Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294)
Page 20
“Tell us where you have hidden him,” Biztha commanded. As the man spewed blood and foam from his lips, Biztha looked at me. “Before I sent for you, I knew only that Vashti had forced him to take the boy. I don’t know what she did with him.”
Terrified that the eunuch would die before finishing his confession, I grabbed the front of his robe and shook him. “Speak, man! Where is the boy now?”
Jangi’s breathing grew still as his head lolled to the side. My heart rose to my throat as I considered the real possibility that I had killed him. Then he gasped another breath. “The tomb,” he said, and the exhalation that escaped his lips was his last.
I released his robe, then scrambled backward, shaken by the man’s death and the news I’d learned. Vashti was the queen of cunning, so I did not doubt that she had used this slave and killed him to ensure his silence. She must have had him take the prince away from the royal mount because she could not leave the palace without attracting attention.
“Did he say what I thought he said?” Biztha caught my gaze. “A tomb? Which tomb?”
I shook my head. My master’s burial chamber was under construction in a cliff north of Persepolis, where his father had been buried. The distance was too great; Pharnaces could not possibly be there. As for other tombs—many noble families had tombs in rocky areas near the river. The boy could have been taken to any of them and placed inside. If he had been provided with ventilation, food, and water, he could still be alive, but if not, he was almost certainly dead.
Knowing Vashti as I did, Jangi’s story made complete sense. The former queen had no tolerance for competition, and she had seen Esther in the sort of free-flowing gown favored by expectant women. Vashti had guessed at the truth and taken action to ensure that Esther’s offspring would never usurp her own sons’ positions.
And she’d been willing to sacrifice another woman’s child to accomplish her goal.
I leaned against the uneven wall and propped my hands on my bent knees. Biztha looked at me, weariness evident in the lines on his face. “So what do we do now?”
What, indeed? Two eunuchs could not accuse one of the king’s women of murder. With our only witness dead, providing information to the guards might only implicate us in the crime. If a search was conducted and the boy found, Vashti could always say that Biztha and I had concocted the plot, stolen the boy, and planned to demand our freedom and a ransom. After all, I was the king’s chamberlain and in a position of some authority. Likewise, as one of the king’s trusted attendants, Biztha could have easily snatched the boy while pretending to be on royal business.
If faced with that scenario and his shrewd former queen, I could not be certain that my master wouldn’t believe her. . . .
Before I laid the bare truth before Biztha, one question demanded an answer.
“Do you believe it will happen?” I asked.
“What?”
“Do you believe Ahura Mazda will honor Vashti’s sacrifice? That he will destroy the present queen’s child?”
Biztha scowled. “Ahura Mazda honors men who are pure in heart.” He lowered his voice, lest the shadows around us harbor a pair of listening ears. “Vashti’s heart is not pure.” He waited, then cocked his head at me. “Don’t tell me you think Ahura Mazda will hear her.”
I shrugged. “I have no doubt that some god rules this earth . . . but though my king honors Ahura Mazda with ceremonies, he does not seek the god’s favor in his life. If Ahura Mazda honors sacrifices, I’ve seen no proof of it. And if a god does not answer the king of an empire, then who can hope to appeal to him?”
Biztha turned to stare at the body of the eunuch, then shook his head. “So we have no hope of justice. Will you tell Queen Esther about this?”
I hesitated, remembering the queen’s earnest request that I tell her when the boy had been found. He hadn’t exactly been found . . . and probably never would be.
I rose, slowly, and eased my tired bones back into an erect position. “We can do nothing to change the outcome of this misadventure, and the queen should not be at risk. So we should do what we have always done—remain silent and serve our master. Tomorrow will almost certainly be a better day.”
I had no idea that an even greater evil awaited us.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Hadassah
LAST NIGHT, FOR THE FIRST TIME since our marriage, the king did not send for me at sunset.
Though I had risked my life to tell him about the conspiracy that threatened his life, he chose to sleep alone . . . or with someone else. Why? Had I offended him? Had Bigtan and Teresh involved someone else in their plot, someone who might still be planning to murder the king while he slept? Hatakh had no answers, and I did not want to cause a stir by making inquiries.
I endured an evening of fitful sleep and woke with pains in my abdomen and a queasy stomach, which emptied itself as soon as I got out of bed. I sank to the floor and gratefully accepted the wet cloth my quick-thinking handmaid offered, then mopped my mouth and perspiring brow. I hoped this horrible feeling was not a sign that something had happened to the king.
One of the maids hurried to tell Hatakh that I had awakened; a few moments later the eunuch entered my bedchamber with a breakfast tray. I took one look at the fruit and bread, then shook my head and turned away. “I have no appetite,” I told him truthfully. “But let the maids eat their fill. I will not feel better until I know the king is safe.”
“But the king is safe,” Hatakh replied, straightening. “After you left him yesterday, the king and his officers conducted a trial. Bigtan and Teresh were confronted with the charges and they confessed to their treasonous plan. They have been sentenced for their crime.”
I turned bleary eyes toward the shuttered balcony, which overlooked the army’s training field. “What will happen now?”
