Esther (33 page)

Even with a feeling of power still coursing through my veins at my seeming imperviousness to the men's arrows, I was not able to do all I wished. I could not say “thank you” aloud. I could not even look grateful.

I threw the arrow up into the air above the men with strength I had not known I possessed. The man who caught it kept it raised up above his head and cheered even louder than the others. I turned toward the southern exit. “My chambers,” I said when my guard rushed up around me.

As I left the men, I felt the weight of my crown. But I also felt the strength of my neck, and the power of the men's awe. I would not have to support the crown's weight all on my own anymore. Hundreds of men would help to keep it balanced atop my head.

It was not long after I returned to my chambers that the king called for me. I knew he must have spies, and I hoped it was these men, and not Dalphon or Parsha, who had told him of my visit to the military court.

I could not read his expression when I entered the throne room. His eyes were as wide as I had ever seen them. I was relieved that he no longer looked sad, but I did not like that Haman was the adviser who stood closest to him.

To everyone but me, the king said, “Leave us.”

I had just stood between hundreds of men and the targets their arrows were trained upon. There at least I had been able to see where the danger might come from. I felt certain Haman had filled the king's ear with things that could do me as much harm as any arrow.

He did not leave, and I realized the king's order had not included him. The adviser's face was red, though not red enough to hide tiny bright patches of crimson—hives.

“What urge is strong enough to propel a queen into a military court filled with armed men?” Xerxes asked.

“The urge to make you proud, my king. If I am to be assassinated, first I will show the men the full force of the little Ishtar you have chosen to be their queen. If assassins will not kill me there, if they must creep through the night”—I looked briefly at Haman—“then my death will be more of a defeat than a victory for them. The true victory, my king, shall be ours.”

Haman's breathing was audible now, jagged.

“Why did you send Haman's sons from the court?”

“They would not kneel.”

“You are not kneeling either.”

I crossed the space between us and dropped to both knees. “I am always kneeling for you, my love. I am kneeling whenever we are in the same room, and every time you are mentioned, and whenever I think of you.”

“Who is it that mentions me, and what is said?”

“I ask how to please you.”

“You must not have asked if standing before my men would please me. You stood where a king would stand.”

“I stood there for you, for your choice of queen. I stood there to honor and defend you, Your Majesty.”

“You think I need to be defended from my own men?”

“From some of them.”

“And which are these?”

I had already been bolder than Hegai would have liked, so I did not say what I wished to,
The one beside you and his sons, men you should not allow within striking distance of you.
Instead, I said, “I am not wise enough to know, my king.”

“Rise,” he said. Then, without taking his eyes from mine, he shouted to men I could not see, “Bring forth the traitors.”

From behind a screen, four common soldiers dragged out two men naked but for the blood that coated most of their bodies. “When Haman heard of his sons' traitorous disobedience, he ordered that they be stripped of their uniforms and whipped.”

Hegai had not lied when he said the hierarchy is a vine that grows thornier the higher you climb. Still it was hard to believe that Haman would sacrifice his own sons to gain influence with the king. I could not tell if they were alive. When Xerxes commanded the soldiers to release them, neither Dalphon nor Parsha reached out a hand to cushion his fall upon the tiles. Stripped of their differing spears, both wearing the same uniform of blood, I could not tell which was which.

“I left them alive so they would kneel before you as they should have done in the military court.”

The king nodded to the soldiers, who began yelling at the brothers to rise onto their knees. When yelling did not move Dalphon and Parsha, the soldiers began kicking them. I knew the sound would haunt me even more than the image of blood and whatever else it was that flew from them as they were kicked with such force that they moved along the tile like sacks of grain. A couple of cubits, then a couple more . . . but not as far as I wished. I wanted them as far as possible from me.

I had not expected that I might someday feel pity for Haman, but I could not help it when I saw that though he tried to hold his face rigid, his lips twitched and then began to tremble. It was a more sorrowful sight than if a river had flowed from his eyes and pooled on the tiles upon which his sons lay barely alive.

Xerxes was watching me closely. I knew it was not because he flinched from the sight and smell of men dying. He watched for my reaction. I realized that without knowing it I had stepped back—partly away from the king and partly away from the beating, as though I could not decide which was the greater threat.

I remembered the story Ruti had told me of King Saul's mistake in leaving Haman's ancestor, the Amalekite king Agag, alive. I knew Ruti would say we must work to correct King Saul's mistake. But bile rose up into my throat. I could not pretend indifference any longer or I might lose the contents of my stomach. The soldiers would spread word of my weakness and the whole palace would be laughing at me before long.

“I have seen as much as I want to,” I said.

The king held up his hand. The look in his eyes was cruel, satisfied. “Enough,” he said to the soldiers. “We must keep them alive until they are well enough to kneel to their queen. Only then will I allow them the mercy of death.” He turned to me. “When you are ready, little Ishtar, I will allow you to slit their throats, drive spears into their hearts, or kill them by whatever other means you would like.”

I would like one that does not include me.

He ordered the soldiers to drag the brothers away. I wish I had not looked into Parsha's eye first. I knew it was his, perhaps because Parsha's was the first strange face I had seen after being taken from my bed. The centers of his eyes then had looked like perfect round drops of honey that had begun to melt in the sun. They had been beautiful. Now they were mostly hidden by swollen flesh. But yet I saw into the right one. It was trained upon my face with such intensity that I knew the life had not fled his body at all, it had all been concentrated in his hatred for me.

Haman was careful not to step in his sons' blood when he was dismissed. He did not allow himself to hurry from the room, as I am certain he would have liked. The king dismissed even the servants who had come to clean the floor. “Leave it,” he told them, waving them away with a small movement of his massive arm. And then we were alone with the blood on the tiles.

