Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294) (24 page)

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.

T
HE
FOURTEENTH
DAY
OF
N
ISAN
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.

Surely not. Mordecai had met death before, and he had never carried on in the city square. He did not wear sackcloth even for Miriam.

I rose from my bed and hurried to the room we used as a wardrobe. The walls were covered with garments, fine tunics and cloaks, fine enough for a queen or her cousin.

“Here.” I drew out a nondescript robe of dark linen. “Take this, and a gold belt, and find some decent sandals to fit a man. I don't know what ails my cousin, but I can't have him sitting in the square. Take a shawl, something to cover his head, and see if one of the eunuchs will go with you. He needs to go home, change his clothes, and compose himself.”

My maids flew into action, knowing even better than I what a respectable older man should wear. Within minutes they had folded a stack of fine garments, a gift any man should be happy to receive.

Even Mordecai.

“Hulta and Rokita, please take these at once,” I instructed. “Be firm with my cousin and see that he dresses properly and returns to his post. If he protests, remind him . . . remind him that he is cousin to the queen.” I said these last words in a hoarse whisper, but my maids understood. They drew their veils over their faces and hurried away, intent on their errand.

I went to the balcony, mentally tracking their steps as I looked
over the garden and the river in the distance. Had age begun to affect Mordecai's mind? Had some trivial loss sent him over the edge and driven him to dress in burlap? He had always been the most dignified of men, the most self-possessed. The thought of him on his knees in the street, pouring ashes on his head while he wailed in some imagined agony . . .

I shivered as a heavy weight settled in my stomach. I would care for Mordecai no matter his condition, but how could I care for him while I lived in the palace? For all the luxury around me, I lived in a gilded cage. I could not go to Mordecai personally, nor could I bring him to live with me. I could, perhaps, arrange for someone to live with him, someone who would cook for him and make certain he did not hurt himself. . . .

I gripped the edge of the balcony as an eerie howling rose from the city beyond the royal fortress. Susa, it seemed, had either been taken over by grief or my cousin had developed a hundred agonized voices.

Hulta and Rokita returned within the hour. Hulta still carried the garments I had sent, and Rokita's eyes watered with unshed tears.

“Live forever, my lady,” Rokita said, falling before me. “We found your cousin, but he would not take the clothes.”

“Nor would he be persuaded to leave,” Hulta added. “He is sound in mind and body, my queen, and he insisted that he has reason to mourn.”

“But why?” I looked from Hulta to Rokita for an answer, but their faces remained blank. “What has happened to put him in such a state?”

Hatakh, who had been silently waiting at the back of the chamber, stepped forward. “Shall I go to him, my queen?”

I blinked, stunned by a glimmer in my chief eunuch's eye. He knew something he was not willing to tell me.

“Hatakh, do you know why my cousin mourns in the city square?”

The eunuch met my gaze without flinching. “I have an idea.”

“Will you tell me?”

His eyes remained deadly serious. “I dare not spread rumors, my queen. But I am willing to speak to your cousin and return to you. I will tell you everything he says.”

I stared, probing his countenance for some clue, but Hatakh had not achieved his high position through transparency. “All right, go at once. And bring me the full story. I must know what has upset my cousin so.”

I spent the rest of the morning pacing in my chamber. When I wasn't pacing, I stood outside on the balcony, listening for cries on the wind. Once or twice I thought I heard sustained wailing, but the sounds of music, workmen, and the harem children drowned out most of the city sounds.

Finally Hatakh returned, and not empty-handed. He carried a leather satchel, and from it he withdrew a parchment scroll. “The king's vizier,” he said, not wasting time with formalities, “has written a decree in the king's name. According to the edict, on the thirteenth day of Adar, every Persian has the right to kill any Jew, young or old, and confiscate their belongings.” He unfurled the scroll and handed it to me. “The edict has been published and proclaimed throughout the empire.”

I skimmed the document and gasped as the words blurred before my eyes. “How can this be? How could the king allow something so senseless and cruel?”

Hatakh had a servant's face; almost anything could have been going on behind that blank facade, yet his eyes narrowed with dislike. “Mordecai knew more of the story, my queen. This is completely
Haman's doing. He persuaded the king with half-truths born out of hatred and personal animosity for your cousin. He also offered to deposit three hundred thirty tons of silver into the king's treasury in order to enact the decree.”

“Surely the king refused!”

“He did, my lady, as one will when bargaining, but the money will still be paid and given back to Haman to pursue this evil end. And finally there is this: your cousin directs you to go to the king to beg for mercy and plead for your people.”

Your cousin directs you . . .

