Game of Queens (31 page)

*   *   *

My father's horses, and his skill at judging them, were far-famed, and many horse-merchants traveled long distances to buy his stock. My father trained me never to grow too fond of a horse, to think one too special to have a value beyond what the beast could bring in coin or in trade. “It's not wise to think any horse priceless. Remember that everything has its price.”

This hard truth did not mean he cared nothing for the horses he bred and raised. It was known the length of the Royal Road that Abihail the horse-merchant treated his beasts better than many men did their sons, and that he would let his horses go only to men he trusted to care well for them. But my father did not want me breaking my heart over each horse sold; to love too greatly would bring me too much pain. And so while I might ride any of his horses, there was none of which I could say, “This horse is mine.”

That changed the year before my father died. Just before the last snow melted, a caravan stopped near our house; a weary, road-worn group of men who had traveled through the winter. That in itself was odd, for no one risked the long passes in the winter. And the wares they offered were even odder: strange hides they swore came from dragons; beads of bone and cups of translucent stone, delicate as Egyptian glass.

They offered horses, too. Most of their beasts were small creatures, with roached manes and short necks; nothing my father deigned to examine. But they also had with them a pale, high-bred yearling whose elegantly curved ears flicked constantly back and forth and whose neat hooves seemed to dance in the heavy mud. I don't know how one of the Heavenly Horses of Nisea came to be with this caravan of oddities; my father said, later, that doubtless the men had stolen him.

The yearling drew my eyes, and I could not resist going to set my hands upon him. At first he shied away from my touch, and I saw he was unused to kindness. Then he gentled, leaned his head against me as I stroked the graceful arch of his neck. He was beautiful; even so young, I could see what he would one day be. Now he was a dark gray, like tarnished silver. That dark coat would lighten as he grew. One day he would shine like moonlight, or like pearls.

Like any decent man, my father granted the caravan hospitality, and its men set up round tents and rested on our land for a day. I took charge of the gray colt, for I could not bear to see him tied out by the tents with the rest of the weary beasts.

I led him into one of the horse sheds. There I held a bucket of water for him to drink and brushed dirt from his winter-thick coat. I fed him sweet grain from my hand.

I pretended he was mine.

*   *   *

That evening I asked my father if he would buy the gray, and my father shook his head. I began to protest, pointing out the colt's virtues, until my father held up his hand. “Peace, Hadassah. I saw how he took your eye, and offered for him without success. Perhaps they hope to get a better price for him in Shushan. I am sorry, but now you see why I tell you never to set your heart upon a horse.”

I spent that night in the horse shed, wrapped in a heavy blanket against the cold. The shed was as well made as a house, its walls trapping the heat of the yearling's body, and so I was warm enough. My father let me stay there, although he set two of his men to guard the shed, lest the strangers decide to take me, as doubtless they had once taken the gray colt.

When the caravan left the next day, the gray colt refused to be parted from me. None of the men could hold him, or force him to follow. At last they tied him to another horse. She stolidly dragged him along, no matter how much his temper flared. I knew I would never see him again.

*   *   *

Three dawns later, the silver yearling waited for me at the farmyard gate. Sweat had mingled with dust, muddying his coat, and his head sagged with weariness. But when he saw me, he lifted his head and whickered for me as if I were his mother. I longed to run to him, but knew better; horses do not like sudden movement.

Outwardly calm, I walked up to the gate, opened it, and waited for him to come through into the farmyard. Once he had, I carefully closed the gate again. Only then did I allow myself to put my arms about his muddy neck and weep for sheer joy.

My heart's delight had returned to me.

But although he had run long miles to come back to me, the yearling still did not belong here. As I led him to the stable, I thought of how and where I might conceal him. Even as I dreamed of keeping him hidden, of owning him in secret, I knew it was impossible. I must tell my father at once.

My father did not at first believe me, but he came out to the stable—and stared long at the dirty, weary colt. “I have been a horse-master for half my life, and never have I known a horse to do such a thing. You have won his heart, Hadassah.” My father smiled at me, then shook his head. “But my dear child—”

“I know.” I was proud of the steadiness of my voice. “He is not mine to keep. The men will come for him. But until they do, Father—may I pretend he is mine until then?”

