Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294) (26 page)

T
HE
KING
DID
NOT
NEED
ME
to accompany him to the queen's banquet, but I wouldn't have missed it for all the gold in the treasury. I walked behind the king and Haman, then stood out of the way as the queen welcomed her husband and the fiend. “Everything has been arranged in the garden pavilion,” she said, her smile only slightly frayed. “I am honored, my king, that you would grant me this wish.”

The king looked at her, obviously bemused, but he didn't question her further until all three of them had finished eating. As they reclined on their couches and Hatakh poured a dessert wine, the king leaned toward his queen and repeated his question. “What is your wish? It shall be granted you. And what is your request? Be it as great as half the kingdom, it shall be fulfilled.”

My thoughts flitted to another occasion when he had uttered those same words—the day when he had promised Artaynta up to
half the kingdom. She had only asked for his robe, but oh, what dire consequences resulted from her entreaty.

My queen would face dire consequences if she didn't summon the courage to ask for her life.

The king studied his queen intently, and I saw her bosom rise as she drew a breath to answer. But she did not unmask her identity, nor did she reveal the plot against her.

“My request, what I want, is this,” she said, lowering her head as though she knew she might be testing the king's patience. “If I have won the king's favor, if it pleases the king to grant my request and do what I want, let the king and Haman come to the banquet I will prepare for them tomorrow. Then I will do as the king has said.”

“A woman of mystery,” my master answered, a half smile brightening his face. “The orphan star fallen from the sky to grace my throne room—yes, Haman and I will come. We will not fail you.”

I blinked in bafflement when the king and his vizier rose and left the queen's palace.

Feigning some business with Hatakh, I waited until they had departed, then turned to Esther. “My queen, do you think it wise to toy with the king in this way? You know his nature—you know how changeable he is.”

“I do,” she said, her voice pitched for my ears alone. “And I know I must use his impulsiveness in my cause. I must defeat Haman quickly, so I cannot allow him time to parley with the king behind my back. If I had spoken out today, the king might have gone to his advisors as he did with Vashti. The advisors would remind him that the law of the Medes and Persians cannot be changed. Then Haman and his silver tongue would convince the king that he would do well to be rid of a Jewish queen and her people.”

I stared at her, amazed that Mordecai's little Hadassah had be
come wiser than many of the king's vice-regents—indeed, wiser than the king himself. She had reasoned carefully, and she understood the king better than Haman could ever hope to.

She knew him nearly as well as I did.

“May your God bless your undertaking,” I told her, meaning every word. “I must return to my master.”

Later that afternoon, while the king rested and Haman took his leave, I stood at the king's balcony and watched the vizier descend the grand staircase. The man practically skipped down the steps, so pleased was he by the queen's special attention, and as he entered the court of the king's treasury his heart must have been buoyed by the sight of so many falling prostrate before him.

Except for one rogue accountant. Even from where I stood, I could see Mordecai at his post, dignified and solidly upright. He did not bend, he did not tremble, he did not even look up as Haman strutted by. This complete lack of respect could only inflame Haman's overly inflated sense of importance, so I reminded myself to speak sense to my friend. If Mordecai didn't at least stay out of Haman's sight, he might find himself meeting the executioner before the thirteenth day of Adar.

I was napping in my alcove when a loud and rhythmic banging rose from the plain. I went in search of the sound and found Hatakh standing by the balcony that overlooked the Valley of the Artists, where the sound seemed to originate. “What is that noise?” I peered at the area below, home to many of the noble families. “And why must they work at night?”

Hatakh gave me a sour look. “Have you not heard? The workmen have not ceased to talk about it. Susa has never seen the like.”

I searched the rooftops and grounds of the nearby homes. “The like of what?”

“A pike,” Hatakh answered, his face grim. “Earlier this afternoon, Haman ordered workmen to erect a seventy-five-foot pike in his
courtyard. Apparently he plans to execute someone and hoist the body for all the city to see.”

A subterranean chill ran through me. Without being told, I knew who Haman planned to impale.

That night I put the king to bed at the usual hour, but apparently he had much on his mind. I sat in my alcove, waiting for the steady sounds of his breathing, but sleep eluded him. Clearly, something troubled my master, for he tossed and turned, fitful in his restlessness yet unwilling to talk about whatever weighed on his mind. I had an idea of what vexed him, but a slave dared not broach a personal subject without the king's invitation.

After a long while, he sat up and called out for me. “A light, eunuch. I can't sleep.”

I hurried into his chamber and lit the oil lamp by the bed. “Is something troubling my master?”

“My thoughts are too heavy for sleep. I need a distraction.”

I folded my hands. “Would the king like me to summon a harpist?”

“Too entertaining. I need something dull.” He thought a moment, then settled back on his pillows. “Summon one of the court scribes. I will review the daily record.”

“Any particular year, my king?”

A thoughtful look flitted over the king's face. “The seventh year of my reign.”

