“Not even a twitch of the eye.” Mordecai tipped back his head and met my gaze, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Nebuchadnezzar took thousands of Jews captive and then commanded them to bow before his golden idol. Thousands of my people bowed, all but Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. By remaining erect, those three taught a pagan king that he didn’t rule the universe.” Mordecai’s teeth showed through his beard in an expression that was not a smile. “Maybe this old man can teach a stubborn Amalekite that he doesn’t rule the universe, either.”
I exhaled a deep breath and hoped my friend would be proven right.
The edict became official within the week, and no one was more surprised to learn of it than me.
In the throne room, with Haman standing by his side—head bowed, hands clasped, and expression appropriately sober—the king proclaimed a new law. “Haman, son of Hammedatha the Agagite, is hereby gifted with the honor of being the king’s chief counselor,” my master said, speaking slowly for the sake of the scribes, who were furiously translating his proclamation into each of the empire’s many languages. “So as a measure of respect, whenever Haman approaches on foot, horseback, or some other conveyance, proper obeisance must be rendered. Throughout the empire, this shall be done to respect the man whom the king delights to honor. So shall it be, today and forever more.”
I struggled to maintain a blank face as the other nobles murmured among themselves. Most of them seemed to like Haman, but never had such an honor been granted to anyone who had not emerged either from a noble family or the royal army. The king had a circle of faithful counselors, dozens of devoted military generals, and ten thousand brave Immortals, but never in the history of the empire had a Persian king selected a relative outsider to be his vizier.
I loitered in the shadows as the assembly dismissed for the midday meal. I was about to go seek Hegai’s opinion of this latest development when I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I whirled around, expecting to find another slave, but Haman himself stood before me, his gleaming eyes dark and direct.
A cold panic started somewhere between my shoulder blades and shivered down my spine.
“Harbonah, isn’t it?” Haman asked, his tone smooth and pleasing. “The king’s chamberlain?”
I nodded, struck speechless. Not even my master called me by name.
“You and I have a great deal in common—” he lowered his tone—“as you are the king’s chief attendant and I his chief friend. Because I am his friend, I count it my great honor and duty to learn all I can about the issues and situations that influence the king.”
I nodded again, not trusting my voice. The hair on the back of my neck rose with premonition as my heart congealed into a small and terrified lump.
“Good, good.” The Agagite smiled and smoothed the pointed end of his beard. “It has come to my attention that certain rebels reside in the empire; indeed a few of them even work within the king’s court. You, for instance, were seen talking to such an upstart yesterday. Surely you know him—the man who stands at the King’s Gate to collect tribute. I hear he has worked in the treasury a long time.”
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.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Hadassah
SINCE 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.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Harbonah
BREATHLESS 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.”
Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294) Page 22