“Very well, Hadassah. The colt is yours until they return to claim him. Now you had best groom him and feed him, and then let me cast my eyes over him and see that all is well with him.”

Before turning to those happy tasks, I squeaked my thanks and hugged my father hard. He kissed the top of my head. “Just remember, you must give him up when they come. I only hope they do not think you enchanted him when they passed through here!”

I spent all that day grooming the colt's thundercloud coat, combing out his mane and tail, and testing names.
Cloud, Silver, Swift
—none seemed quite right. Then, as I rubbed his fetlocks clean, a flash of white gleamed against the dark gray. He had a star upon his left front heel. A good luck mark—or at least I took it as such.

I named him Star.

“Star,” I said, and he arched his neck and nuzzled at my hair. “You are my Star.”

The name was perfect.

*   *   *

The strange merchants never returned. Perhaps they thought their prize had run away and become lost. Perhaps—anything. All that mattered to me was that no one came to claim the gray colt. Star was mine.

And as months passed, I no longer worried that he would be taken from me.

*   *   *

Then my father died, and my happy life shattered as if it had been made of glass. I was my father's heir, but I was not only a child of ten, I was a girl, and this suddenly became a matter of great import. But when I gave our overseer a letter to carry the sad news to my father's family in Shushan, I did not know what I set in motion.

I was still weeping for the loss of my father when my cousin Mordecai came to claim me.

*   *   *

Mordecai was far older than I—the son of the eldest son, as I was the daughter of the youngest. The middle sons had returned to Israel when Darius the Great granted the Jews permission to return to their homeland if they so chose. Of all our family, only Mordecai and my father Abihail remained in Persia. And just as my father loved the freedom of the countryside, Mordecai loved that of the city. He dwelt in Shushan, the oldest and greatest city in all the empire. I had never met him, but my father had spoken of him fondly, calling Mordecai the wisest and kindest man he knew.

So when Mordecai stood at the courtyard gate and said, “Hadassah, I am your cousin Mordecai,” and held out his arms to me, I ran to him and wept upon his chest. He did not tell me not to weep, but let me cry until I had no more tears left. Then he wiped my face with the hem of the soft shawl he wore over his shoulders.

“My poor little cousin, I grieve with you. Trust me when I tell you that one day the pain will pass, and you will remember only your father's love.” Mordecai set me back and knelt before me, gazing intently into my eyes. “So you are my brother Abihail's daughter! He must have been very proud of you, Hadassah.”

“Yes.” My voice was still thick from weeping. “He was very proud of me.” It was the truth, so I knew no reason I should not say so.

“Such a pretty girl—you are ten years old, are you not? I can see you will be a beauty soon!”

I stared at him, puzzled. Clearly Mordecai thought I should be pleased at his words; to please him, I managed to smile a little.

“And such a charming smile, too.” Mordecai rose to his feet and held out his hand to me.

I hesitated, but only for the time it took my heart to beat twice. I put my hand in his; his grasp was warm, comforting, as my father's had been. It was many years before I truly understood how much the state in which I had lived with my father horrified Mordecai. My short hair and boy's clothing appalled him, my blunt speech astonished him. I seemed a wild creature, one that required cautious handling.

“I know we are cousins,” Mordecai said, “but I am as old as your father was, and will be a father to you now.”

A new father—one my own father had praised. I managed to smile again, and this time it was easier to speak. “I am glad,” I said, so that he would feel welcome here. “And I can tell you anything you wish to know about the farm, and the horses, and how my father dealt with horse-merchants.”

Mordecai smiled, and then spoke the words that altered me forever. “That is very kind of you, Hadassah, but I will leave those matters to the overseer. Tomorrow you will come to Shushan, to live there with me and my wife, who is longing to greet you as her daughter.”

*   *   *

The next morning I rode out on Star. Had I known it was the last time I would race him, free as wind, across the valley, I never would have turned his head back toward the farm. When I cantered up to the outer gate, my cousin Mordecai stood waiting there.

