Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294) (22 page)

A
FTER
FIVE
YEARS
OF
MARRIAGE
, my husband and I had developed a sweet and comfortable relationship. He did not send for me every night, but at least once a week I visited his chamber and slept in his arms. He visited me too, often dropping by when the royal children came to play in my garden; occasionally he would even join in their games. Watching him at play and seeing him smile warmed my heart. Perhaps, I told myself, this was why I became queen. If I could do even some small thing to help this father love his children better, then my life might accomplish something worthwhile.

But during the spring of our fifth year, our routine shifted and I rarely saw my husband the king. Whenever I sent one of my maids to ask how the king fared, I was told he was busy in his audience hall or he had gone hunting. As the weather grew warmer and the time came for our annual journey to Ecbatana, I expected to hear that we would soon be leaving, but no order came. The king seemed
content to remain in Susa indefinitely, and I could not understand his reasoning.

One afternoon I was in the garden playing with the little dog the king had given me on his forty-fourth birthday. The dog was nothing like the big hunters the king kenneled or the massive canines used in bear baiting, but a creature so tiny it could curl up in my lap. At the birthday banquet my husband joked that he had no use for a dog so small it should really be a cat, but I wept tears of joy because the gift was evidence that my husband loved me and wanted to ease my loneliness.

I was almost embarrassed to admit how much the pup and I doted on each other. I cared for him with great tenderness, realizing he had taken the place of the child I had hoped to hold to my breast. The creature's furry face, button nose, and bright eyes never failed to comfort my aching heart. My little dog gave me a reason to get out of bed and renewed my determination to please my lord and king.

But one afternoon as I played in the garden with my dog, I was bending to pick up a ball when a shadow crossed mine. I straightened to find Vashti standing behind me with her arms crossed, her head held high, and a secure smile on her face. “Haven't seen much of your husband lately, have you?” she asked without preamble.

I blinked. How would she know anything about my visits with the king? She never saw him except on state occasions. She had even less access to the king than I did, so she should know less about him.

“He has a new favorite.” Her red-painted lips curved in a smile. “I have seen them in the king's garden, on the archery field, and at private dinners when the king entertains in his bedchamber. His favorite joins him under the curtained canopy at banquets, a favor not even granted to me in my time—and, I suspect, never granted to you.”

I swallowed hard. The woman had spies; that was how she knew
so much. I had never stooped to spying because I didn't want to torture myself. I had always thought—hoped—the king loved me almost as much as I loved him, but if he didn't . . .

I looked away from the former queen's victorious smirk. “He is the king,” I said simply, my voice sounding flat in the open air. “He can do as he pleases.”

She laughed. “Oh, he does,” she said, her gown rustling as she turned. Her sandals swished over the lush grass as she moved away. “He certainly does.”

I sank to a marble bench as my knees turned to water. A new favorite? I knew the king had women, and I knew he felt a responsibility to produce many sons for the empire. Of course, he had dozens of concubines, as well as responsibilities to the governors and his nobles. . . .

But I had once been his favorite. I won the crown because I charmed him in a way no one else could.

Apparently I was no longer as charming as someone else.

I turned and leaned over the edge of an elaborate stone fountain. Water splashed noisily at the top, yet only small ripples moved in the large bottom bowl. I stared at my reflection and saw a woman barely in her twenties, a woman who no longer felt at all young.

Had the king transferred his affection because I had not given him a son? Or had I done something to cool his ardor? Perhaps he had grown weary of the nights when I mentioned not feeling well, or perhaps he had simply become bored with me. After all, I did not sing, I did not dance particularly well, and the only thing I had ever demonstrated a talent for was making him laugh.

Somewhere in the palace, someone else was with my king, flattering him, pleasing him. And dozens of servants were seeing this and realizing the truth: the king had grown tired of his second queen.

Was he planning on crowning a third?

J
UST
WHEN
I
THOUGHT
THE
KING
HAD
DECIDED
to be content with his queen, a new face appeared in the royal court, a face belonging not to a woman but to Haman, son of Hammedatha the Agagite.