The eunuch shrugged. “Given time, they will die. You can see them, if you like.”
Something warned me away from the sight, but desperation for the king’s safety drove me forward. I had to know that justice had been done.
As I approached the balcony, two of my handmaids rose to pull the sliding doors aside. I glanced over the royal gardens and stared at the brown plateau outside the city walls. In the center of the warriors’ encampment, I spotted two stick figures that looked like puppets. But they were seated on the ground and apparently tied to tall poles.
I glanced at Hatakh, then pointed toward the two men in the distance. “Are those the guilty ones?”
Hatakh looked out at the scene and nodded. “Yes, my queen.”
“But they’re simply sitting there.”
“No, my lady.” Hatakh’s face paled slightly. “They have been impaled upon a sharpened stick. They will sit beneath the sun until the gods take pity on them and snuff out their lives.”
For a moment his words hung in the air, making no sense, and then they clicked into place. My gorge rose, I vomited again, and the walls swirled around me.
I remember hearing my maids’ frightened cries, along with Hatakh’s high-pitched wail before the room went dark.
When I woke, the royal physician told me I had lost my baby.
Hatakh said he should never have mentioned the condemned guards; Harbonah said a pregnant woman who looked on death was asking for trouble. I didn’t care why I lost my baby; I only wanted to be comforted in my husband’s arms.
But the physicians told me to remain in my chamber for at least a few days, and while I recovered I waited for some word from the king. Surely he would send a message of condolence or caring . . . but he did not. So every morning my maids dressed me and did my hair, though I saw no one but my girls and Hatakh.
And while I convalesced, my husband plucked other girls from the harem to fill his bed.
I wish I could write that the knowledge didn’t twist in my heart like a knife. I knew the king did not limit himself to one woman; I knew that willing concubines crowded the harem, each of them eager to be called for an hour with the kin
g.
But the realization that my husband was finding pleasure in others spawned a brooding sorrow that spread until it mingled with dozens of other sorrows—the loss of my child, of Mordecai’s companionship, of Miriam, even my home. I had lost so much since arriving at the palace, and what had I gained? For what possible reason had Adonai brought me to this miserable place?
My husband did send for me after I regained my health, but the bond between us had changed. I yearned for a word of understanding or compassion; I heard nothing. I might have dared to broach the subject of the baby, but I remembered what Hatakh had told me about Persian fathers: they did not want to be attached to a child younger than five, lest they be “afflicted by its loss.”
So I bore my grief silently, though my misery was often so overwhelming, so intrusive, it felt like another body in the bed, a dark and foreboding presence. My husband took me in his arms and I tried to respond, but grief had stolen the passion from my kiss.
I wasn’t surprised when he stopped sending for me.
And so began a new chapter of my life in the palace, a phase a wiser woman might have foreseen. I was no longer new and exciting, and though I believe the king remained fond of me, he did not call for me more than once or twice a week. I tried my best to be pleasant and charming when I was with him, but the grief of loss clung to me like the smell of smoke from a blistering fire.
Days passed, like leaves from a sycamore tree, one after the other, virtually indistinguishable.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Harbonah
DID I BELIEVE THAT VASHTI successfully petitioned Ahura Mazda for the death of Esther’s child? Only Biztha and I knew why the former queen had committed her terrible crime, and afterward, even as I heard the rumors about Queen Esther’s tragic loss, I assured Biztha that I still did not believe in the power of Ahura Mazda.
But inwardly . . . I wondered.
Privately, I grieved for our queen. Despite her maturity, Esther still possessed the idealistic optimism of youth, so losing her baby left her devastated. During my time in the harem I had seen many young women lose their unborn children, but I had also seen them rally and become pregnant again.
Yet weeks later, Hatakh told me the queen had still not recovered, but frequently curled up on her bed and watered her pillow with tears.
I wanted to weep for her.
I wish my master had been more observant of his young bride. The king adored her above all the virgins who’d been brought to the palace, but he also adored his horses, his hunts, and his harem. After serving the man for so many years, I knew my master to be as fickle in his infatuations as in his hobbies.
Fortunately, he had chosen a worthy wife. Mordecai’s lovely ward might quietly grieve over her husband’s wandering eye, but she would be a dutiful and faithful consort. If only the king’s heart could be as steadfast as his queen’s.
Not long after the queen lost her baby, she summoned me to her chambers. After finding her in her garden, bowed low near a rosebush, I pretended to be surprised at the shadow of grief on her face.
“I am fine,” she said, her eyes damp with pain. “I have been ill, but I am better now.”
“I am glad to hear it, my queen.”
She pulled a small knife from the basket on her arm. “Harbonah,” she said, cutting a single rose blossom, “did anyone ever find young Pharnaces?”
My bowels tumbled at the question, and I struggled to keep a blank face. “No, my queen. I would have told you if we had.”
“I am sorry to hear that. I am . . . deeply saddened.” Her words were lighter than air, though I knew they had come from a heavy heart.
“Harbonah, you have served the king for how long?”
“Twenty years, my queen. I hope to serve him the rest of my life.”