I smothered a smile as I sent for a scribe. The king might not want to admit it, but I knew why he yearned to hear records from that particular time. That was the year he met and crowned Queen Esther.

Arsames, the scribe who arrived to read the court chronicles, had one of the most unpleasant and monotonous voices in the palace. I sat in my curtained alcove, out of sight but not out of hearing, and in no time at all the scribe's thin voice put me to sleep. I was drifting in a shallow doze, my head bobbing, when the king's voice abruptly brought me awake.

“Read that again!”

I lifted my head and blinked to focus my eyes. Still in bed, my master sat upright and stared at the startled scribe.

Arsames lowered the scroll and peered over the top. “My king?”

“Read that part again—how the queen came to me with news of a plot.”

With shaking fingers, the scribe searched the leather scroll while his servant held an oil lamp closer to the text.

“‘Queen Esther approached the inner throne room,'” the scribe read, “‘with urgent news from a man called Mordecai, who works in the treasury at the King's Gate. Being skilled with languages, this Mordecai overheard a plot by two of the king's guards, Bigtan and Teresh, who planned to assassinate the king. The men were summoned immediately and sent away for trial.'”

“I remember.” The king smiled, his eyes alight. “Continue.”

Arsames searched the scroll again, then read, “‘Bigtan and Teresh confessed and were executed for daring to plot against the king.'”

“Read on,” the king urged. “What was done for this Mordecai? Was he promoted? How was he rewarded?”

The scribe searched the scroll, then finally lowered it. “I can find no record of any reward, promotion, or honor.” He cringed as though he was afraid the king would punish him for the omission. “Apparently nothing was done.”

The king looked at me. “What was done for this Mordecai? Was he granted honor or promotion?”

I stepped forward, honored to point out the oversight. “Nothing was done for him, my king. Nothing at all.”

The king pressed his lips together, then pointed at the scribe, who quaked beneath the long shadow of the royal finger. “That is not acceptable. But you may go.”

The scribe gathered his scrolls and hurried for the door while the king got out of bed. “Who is in the courtyard, Harbonah? Find someone and bring him to me.”

I ignored a lifetime of protocol and left the room without a proper bow. I flew down the corridor and into the open courtyard, where one or two of the royal counselors usually arrived early in case the king had some urgent need. Dawn had barely pinked the eastern sky, but I sensed movement in the courtyard. I saw the shadow before I saw the man.

“My lord,” I called, walking around a column that obscured the early riser. “The king has need of you.”

I startled when I saw who I had hailed: Haman. The man must have truly important business to appear at this hour; we usually didn't see him until midmorning.

“Eunuch.” Haman stepped toward me, his face a study in eagerness. “Is the king awake? I must speak to him as soon as possible.”

I tilted my head, surprised by his request. Apparently he'd been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard my greeting.

I bowed. “The king is awake. And—”

“I'm sure he'll see me.”

Haman rushed ahead, moving confidently down the hallway and pausing only when the guards blocked his advance. “My king!” he called, lifting his voice to be heard through the door. “I must see you at once!”

I blanched at the man's impertinence, but on this occasion, at least, the king wanted to see him. “Enter!” my master called. The guards lowered their swords and allowed Haman to pass.

I followed, desperately curious about what had kept the vizier awake last night. Had it anything to do with the gigantic pike he had erected in the courtyard?

The king, who was sitting on the edge of his bed when Haman entered, was in such a jovial mood that he rose and clapped his vizier on both shoulders before turning to snatch a hunk of bread from his breakfast tray. “Haman, my friend and counselor,” the king mumbled over his food, “I am glad you have arrived early, for I have something of great importance to ask. I have been remiss in something, and I would know what you think. What should be done for a man who the king desires to honor?”

Haman remained blank-faced, but I saw thought working in his eyes. Then he blinked, his face glowing as though a candle inside him had just been lit.

“What should be done for a man the king desires to honor?” he repeated. “For a man the king wants to honor, have royal robes the king has worn brought out, and bring out the horse the king usually rides, with a royal crown on its head. The robes and the horse should be handed over to one of the king's most respected officials, and they should put the robes on the man the king wants to honor. Then they should lead him on horseback through the streets of the capital city, proclaiming ahead of him, ‘This is what is done for a man whom the king desires to honor!'”

Only with great difficulty did I manage to keep my mouth closed, for I wanted to gape in delighted astonishment. Haman, the egotistical fool, had just described what he wanted the king to do for
him
. He had repeated the phrase “a man the king desires to honor” like a song, emphasizing the syllables in loving tones. He had not asked for wealth or power because he already possessed those; he asked for what he craved most: honor and recognition. The man had an insatiable appetite for public praise.

More significant, he had asked for the king's garment. Artaynta
had come to rue the day she asked for the king's robe, but Haman was not shy about wanting to wear a garment that might confer royalty upon its wearer. And even the horse should wear a crown! The man's craven desire for kingship was so obvious, I marveled that my master could not see it. Haman would never be content being the king's second-in-command. He wanted the throne.