Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294)

by Hunt, Angela Elwell

  Haman stiffened, then narrowed one eye in a squint. “You are much changed since our first meeting.”

  I shrugged. “Though I am a eunuch and a slave, I am not made of unthinking stone. I can reason as well as any man—and better than most.”

  “Then tell me, O reasoning eunuch, would this Mordecai not bow before the king? If he met the queen, would he not show any sort of obeisance?”

  The insertion of my queen into the conversation set prickles of unease nipping at the back of my knees, but Haman had no reason to suspect any connection between Hadassah and Mordecai. Still, better to turn the subject away from Queen Esther.

  I pressed my hand to my chest as a bead of perspiration snaked a path from my armpit to my lowest rib. “I am certain Mordecai would prostrate himself before the king and any other figure deserving of his respect. Mordecai’s people fear the king and obey the law. The way my friend explained it, the only nobleman he will not bow before is you, because you are an Amalekite. Apparently the God of the Jews has cursed the people of Amalek for something that happened long ago.”

  Haman gritted his teeth and drew back his hand—and I knew only my relationship with the king saved me from a hard slap.

  “I should have smelled him,” Haman growled, lowering his arm. “No wonder that man torments me. His cursed race has afflicted my people ever since Saul decimated the city of Agag. . . .”

  He stalked away, muttering under his breath, and I smiled as I watched him go.

  During Nisan, the first month of the king’s twelfth regal year, Haman gathered a group of toadies in the open area outside the entrance to the King’s Gate. I had been out stretching my legs while the king breakfasted, but when I saw Haman holding court in such a public place, I slowed my step to see what he was about.

  His minions had gathered around Haman and a priest of Ahura Mazda, who wore his traditional white robe. Haman’s sons were among the crowd, but neither they nor the other onlookers appeared at all solemn. Indeed, after some unintelligible joke and the resultant burst of laughter, one of Haman’s sons produced a pair of puru, or lots, and handed them to the priest. The smiling priest chanted something, sprinkled some sort of sand over the stones, and then tossed them against a carved rock on the ground.

  The priest stood back to let the king’s vizier read the outcome.

  “Ah.” Haman studied the stones with a smile. “A twelve and a thirteen—the thirteenth day of the twelfth month. They say the greatest Jew in the world died in the twelfth month, so perhaps the last month of the year is unlucky for the descendants of Jacob. Perhaps their God is tired, so he goes off to take a nap in the month of Adar.”

  As the vizier’s sycophants laughed, Haman strolled away, heading toward the grand staircase and presumably on his way to visit the king. I caught my breath, about to run forward and cut him off lest he interrupt my master, then I thought the better of it. Why not let him disturb the king? Maybe Haman deserved to feel my master’s undiluted irritation.

  I found Mordecai working at his post. “Friend,” I called, too preoccupied by what I had just witnessed to greet him properly, “who was the greatest Jew in the world?”

  Mordecai looked up, his brows raised, then returned his gaze to a clay tablet filled with numbers. “Only HaShem knows the answer to such a question.”

  “But what would men say? Who do you think the greatest Jew in the world would be?”

  Mordecai put down his stylus and studied me. “Some would say Abraham. Some would say Jacob. But I would say Moses. We have not had a tzaddik like him since.” Mordecai’s squint tightened. “Why do you ask?”

  “When did this Moses die?”

  “Before we crossed into the Promised Land.”

  “But when? Did he die in the month of Adar?”

  A line appeared between the accountant’s brows. “From the writings of Joshua, yes, we can deduce that Moses died in the last month of the year.”

  My jaw tightened as understanding dawned. “I don’t know what Haman is up to, but he’s planning something for Adar. Something that has to do with you, I’m sure. Maybe something that will affect all of your people.”

  Mordecai’s mouth curved in a smirk. “What could Haman be planning? I have broken no law other than the king’s edict. And if Haman wanted to have me arrested for not bowing, he could do it long before Adar. As far as punishing the Jews, the king has already halted work on our temple. What else could he do, impose a Jewish tax?”