“I hope you are together forever.” She offered me a sincere smile that momentarily brightened her face. “Since you know him so well, and since you are a man of discretion, I wondered if you could answer a question for me.”
“I will do my best.”
“This question must not be repeated, do you understand? Not even to another eunuch, because I know how eunuchs love to gossip.”
I smiled, acknowledging the truth in her statement. “I would die, my queen, before I would betray your confidence.”
“I would not ask you to sacrifice yourself for me, not ever. After all, neither of us chose this life, did we?” She forced a quick smile, then looked away. “When I was younger, my friend and I used to look up at the palace and dream of living in such a grand place. We imagined royal life as an endless succession of banquets, dress fittings, and travel. I thought I would love living in the palace . . . but now I find that the queen lives a life of unbearable loneliness. I was far happier in the little house with Miriam and Mordecai. I think of how Miriam used to welcome Mordecai home with a hug, and I am envious of what they shared.”
I waited, knowing she had not summoned me to talk about her life with her cousins. She looked down, her long lashes hiding her eyes, and hesitated. “I know the king has many children, including three sons from his former queen. But I also know that Persian men consider it their duty to father many sons. So what I need to know is this—do you think the king expects a child from me? How important is it that I present him with a son?”
Her voice softened as she spoke, and had dwindled to a mere whisper by the time she finished. Her face, which had been composed in regal lines, shifted to the sincere and frightened face of a teenaged girl.
I resisted an almost overwhelming impulse to run forward and enfold her in a comforting embrace. But because such an act would earn a death sentence, I stammered out an answer. “My king—your husband—adores you, my lady. And while I’m sure he would delight in a child from you, I do not think he married you to have more children. He married you because you were unlike anyone else. Of all the women in the harem, you were the one who caught his attention and held it. You were the only one to make him laugh.”
She listened, a fine line between her brows, and her forehead relaxed as I finished. “I made him laugh. If only I could accomplish that feat now.”
“My gentle lady—” I cleared my throat in order to stall and gather my thoughts—“you have been married only a few months. I think the king has enjoyed getting to know you as a woman, not a mother. If you were with child, your attention would naturally be divided between your baby and your husband the king. So why not enjoy these days when your thoughts can center on pleasing your husband?”
She closed her eyes, considering, and then nodded. “You are wise, Harbonah. I suppose one can find good in any situation, if one takes the time to look.”
I bowed my head. “The queen is wise.”
She smiled. “The queen has wise counselors. And since you are so astute, I wonder if you could help me with something else.”
I waited, though I could almost see anxiety hanging above her like a dark cloud.
“I want to love the king,” she said, moving to another rosebush, “but I find it difficult to understand him. He talks of trivial things, sometimes he asks about me, but he never tells me much about himself. And if I am to love him well, I must know him.” She cut another rose, dropped it into her basket, and whirled to face me. “You know him better than anyone, Harbonah. Tell me what moves him. Tell me what frightens him. Tell me what he needs—and why he needs to love so many women.”
Her blushing face was so open, so honest that I could see the hurt and pride warring inside. In asking these questions she was admitting that she was lost, a queen who did not have a firm grip on her husband’s heart.
I hesitated, wavering between two loyalties. I had never exposed the secrets of my master’s soul to anyone, not even Vashti, but never before had anyone wanted to care for him as much as I did. And I wanted to help Hadassah; I wanted Queen Esther to be the salve for my king’s deepest wounds. I sensed that she could help him, if only he would allow her to peer behind the mask he wore.
But perhaps they rightfully belonged to his wife.
“I . . . admire you,” I began, “and I know the king does, too. Yes, you made him laugh, but it was the sincerity and compassion behind your laughter that touched his heart. He chose you because you remind him of the king he wants to be—wise, generous, compassionate, and courageous.”
Her lip trembled as her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away as if embarrassed for me to see her emotion. “He . . . has never said anything like that to me.”
“He wouldn’t. I’m not sure he understands the man beneath the crown. Since I love my master I cannot speak ill of him, but you should know three things: first, he struggles to live up to his father’s example. Second, the defeat at Greece haunts him still. And third, in bedding other women, for the space of an hour he sees himself as a conqueror.”
I covered my mouth and turned away as my blood ran thick with guilt. If the king had heard me confess these things, he would have pronounced me guilty of treason and sent me to the executioner. I couldn’t help feeling that I had transgressed against him and he would read my sin on my face.
But then Esther the queen broke every rule of protocol and placed her hand on my trembling arm. “Thank you, Harbonah. I will hold your words in my heart and consider them carefully. And I will never, ever speak of these things again.”
I closed my eyes and exhaled in relief.
“Thank you for coming,” the queen said, removing her hand. She stepped back, reassuming her royal demeanor. “I appreciate your heartfelt advice.”
I left her, grateful that I had been able to offer some measure of comfort. Aside from the king and her seven maids, to whom she had grown close, the queen was quite alone in the palace. Her position isolated her from her rivals in the harem, and she had no children to occupy her time.
I hoped she would not remain alone forever.