I distrusted this Haman the moment I saw him, but I could not attribute my dislike to anything in his appearance. Of average height, he was swarthy and solid, while a soft paunch at his midsection testified to a life of luxury and sumptuous meals.

Dressed in clothing rich enough to rival the king's, he walked as though he were a prince in disguise or one favored by the gods. His plump hands glittered with jeweled rings; his robe and tunic, both constructed of expensive fabrics, shimmered with every movement. His belt had been woven with gold threads, and his shoes jingled as he walked. A turban of scarlet silk, held at the center with a golden brooch, capped his round head.

Haman, I learned from eunuchs who worked at various posts in the palace, had settled in Susa some months earlier. After building an impressive home in the Valley of the Artists, he arrived at the King's Gate bearing lavish gifts and demanded the right to personally deliver his tributes to the king. More than one Persian noble raised a brow as the upstart wandered into the royal court, and when pressed for information, Haman revealed that he had a wife, ten sons, and a fortune derived from trading and the gods' blessing. “I have come to Susa,” he said, clutching the edge of his robe and casting a confident smile over the nobles, “to bless the king with my fortune and my friendship.”

Several of the nobles snickered at Haman's arrogance, but others admired his boldness. Nothing about the man could be called understated. He spoke in a loud voice, even in close conversation, and commanded every chamber he entered. He exhibited a quick sense of humor, a sly smile that seemed to fascinate every woman in the room, and strong opinions, which he dispensed with confident authority.

Yet years in royal service had taught me that no one gives the king anything without expecting something in return, and what people usually want is position and the power that comes with it. Time proved me right—Haman had arrived in Susa with money alone, yet in only a few weeks he managed to elevate himself to a coveted position in the king's court. He gained this high status only a few days after being introduced to the king, and most of the eunuchs, including me, worried that he might one day gain real influence.

I would have paid the newcomer little attention, but my master developed an acute fascination with the man. Haman had a way of answering the king's questions with thoughtful ideas, then humbling himself and suggesting the solution had been lurking beneath the original question, and surely the king would have come up with the answer if only given another moment to consider the
problem. Haman's glib tongue always managed to utter exactly the right response . . . an ability that had eluded me but that the gods heaped upon Haman.

As the newcomer prospered at court, I began to wonder if I alone found him arrogant. Everyone from the other eunuchs to the noblemen's wives seemed charmed by the man. Even serving girls twittered when he sauntered by. Once, when Haman stood in the garden opining on a random topic, I found a pair of snobbish noblemen eavesdropping behind a hedge. When the Agagite spoke, people listened.

Everyone in the royal court, it seemed, had been snagged in Haman's web, but I did not trust him. I couldn't deny that the man possessed many gifts, including a golden tongue, but as far as I could tell, he used it only to benefit himself.

The king's fascination with Haman might have passed like his other infatuations, but Memucan, the oldest and wisest of the king's seven vice-regents, fell sick and died within a few days. The old man's family had no sooner finished burying him than my master announced that Haman, not Memucan's son, would take the vacant position on the king's inner council.

Something in me shriveled at the news. Instead of waning, as a vice-regent of Persia, Haman's influence could only grow.

Within a matter of months, the Agagite had wormed his way into the king's innermost circle—and I daresay he would have taken
my
position if it were possible to be a chamberlain without also being castrated and a slave. The man began to show up at the palace every morning and soon demanded entrance to the king's residence as well as the throne room. Even more amazing, the king granted Haman permission to come and go at will.

I watched with increasing amazement as Haman's authority grew. The king consulted Haman on almost every topic, listening to his advice and then parroting it back as if Haman's ideas were
his own. Haman advised the king on how to handle fallout from the debacle in Greece, on the administration of the satraps, and on handling a meddlesome royal brother, the governor of Babylon. Haman visited the harem to look over the concubines and suggest which of them might make the best entertainment for the king's evening. The Agagite even changed the royal diet, suggesting that wines from the southern provinces were fuller and more robust than those the king had been drinking.