The words hung in the air, dancing before my eyes. Mordecai had not commanded me in years, not since I left his house, yet now he was commanding me again. As my adoptive father, he had every right to do so, but did he realize what he was saying? Everyone knew that to boldly walk into the king's throne room meant instant death. I had done it once before to save the king's life, but his love had given me courage. Things were different now. Yet that's what Mordecai was asking . . . no,
commanding
me to do.

I turned to Hatakh. “Go to my cousin again,” I said. “And remind him—pointedly—that he must know that for me to go to the king means death. He is not asking an easy thing.”

Hatakh nodded, acknowledging my concern.

“Furthermore—” my voice broke—“tell him the king has not called for me in over a month. So—never mind. Just tell him; he'll understand.”

He would understand that the king's love for me had grown cool. He'd understand that I was no longer the king's favorite, so I had no assurance that he'd look on me with favor. If he wanted to be rid of me as he had wanted to be rid of Vashti, it would be easy for him not to extend his scepter and grant me mercy.

“Go,” I told Hatakh. “I will not move from this spot until I receive your reply.”

Hatakh returned a short while later—so quickly, in fact, that I wondered if he had only pretended to speak to my cousin.

But his reply was pure Mordecai. “Your cousin,” the eunuch began, “says you should not imagine that you will escape just because you live in the palace. You are hidden at the moment, but you will not always be secreted away. And do not trust in the king's protection—if you doubt his loyalty now, you will doubt it after the thirteenth of Adar. If you avoid approaching the king, you will still be in jeopardy. It is as dangerous for you to stay away from the king as it is for you to go to him.

“Mordecai,” Hatakh went on, “says that if you keep quiet at this time, deliverance and relief for the Jews will come from some other place, but you and your relatives will die. And who knows if you were made queen for just such a time as this?”

I lifted my head, waiting for something else, but Hatakh had finished. I smiled my thanks, then gestured for him and all the maids to leave the room.

I needed to be alone. I needed time to think.

When the last servant had closed the door, I crawled onto my couch and buried my face in my hands. Who was I, and why had I been thrust into this place? I was no obedient Jewish girl; I had not yearned for martyrdom or a prophet's mantle. I was no brave soldier like Deborah, no prophetess like Miriam, no devoutly praying Hannah. I was a foolish girl who yearned for luxury and lovely dresses and social status. I had been so concerned with superficial things that my first thought today had been to get Mordecai out of embarrassing sackcloth and into a proper tunic. To get him out of the dust and back to the King's Gate.

And that, I now realized, was why he dressed in rags. He had not resorted to public mourning because he felt responsible for
Haman's edict, for who blames the victim for the injustice done to him? He could easily have sent me a message, so he had not poured ashes on his head merely to get my attention.

He had dressed in mourning because he knew a public display would spur me to action. That I would promise anything to get him off the street.

By dressing in sackcloth, Mordecai had held up a mirror, forcing me to see my own superficiality and self-centeredness. I didn't want to go to the king because I feared losing my life—how could I even utter those words when thousands of other Jews would lose their lives if I didn't go?

Moses, Gideon, and Saul, my own kinsmen, had expressed hesitation when Adonai asked them to accept a difficult task, but they had expressed their fears in terms of their unworthiness of HaShem's call. I had expressed mine as simple cowardice.

I was terrified. Of watching my husband reject me. Of seeing a hard, cold light in his eyes. Of hearing the swish of a swift sword as it curved toward my neck.

I paused to take a few deep breaths, to knit the raveled cloth of my courage.

As always, Mordecai had led me to see the truth, as unpleasant as it was. And since thousands of Persians called me queen, the time had come for me to act like royalty. But how did I do that?

I closed my eyes and heard Mordecai's voice on a wave of memory.
“HaShem has
commanded us to fast on one day only, the Day
of Atonement. On this day we consider our unworthiness and
our sin, and we repent of our disobedience. We end
our fast with thanksgiving and a commitment to live differently
, so we will not fall into sin again.”

A fast? I had not fasted since coming to the palace.

As a child I had voluntarily fasted with Miriam and Mordecai on various ritual days. But for me the fast had been only a minor
inconvenience, for I gorged myself before sunrise and stuffed my empty stomach as soon as the sun set.

This fast would be different. I would follow Mordecai's instruction, denying myself food so that I might think of the ways of Adonai and commit myself to His plan, no matter what it might be. I would repent of my shallow self-centeredness, and I would confess that my heart had been set on my pleasures and not His will. I would spend the days of my fast in prayer and contemplation, forgetting about food, cosmetics, frivolous pursuits, and the luxury of my bathing ritual.