“Get down from that horse, Hadassah. It is unseemly for a girl to…” Mordecai hesitated, then merely said, “It is not proper.”

I stared down at him, and for a wild instant thought of turning Star and galloping away.

“Hadassah,” Mordecai said, and I slowly dismounted.

“Star is my own horse,” I said. “I trained him myself.” Star leaned his head against me; his breath warmed my neck.

“I'm sure he's a very fine animal. Now let the groom take him.” Mordecai barely glanced at Star. “Come into the house, Hadassah. There are many matters I must arrange before we return to Shushan.”

Mordecai spoke for long hours that day to my father's chief groom, the man who had the running of the farm after my father and me. I tried to be of help, but Mordecai ordered me out. “This is men's business, Hadassah. Go tend to your own work.”

So I did, but that did not please Mordecai either, for when at last he left the house and found me leading a yearling around the horse yard in gentle circles, accustoming the young horse to carrying the weight of a small sack filled with grain, he scolded me as if I had disobeyed him.

“Hadassah, what are you doing? I told you to stay in the house.”

He had not, but already I had learned that Mordecai might be kind and wise, but he disliked being contradicted. I began to lead the yearling to the stable, but Mordecai called a stable boy over and bade him take the lead rope from me. “Now come into the house, Hadassah. You must tell me what you wish to bring with you to Shushan.”

“Star,” I said at once, and Mordecai looked down at me and sighed.

“Hadassah, I have no place for a horse in Shushan.”

“Then I will stay here. The farm is mine now.” I still did not wish to understand.

Mordecai stopped, and crouched down so that I did not have to tilt back my head to look into his eyes. “Of course the farm is yours, Hadassah. But you cannot manage the place yourself.” Mordecai smiled, but I did not smile back.

“Why not?”

“Because you are only a child, and a girl, and running such a business is men's work. I know nothing of horses, but I will hire a man who does, and will keep close track of the accounts. This will be a fine dowry for you, when you marry.” Mordecai regarded me hopefully.

I had to agree that I was only a child. And I knew many men would think me easy prey, rather than a fellow horse-master. So I nodded, and Mordecai seemed to relax; he drew in a deep breath.

“Good. Good. I knew you would be a sensible girl.” Mordecai rose to his feet and patted my head, his hand gentle. “Now go and put on a decent gown—”

“A gown?” I said, baffled, and Mordecai sighed.

“Do you have no garb suitable for a such pretty girl?” he asked, and when I merely stared at him, he sighed again. “My poor little cousin—well, my wife will arrange proper clothing for you. Now let us go and pack your belongings, for I must return to Shushan tomorrow. I work in the King's Gate—did your father tell you I am one of the scribes serving the King of Kings?”

*   *   *

I rose long before dawn the next morning so that I might say farewell to Star alone. Star greeted me with sleepy whickering, and I slipped under the bar to his stall and climbed upon his back. I lay with my arms wrapped around his neck and wept. I cried harder than I had when my father died; cried until my eyes burned and my tears dripped from Star's mane.

“I will come back,” I whispered to Star. “I will come back. I swear it.” My misery sparked unease; Star shifted nervously and arched his neck so he might nuzzle my thigh. I slid down and laid my cheek against his.

We stood there, Star and I, until dawn light eased the darkness. Then I kissed him on his silk-soft nose and scrubbed my face dry and raw with the hem of my tunic. I left Star standing there gazing after me and walked out into the yard.

My cousin Mordecai stood there, just outside the stable door. His eyes looked as red and raw as mine; I remembered that my father had been his uncle, whom he had loved. Silent, Mordecai held out his hand. I took it, and we went back into the house.

*   *   *

The journey took ten days. The land stretched before us, endless and constant. Nothing changed. Mile after eternal mile. Shushan was worse. Flat, hot, and confined by thick walls—even the river flowed slow and sullen. The highest spot in Shushan was the palace. I stared up at the false hill crowned by a sprawl of shining white and gold. As I looked, I saw bright color move upon the vast steps leading upward. A column of yellow and blue and white; a flash of fire—soldiers escorting a litter so richly gilded it seemed to burn under the sun.