I eyed Haman with increasing alarm and wondered if he might purposefully be trying to sabotage the king's relationship with the queen. I don't think Haman knew anything about the queen's history—as far as I could tell, only Hatakh and I knew of her relationship with Mordecai—but I sensed that Haman didn't want the king confiding in anyone but himself.

I believed that I alone disliked the Agagite, until the afternoon I left the palace to run an errand for my master. I was walking down the grand staircase when I saw Mordecai at his station outside the accounting office. I was about to shout for Mordecai's attention, but the rapid clip-clop of horse hooves warned me to halt where I stood.

I turned and saw Haman leaving the palace on a majestic white horse, undoubtedly a gift from the king. He held his reins loose and his chin high, and every man in the area stopped what they were doing to prostrate themselves as he passed by.

Then Haman rode by Mordecai's post. The Agagite glanced pointedly at my friend, but Mordecai bowed neither his head nor his body. He simply stood at his desk, an expression of profound indifference on his face as Haman moved by.

Even a fool would have noticed the way Haman's eyes narrowed, but the Agagite said nothing. He merely rode on, his chin higher than ever, as those who had prostrated themselves rose and dusted themselves off.

Amazed at my friend's audacity, I walked over to Mordecai. “Well met, my friend.”

“Harbonah!” All smiles now, Mordecai clasped my arm and squeezed my shoulder. “How are you? And how is my cousin?”

“She is well, and so am I. But you, friend—you have given me cause for concern.”

Mordecai's brow crinkled. “Have I mismanaged some report? Has my accounting proved faulty?”

I shook my head. “I know nothing about your work. But surely you know the rider who just passed is a confidant of the king's. Haman has risen to a position of great influence in only a few short months. The king listens closely to everything the man says, so to publicly snub him as you have—”

Mordecai shook off my words as if they were dust. “I have heard about that son of Amalek. I would not bow to him if he were king.”

I lowered my voice. “Why such animosity? Do you know of some crime he has committed?”

The lines around Mordecai's mouth deepened in a look of firm resolve. “I don't have to know of a crime. I know him and I know his people.”

I crossed my arms and pressed a finger to my lips, more confused than ever. Apparently the accountant's dislike of Haman sprang from tribal rivalries, not the personal aversion I felt toward the man.

“A son of Amalek?” I asked, lifting a brow. “I don't understand.”

Mordecai sighed. “Amalek was a son of Esau, brother to Jacob, later known as Israel. But though Amalek was also a grandson of Isaac, son of Abraham, he did not worship the God of his fathers. Years later, when the children of Israel were at their weakest after leaving Egypt, the warriors of Amalek attacked them, striking at the aged ones, women, and children who straggled behind. Later, Adonai told our King Saul to strike Agag, the Amalekite king, and to leave no one in his city alive. Saul disobeyed, sparing Agag, and
though that king was later put to death, the Agagites—a remnant of the Amalekites—survive today.”

I remained silent as I sorted through the confusing history of Mordecai's people.

“Yet I do not refuse to bow purely for historical reasons,” the accountant added, his voice softening as he peered down the road at Haman's retreating figure. “Look at the man. See how he sets himself above everyone else? He is filled with pride, and Adonai hates a proud look and a proud heart. A proud man will be set against all that is holy, for he is the god of his own world. Haman is evil, and you, Harbonah, would do well to guard the king's heart. Protect your master if you can.”

I relaxed, grateful to discover that I wasn't the only person in the palace who hadn't been mesmerized by the newcomer. “I don't like Haman, either, but the king must be handled tactfully.” I frowned. “I have always had a bad feeling about that interloper, but everyone around me praises him as if he were some kind of victorious warrior.”

“He is a warrior, but that sort does not fight with spears and arrows. He will fight with words and ideas, and he will overpower the unwary. Watch him carefully.”

“And you?” The corner of my mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Will you continue to watch him from your post? No bowing for you? Not even a bend of the knee?”

“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.”