One Night With the King: A Special Movie Edition of the Bestselling Novel, Hadassah by Tommy Tenney;Mark Andrew Olsen

by Tommy Tenney;Mark Andrew Olsen

  “Dear Father,” I prayed, “I embrace your plan, your destiny for this moment. I want no other outcome but the one you have ordained. Please do not let me take one step outside your will.”

  Time seemed to stretch into infinity the nearer I approached. Those final strides seemed to last a lifetime. I know that my ears shut themselves down somehow-all sound died away except for the beating of my heart. I continued walking and kept my eyes away from the King's, even though he was now but a few dozen cubits away. I was not yet ready for that moment of truth. I kept my head slightly lowered. Another sight from which I averted my gaze was the pair of Cushite soldiers flanking the throne, their gleaming swords held at the ready behind their backs. Yet I could sense them nervously shifting to their ready position-unsure of their next move, afraid to take action yet fearful of doing nothing.

  But then I was there; my feet struck the first step of the platform as I woodenly forged ahead. I stopped. And then it was time: I looked up into the eyes of my husband, who at that moment was anything but my spouse but instead my King, my earthly sovereign and perhaps soon to be my judge and jury.

  His lips were pursed and his eyes questioning; he was genuinely surprised at my entrance. He cocked his head and peered at me, like someone trying to query the other without using words. As though he was asking, What is it? Can't you let me know your errand somehow, before I have to speak?

  Another endless moment passed. I felt I could have left my body, gone home to the Palace and lived several years in the pause that stretched between us. I heard, behind me, a great hush fall over the entire hall as if they, too, had entered into this moment of suspended time.

  I saw the King's fingers flex and unflex around the scepter, appearing to decide on their own whether to grant me my life.

  “Please, Lord,” I whispered, “give me wisdom. Give me your direction on what to do next.”

  And then the strangest thing yet happened-I felt the corners of my lips begin to tug upward. My cheeks start to flex. My spirit begin to lift. It made no sense, yet the muscles of my face began to act in one accord, disobeying my every command. I smiled.

  Xerxes frowned.

  “Why do you smile, my Queen? Most people at an intrusive moment like this would look like they'd soon faint with fear-as well they should. What causes you to smile so oddly at this moment?”

  My smile broadened, because even though his expression remained grim and surprised, I knew he was remembering the moment we had first met and the similar words he had spoken then.

  “Because, your Majesty,” I answered in a soft voice, “even at this moment of highest danger, of which I am well aware, your presence fills me with joy. I am overwhelmed when I come close to the one I love.”

  The shared memory flashed between us. His head nodded slowly with a suppressed chuckle-I could tell he was gladdened that we had both kept that distant moment hidden in our hearts.

  And then that which I had not dared to hope for: King Xerxes lowered the scepter. The gasp that now arose from the spectators was neither soft nor wavering. In fact, the clamor of shared surprise-and I hope relief-nearly caused me to swing around in alarm.

  There remained one more part of this ritual to perform. I had to accept his grace, his mercy. I leaned forward and touched the tip of the scepter and felt a wave of gratitude-toward him, but most of all toward G-d-wash over my senses.

  I removed my fingers from the scepter's jewels and leaned back again. But Xerxes took the occasion to lean closer to me. “What troubles you, my beautiful Queen? And what is your request? I will surely give it to you, my love, even if it is half the kingdom.”

  “You will be glad to know, my lord, that I do not come for nearly that much.”

  “Yet I hope it is an errand of great importance.”

  “The highest, your Majesty.”

  And I took a breath. I glanced from side to side and realized immediately that I had made the right decision about how to proceed next. This was not the right place, not the optimal setting for me to state my plight. There were too many prying eyes in here, too many distractions and competitors for his attention. I needed to speak on my territory, on the ground of my greatest strength. So, realizing the absurdity of what I was about to say, I closed my eyes for a split second, opened them again and said, “I offer only one simple request.” I took a deep breath. “But not at the moment. If it pleases the King, may the King and Haman the Master of the Audiences come today to a private banquet that I have prepared for you.”

  Xerxes visibly stiffened at my strange reversal, yet he kept his eyes glued on my every move. Finally his stare broke and he turned to an aide beside him with a smile. “Quickly, find Haman and bring him here so we can do as Esther desires!” Then a quizzical look spread slowly across his face.

  Before he could question me further, I hastily asked to be dismissed so that I might prepare for the evening. I left the room using every ounce of Palace protocol I could remember-curtsying perfectly, glancing with a smile at every court official, walking at just the proper gait and thanked G-d when I passed the threshold and left the throne room behind. I don't mind telling you my legs could barely hold me upright as I found my way back to the litter, which returned me to my quarters. I was enormously relieved, as you might guess, but I also knew it was not over yet.

  My private Palace cooks did not disappoint. They prepared a lavish meal of spit-grilled pheasant, kebabs of beef and peahen, roasted potatoes, grilled asparagus tips and desserts from around the world. And, of course, wine-this night the finest Chaldean blends flowed freely into our cups. I had chosen one of my favorite spaces in the Palace: a high balcony overlooking the sprawling grounds of the citadel and the city beyond it. Far ahead, beyond an intricate latticework of streets and rooftops, the sun sank onto a thick horizon of sand and cloud and inflamed the western sky into a riot of reds, oranges and turquoise.

  For the first part of the meal I sat and listened, striving to appear calm, trying to eat, attempting to slow the pounding of my heart as Haman, the source of all my worst nightmares, sat within one cubit of me. Close enough to smell sour wine upon his breath. To count his pulse in the vein of his neck and the pores bridging the tip of his nose. I watched the moist wrinkles of his lips as they opened and closed and twisted a hundred ways. All the while, the man never stopped talking.

