothed.”
“Without you?”
I felt the weight of his gaze, as dark and soft as the river at dawn. “I will give you my blessing before you go.”
I sat back as dozens of emotions stirred in my breast. I had no choice but to obey, but I didn’t want to leave the only home I’d ever known, and I didn’t want to travel to Jerusalem. From what I’d heard, the city was little more than a collection of ruins with a perfunctory temple. Jerusalem had never been home to me, and I did not share Mordecai’s love for the place.
Why should I leave Susa? I was a child of Persia. I had spent my entire life in the shadow of the king’s fortress. My friends lived here. Leaving Susa would mean leaving everything I held dear, and for what? The king was no more likely to choose a Jewish girl than he was to marry his horse.
Why did Mordecai think I would be thrilled to live in a decimated city?
I studied my guardian as he stood and moved to the window. The setting sun gilded his face with yellow light as I drank him in, determined to memorize every detail of his countenance. Tomorrow we would say our farewells for the last time.
As much as I loved Mordecai and appreciated all he had done for me, we were completely different people. He liked Persia and loved Jerusalem; I loved Persia and felt almost nothing for the holy city. Mordecai had spent most of his life in Susa, but his eyes lit with an inner glow when he spoke of the City of David. In the quiet of the night he would sing of Zion, songs that filled the darkness with sorrow and longing: “If I forget you, Jerusalem, may my right hand wither away! May my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth if I fail to remember you, if I fail to count Jerusalem the greatest of all my joys.”
I lit up when thinking about Persia and its colorful people. I dreamed of the royal family, my friend Parysatis, and her renegade brother.
Mordecai had to know how much Persia meant to me . . . just as I knew he thought my affections were misplaced.
Is that why he wanted to send me away?
Later that night, as I lay on my pallet and silently wiped tears away, I tried to envision Jerusalem as a holy, shining city.
But visions of King Xerxes’s bright and dazzling palace kept intruding.
Chapter Seventeen
Harbonah
A MONTH AFTER THE KING’S CALL for beautiful young women went out, I began to regret ever suggesting the idea. My master expected me to oversee the gathering of the virgins, which meant I was required to spend far more time in the harem than I wanted to. I had grown up among the royal women and was glad to be rid of them when appointed to serve my master.
Those who castrated me as a youth ensured that I would forever be well-suited for working with females, but I found the king’s women catty, boring, and irritating. Too many of them were obsessed with their looks and trivial details, too few truly cared about the king. The royal women also tended to be snappish and jealous, even using eunuchs in their schemes against one another, so I was grateful that Hegai, chamberlain of the palace of the women, would bear much of this latest burden.
Envoys began to arrive a few days after the king’s proclamation was issued, and guards brought the virgins—many of whom had been taken against their will—to Hegai and me for evaluation. If we—two beardless eunuchs with good eyes and not an iota of lust between us—found the women worthy of the king’s attention, they were taken to the palace of the virgins, whether they were strictly virgins or not. If they did not win our approval, they were told to make their way back to their fathers or husbands. “Since beauty is a matter of perspective,” I had earlier warned the king, “we must release those who are unacceptable. We don’t want every young woman in the empire lazing about in the harem.”
Laughing, my master said he trusted my sense of beauty, and with a clap on my shoulder he went on his way.
Now Hegai and I stood at the southern staircase of the royal fortress, the culmination of a long road that led from the Valley of the Artists. A walled carriage approached, and from within it we could hear shouts and furious pounding on the walls.
“Oh my.” Beside me, Hegai went a shade paler. “Sl-slave traders.”
I shifted and eyed the vehicle. Slave traders hunted humans the way some men trapped wild game, enjoying the thrill of the hunt as much as the bounty paid for a fine catch. We had encountered several slavers in the last few days—men who usually sought runaway slaves or escaped prisoners now made it their business to scour the king’s highways for beautiful virgins.
I didn’t know how or where these men hunted, and I didn’t care much for their specimens. Though great beauty could hide behind a layer of filth, the women from the plains tended to be beefy, bandy-legged, and lacking a full
complement of teeth. I had yet to accept a single offering from a slave hunter, but since the king had authorized an empire-wide search, I had no choice but to consider every female presented at the palace.
“Don’t worry,” I told Hegai. “If they have brought another load of farmers’ daughters, we can simply turn them away.”
The carriage rolled up to the stone platform where we stood, and a grinning guard climbed down from his perch and went around to open the side door. “Bet you’ve never seen anything like these wenches,” he said, displaying a gap where a front tooth should be.
I stepped forward to acknowledge the delivery. “Where did you find these girls?”
“Road to Babylon,” the guard answered, pulling the bolt free of its hasp. “Some of them Babylonian beauties, at least one an Elamite. All of them fit to be queen.”
Hegai shot me a sharp look, then pursed his lips and turned his attention to the carriage. I sighed and tried not to appear too stern as the guard pulled the first girl from the confines of the conveyance. She was a barefoot Bedouin, her hair a wild tangle about her face. The second girl was a wasp-thin creature who appeared to be from one of the local tribes. The third girl outweighed Hegai, and the fourth could have easily beaten me in a wrestling match. The fifth, however, possessed a comely form, and her face—
I blinked as the features of the fifth captive came into focus. This was no farm girl, no Bedouin, and no warrior woman. Unless my eyes deceived me, the pale virgin who trembled on the pavement was Mordecai’s daughter, Hadassah. Like the others, her face was streaked with dirt and her hands were bound. But unlike the others, her beauty shone through the grime on her face like a lantern in the night.
I felt Hegai stiffen beside me. “Wh-wh-what’s this?” he stuttered, his voice thick. “A diamond amid the d-d-dreck.”
“Quiet,” I whispered, then shot him a look that said I’d explain later.
Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294) Page 10