  “I don’t think Haman would hire a professional diviner to choose a date for new taxes,” I warned. “And you must not forget that he despises you. Every day you refuse to bow or even stand in his presence is another day his hatred grows. You must keep your wits about you.”

  “So the man hates one Jew.” Mordecai shrugged and picked up his stylus. “I will be careful, but there are yet thousands of Jews scattered throughout the earth. Adonai has promised that we shall be as numerous as the sand of the sea.”

  “But his hatred—trust me, my friend—is as deep as the ocean. And it grows deeper every day.”

  I sank to a stool against the wall and crossed my legs. From what I’d seen and heard, Haman’s animosity seemed to extend far beyond a feeling for one particular Jew. Yes, he hated Mordecai, but his comments about “those people” and “their God” seemed to indicate he hated the entire race.

  “Why?” I looked up at the accountant. “Why would Haman hate your people? Today he sneered as if he would wipe every Jew from the earth if he could.”

  “Then we should be grateful he is not all-powerful.” Mordecai lowered his stylus again. “Some hatreds have roots far beyond the present generation, my friend. I have told you that the Jews are descended from Jacob; the Amalekites from Esau. Before those twins were born, Adonai revealed that they would produce two rival nations, and the older would serve the younger. As the Lord foretold, Jacob received the birthright and blessing from his father, Isaac. Esau’s descendants have resented us ever since.”

  “So nothing can be done to heal the breach between your two tribes?”

  “Jacob and Esau reconciled, though Jacob never fully trusted his brother,” Mordecai answered. “And Adonai’s promise cannot be denied. He builds up and He tears down, and no man can argue with His purposes.”

  The accountant studied me for a long moment, then smiled. “Do not worry about me. If Haman hasn’t done anything by now, he won’t.” Mordecai picked up his stylus again and glanced at the scribblings on a nearby parchment. “And if he’s planning mischief for Adar, that’s nearly a year away. Today is much too early to worry about such a resentful little man.”

  What could Haman be planning?

  I carried that unsettling question with me for a full twenty-four hours before I learned the answer. At the end of the following day, at the time the king used to send for the queen to join him for dinner, he summoned Haman instead. I gritted my teeth as the eunuchs left with the invitation, realizing the king was as enthralled by Haman as ever.

  I helped the king dress in a comfortable cotton tunic, then arranged his couch the way he liked it, at an angle to his dining partner’s. I had just placed a bowl of sliced apples, dates, and grapes on the king’s tray when the eunuchs returned, Haman strolling casually in their midst.

  The Agagite ignored me, of course, but lowered himself to the shining marble floor and shouted an enthusiastic greeting, “O king, most blessed of men, most glorious and magnificent, live forever and prosper!”

  “Rise, Haman.” The king smiled and gestured to the empty couch. “I hope you are hungry after our long day. This is the hour when we relax and think of more pleasant things than Babylon and taxes and famine. This is when we forget about troublemakers in Greece and your problems with that new stallion.”

  Walking backward, I left the open area and tucked myself into an alcove. Through the sheer curtain that hid me, I could watch and listen without being noticed.

  “My king.” With a frown on his brow, Haman pounded
his chest and rose to one knee. “As much as I would enjoy relaxing with you, I fear I cannot abide talk of such trivial things as a stubborn stallion. Today I have learned of trouble in the empire, trouble that need not concern you but greatly distresses me.”

  The king froze, an apple in his hand. “Rise, friend, and tell me about this calamity.”

  Haman took a seat on his couch, his hands resting on his knees. “I’m concerned about a particular people who seem intent on fomenting rebellion in the empire.”

  The king reached for a grape and popped it into his mouth. “Forget your concern, friend Haman, for I have dealt with this before. I will simply appoint a new provincial governor and send my army to enforce his authority.”