The king seemed content to study me in silence. I did not know what to do. I wanted both for him to see me standing tall and for him to see me peeking up at him through my eyelashes. I could not do both. I stretched my spine and looked at my husband with all the strength I wished to give him.

“I still do not know who you are,” he said.

“My king—”

“But I know that during our first night together, when I spoke of war, your flinch was sincere. You do not like bloodshed, and you did not misrepresent yourself to me. I am glad of this. I have enough trouble knowing who to trust, little queen, and trouble is one thing I do not need any more of.”

If the brothers' beating had been a test for me, it seemed I had passed. Or perhaps Xerxes had paraded them in front of me so I might see that I was only a woman after all, not strong enough to watch men being beaten.

“I had a dream in which you were standing in front of a target in the military court. I thought it meant only that you would put yourself in danger, which I do not doubt you will do again if given the chance. And so I wonder, how shall I keep you safe, child?”

Had he truly had such a dream? I disliked that he had called me child.

“If you are not afraid to walk among men who wish you dead, and in fact you speak of death as a victory, perhaps the thing you do not fear is your own death. I hope seeing it up close has convinced you it is not as easy or graceful as it seems.”

“I could not wait idly in my chambers. I cannot let the men who will try to kill me think they are anything but cowards. I had to show them my face and force them to hear my voice.”

“You think very highly of courage, particularly your own. This is a dangerous attribute in a woman.”

“Do not worry for me, my love. It does not matter how much courage I have—I do not want to die; I do not wish to leave you. But if I must, then at least I will leave you with a legend of me that will make you proud.”

As soon as the words flew from my lips I knew they had been the wrong ones.

“Women are not made to
be
legends. They are made to
raise
them and then stand aside and hold back their tears when they are taken away. Women do not live on through legends, they live on through sons.”

Perhaps he could see by my face that he had wounded me. His tone softened. “I have already lost a courageous queen, little Ishtar.”

He spoke as though he had misplaced her. As though one day she was gone and he did not know why. I looked down so he would not see my thoughts.

“And I do not wish to see another great queen's heart filled with sorrow.”

Did he truly think me great? I looked up to see if he mocked me. “They say the arrows that would have hit you changed course at the last second, and instead formed the shape of a throne-back behind you. They say that you plucked the arrow that would have killed you out of the air.”

Now that I knew he saw nothing wrong in testing me I also knew I must be careful. Was he trying to see if I would take the opportunity to be proud? I lowered my head and peeked at him through my eyelashes. “I wished to be a legend only if I could be nothing else, my king. I wanted you to remember me well, and for mention of me to bring you pride and happiness, so that I could be with you always.”

He was looking at me too carefully. I wished I did not have to be on display. I remembered my parents, at ease in each other's company, laughing, leaning into each other, completely unguarded.

“Do you know what you are doing?” he asked. There was no hint of disapproval, anger, or awe. He truly wished to know.

And so, because I knew it would be unwise to lie unless I could do so with complete confidence, I answered him truly, “Sometimes.”

“You may have temporarily shamed our enemies out of attempting another attack upon you. Perhaps for a few days, perhaps a whole month. But we will be prepared in any case. Earlier today I wondered if my finest soldier should guard you, and now I see that he must. He was the first to lay his bow and arrow at your feet. He is not susceptible to bribes or flattery—I have checked—and he will not hesitate to do what is right, even if it means turning his back to a room full of men with arrows quivering in their bows.”

I tried not to show any emotion and to keep my breath steady in case the king knew anything of my short history with Erez and was watching for some reaction.

“He will protect you not only from assassins,” Xerxes continued, “but also from yourself. Erez would have made a good officer, but this task is more important. He will watch over the wildest and most valuable of all my possessions.”

Why, if I hated Erez, did my heart drop all the way from my chest to my sandals for him? I did not know how he would endure being confined to the palace, where there was no real glory to be had, just a duty that would only be noticed if he failed in it and I was harmed.

“He or another of your guard will always enter a room before you, and check to make certain there is no danger within. You will never be unguarded, not even in your chambers.” He leaned toward me. “Little queen, know that he is my most loyal servant and will do exactly as I command.”

Erez would not only be relegated to palace life, he would have to perform a task not so unlike that of a common servant. It pained me to think of how Erez had told me he wished to be an officer, and I had told him he would make a good one.

“Right now I am having your chambers searched for hiding places and secret passageways. First by one set of soldiers, then another. If the first missed anything, they will each sway upon a gallows high enough for all to see. This is the fate of your two Immortal guards who were not killed in the attack upon you.”

I sucked in my breath. I remembered Erez telling me: “It is the number ten thousand that is immortal, not any of us. As quick as a man dies, he is replaced.” I now saw how true this was.
I am sorry, Erez. I did not wish this dangerous and inglorious task upon you.

“My queen,” Xerxes said. His eyes bored into mine. “You will never again enter the military court.”

I hope I will never again need to.
I did not like the way Xerxes so easily spent lives convincing me he would watch over me, but these killings were likely as close as I was going to get to a declaration of love from him.

“Yes, my king.” That morning I had hoped he would embrace me. Now I wished only to be dismissed.

“I will send the new members of your escort to you after I have spoken to them myself.”

“Thank you, Majesty.”

“Never fear that we are apart, my queen. I am watching over you at every moment.”

I did not bother to avoid the brothers' blood on the way out. I would track it through the palace, from the throne room to my chambers. A few servants would clean it, but all servants would spread word of it, perhaps they would weave an entire tale. Hopefully one in which I beat the brothers myself. A tale was, as Mordecai had told me, more important than what actually happened.