  Haman’s brows drew together in an agonized expression. “Therein lies the problem, for they don’t dwell in a particular region. Like noxious weeds, they lie scattered among all the provinces of your empire. Yet they are clannish and keep to their own. They don’t intermarry with other tribes, their ways differ from those of the king’s other subjects, and they ignore the king’s laws. Often they flaunt their disobedience, as though the law of the Medes and the Persians had no authority over them. They have been cheats and liars since the beginning of their lineage.”

  When a shadow fell over the king’s face, I knew Haman had scored a direct hit. My master allowed his conquered territories a measure of freedom, but never were they free to ignore his edicts. Furthermore, Persian tutors stressed three important skills when they taught young princes: horsemanship, bowmanship, and virtue, or the necessity of telling the truth.

  The Persian love for truth was nowhere as evident as on the lower epitaph of King Darius’s tomb. Of his father, my master had written, By the favor of Ahura Mazda I am of such a sort that I am a friend to right, I am not a friend to wrong. . . . What is right, that is my desire. I am not a friend to the man who is a lie-follower.

  “Go on,” the king said, his eyes narrowing.

  “These people concern me,” Haman continued, “and I can’t think of any reason for the king to tolerate them. So if it please the king—and know that I have given this a great deal of consideration—let it be written that they are designated for destruction.”

  My master looked up, his eyes mere slits in his face, and I knew what he was thinking—who would dare stir up trouble for him now? The royal treasury had yet to fully recover from the disastrous war against the Greeks, and though he would never admit it, the king’s psyche still bore a deep wound from that loss.

  “The king need not worry over the trouble or the expense,” Haman went on, apparently oblivious to my master’s troubled frown. “I will personally hand over three hundred thirty tons of silver to the officials in charge of the king’s affairs to deposit in the royal treasury.”

  Behind the curtain, I nearly choked on my astonishment. Haman, who obviously loved his money and all that it could buy, wanted to donate a fortune to the royal treasury? And he had used the word destruction, though I doubt the king realized its full significance. My king was more focused on rebellion, liars, and a fortune for his treasury.

  I was still reeling with disbelief when the king slipped his signet ring from his finger and dropped it into Haman’s outstretched palm.

  “If you are convinced that this group means trouble for the empire,” the king said, his eyes closing, “then see to your plan. The money is given to you, and the people too—do with them as seems good to you.”

  I pressed my hand over my mouth to choke off a cry. A smile snaked over Haman’s thin lips as he slipped the royal ring on his own hand. “I will see to it at once,” he said, oil in his voice. “Letters written in your name will be distributed to all the royal provinces. And when the matter of this troublesome people is settled, all will be well in the empire.”

  Let it be written . . . what innocent words! Haman had not asked the king to murder or execute; he had cloaked his request in passive language that never quite penetrated my master’s thoughts.

  Then Haman lifted his silver goblet and offered a toast. “To the eternal health of the empire, its people, and its king!”

  The king lifted his own goblet, touched it to Haman’s, and drank deeply.

  On the thirteenth day of Nisan, Haman summoned the scribes to the royal audience hall—not to take transcription from the king, but from Haman himself. He stood in front of the throne, flashing the king’s signet ring as he read notes from a parchment scroll. I held my breath, half expecting him to sit on my master’s throne, but he had not yet reached that level of effrontery. When would he?

  The scribes looked at each other, exchanging wordless expressions of alarm, but no one spoke as they wrote out Haman’s orders to the army commanders and governors in all one hundred twenty-seven provinces, to each province in its own script and to each people in their own language. The edict was authorized in the name of King Xerxes and sealed with the signet ring in Haman’s hand.

  My blood still chills when I recall the wording of the edict:

  “Thus says Xerxes, King of Persia: all the kingdoms of the earth has Ahura Mazda given me, and he has charged me with ridding the empire of all who deal falsely, who follow lies and do not honor the truth. In order to preserve the peace of the empire, on the thirteenth day of the month of Adar, every person in the empire, young and old, is given the authority and command to destroy, kill, and exterminate all Jews, from young to old, including small children and women, and to seize their goods as plunder.”

  Something in me wanted to stand and protest this action, but such an act would mean almost certain death. And so it was that one of the world’s greatest empires, one that tolerated diversity and respected the individuality of its subject peoples, prepared to annihilate one of those peoples because they were different.

  Nothing about Haman’s edict made sense, but my master had been so blinded by Haman’s flattery, half-truths, and lies that he had not given serious thought to the matter. Haman had convinced my king that the Jews were traitors without offering any proof or testimony other than his own. The king had asked no questions and demanded no examples of the allegedly treasonous people. He had stupidly, foolishly played into Haman’s hands.

  The king’s unthinking obedience worried me, but I did not dare confess my fears to anyone in the palace, for to doubt the king would be treasonous. His once-sharp mind had been dulled by depression, defeat, and disillusionment . . . or perhaps he had simply given up. Failing to live up to his father’s example, he seemed content to hand over government to his vizier and take his pleasures in the harem and the hunt.

  When the meeting adjourned, the scribes hurried to transcribe final copies of the inflammatory edict. When finished, they dispatched letters to the post, from where they would be carried by mounted couriers to all the royal provinces and distributed throughout the empire. Once received, a copy of the document would be publicly proclaimed to all the people in every province so they would be ready for the appointed day.

  As riders raced out of the royal fortress and headed toward destinations in the north, south, east, and west, I knew the governor of Susa had to be reading the edict with great apprehension. He knew Susa had a thriving Jewish community; he probably had Jews working in his office. But he could not question the just-delivered document, nor could he refuse to proclaim it.

  I left the palace as soon as I heard the trumpets. Every citizen of Susa knew the trumpets heralded an assembly, and so, like me, they left their work and headed toward the bazaar, where the governor waited to deliver his address.

  I stood in the shadows with folded arms as the governor climbed the steps of a platform. Around him, a sea of residents, merchants, diplomats, artists, and farmers stood looking up at him with questions in their eyes.

  With trembling hands he unrolled the scroll and read the edict. When he had finished, a heavy silence answered him, a silence that then erupted in cries of horror and confusion.

  I did not linger. My master would be looking for
me, so I ran up the grand staircase and hurried to the king’s chamber, where I found him and Haman having another pleasant drink together.

  Struggling to maintain my composure, I served the wine as my master and Haman banqueted and drank until dawn.

  Then, knowing I would be beaten if my master woke and found me gone, I ran from the palace, flew down the grand staircase, and went in search of Mordecai, burdened with the details I had to share.

  Chapter Forty

  Hadassah

  THE FOURTEENTH DAY OF NISAN began like any other. I woke, my maids brought me breakfast in bed, and we talked and laughed together while I ate and played with my little dog. Hulta had ordered a new tunic for me, so she slipped away to fetch it from a dressmaker in Susa.

  She returned later that morning, her face flushed and her veil askew. “My queen,” she said, falling before me with unusual clumsiness, “I bring news of your cousin.”

  My maids had known of my association with Mordecai for years, and had been faithful to join in the quiet conspiracy that allowed me to communicate with my cousin. But I had heard nothing from Mordecai the day before.

  I lifted my hand to silence the harpist playing for my amusement. “Has something happened to Mordecai?”

  When she lifted her head, I saw the tracks of tears on her cheeks. “He is not at his post, my queen.”

  I felt my stomach drop. “Is he ill?”

  “He is in the city square, dressed in sackcloth and covered in ashes. He cannot enter the King’s Gate dressed in mourning, so he kneels on the cobblestones and wails his lament. He would not leave, despite the urgings of many who have urged him to go home.”

  Mordecai in sackcloth? I pressed my hand to my mouth and let my mind run backward, sorting through names and faces of our friends and distant relatives. Had someone close to him died? Perhaps someone from the synagogue or one of the neighbors.