  It's strange, I thought to myself. He looks like a human being. A loathsome specimen, to be sure, but a cunning re-creation of humanity nevertheless. I closed my eyes and pictured something closer to the truth: a long, stooped creature with a scimitar rising from one fist, its reptilian maw barely visible beneath the overhanging cowl of a loose black robe.

  To regain control of my imagination, I willfully pictured another truth that caused me to wince outwardly, although neither man noticed. My mother's death. I forced myself to remember the beloved mouth that had kissed me goodnight lifelessly kissing dust in some corner of the floor.

  I looked across the table at her executioner, and I resolved that his evil edict must be thwarted, even if it cost me my life.

  turned my gaze upon Xerxes-nothing else, no one else at all. I had already taught myself to delight in his presence. Now that discipline had met its greatest test.

  The murderer prattled on with Xerxes and virtually ignored me, as though I were beneath his newfound prestige-despite my being the source of his invitation. He drove the conversation upon every subject in which his status had given him exclusive knowledge-as though Xerxes needed reminding of how intimate they had now become.

  Growing ever more intoxicated on the wine and his precedentsetting status as sole dinner guest of the King and Queen, Haman grew louder and more repulsive with every passing moment. Xerxes was far more alert, though. Knowing that something important was afoot with me, that I would never have risked death to invite Haman without some dire provocation, he kept his gaze half fixed on his obnoxious guest and half on me. I could see his thoughts reeling, his quizzical stare trying to grasp
the meaning of this odd trio and failing to understand.

  At last, when Haman had finally lapsed into a sort of waking stupor in his seat, the King turned to me and repeated privately what he had proclaimed so publicly in the throne room. “So, what is your petition, my Queen? It will indeed be granted to you, even if it is half the kingdom.”

  I took a deep breath. “My petition and my request is ...” And I knew in an instant. The time was not right; Haman had made himself the focus of this meal, ruining the planned moment in the process. So I continued-“... if I have found favor with the King, and if it pleases you to grant my petition and grant what you request, would you and Haman come to a second banquet that I will prepare for you? Tomorrow I will do as you ask and tell you what I seek.”

  He nodded slowly, boring into me with his eyes. I realized then that if my sudden reticence had produced an unintended benefit, it surely was to pique the King's interest. My delays had intrigued him even more than he was already. As so often happens between men and women, he sensed that something major was in the works yet lacked the acumen to discern just what it was. And I, remembering the immense nature of my request, had grasped intuitively that he was not yet ready to hear it, that this night was not the one on which my purpose should be revealed.

  It was still early evening when the King and Haman left my banquet to return to their various duties. Haman had spurned the relatively spartan yet prestigiously situated quarters that Memucan had occupied, instead taking over a recently built villa not far from the King's Gate. On his way out of the Palace grounds, he spied a lone figure in the shadows.

  It was Mordecai, still clad in sackcloth and ashes, sitting numbly in the portico after many days and nights of fasting and prayer. (In fact, had I known how badly he had neglected his health and pushed himself to extremes during these times, I would have forcibly summoned him to the Palace and personally fed him meats and wine.)

  I am not even sure Mordecai saw Haman pass, so deep was his combination of fatigue, despondency and fervent prayer. Of course, even had he been in the heartiest of health and good spirits, Mordecai still would not have risen to bow for Haman.

  So when the man passed, still basking in the glow of his ascendancy, of his favor with the King and Queen, of his overall high station in life, Haman's entire mood crashed to earth when he saw the lone Jew oblivious to his glory. He glanced aside from his litter, gritted his teeth and swore loudly. Mordecai did not even stir at the sound. Not only did he fail to honor Haman, but he did not even seem to notice his presence.

  The Amalekite spat angrily and waved his carriers onward. To exact his revenge within sight of the Gate guards without the King's authorization would have invited disaster. This could waitalthough not for long. He would indulge his rage and his upcoming revenge once he arrived home. And he did just that a few minutes later, storming into his living quarters and loudly ordering everyone into his presence: his wife, his ten sons and a few trusted lieutenants who had stayed around to celebrate his ascendancy and hear the reports of this most unusual meal with the royals.

  “What a night!” he exclaimed, waving his arms wildly as he spoke. “This was probably the pinnacle of my existence-the summit of any man's aspirations! Picture this: me, Xerxes and the Queen dining alone on this Palace veranda with the whole citadel and capital city spread out below us. Discussing affairs of state-me regaling the King with all this nonsense from the top of my head about how he can replenish his treasury and vanquish the Greeks and generally become the most exalted ruler in human history. Blah-blah-blah. And the Queen just sitting there, soaking up my every word. I tell you, the woman dotes on the very ground I walk on. Oh! And she invited me back for another banquet tomorrow night! Certainly you can detect a pattern here, my entrance to an even greater position with the King and Queen, also! Can you believe my good fortune?”

  He paused, and his head seemed to sway, whether from drunkenness or an inability to further describe the grandeur of it all. “And it occurred to me”-and at that he turned to the warriors beside him“that maybe this is the best position I could possibly have. Even better than the throne itself. I mean, think about it. First, there are risks in making another overthrow attempt. Second, there's the fact that I am not descended from their precious Persian nobility, so even if I seize power, I might never be accepted. Third, this King is foolish, weakened, financially dependent on me and enamored of every golden word that drips from my mouth. I mean, when I proposed exterminating the Jews, he acquiesced so quickly I was astounded. I made the most rudimentary defense for my position, and he accepted it immediately. He gave me his signet ring-the second most powerful symbol of authority in the Empire after the scepter itself. On my word he sentenced tens of thousands of people to death. Fourth, I already occupy the second highest position in the land, higher than the generals, higher than the seven Princes of the Face, higher than any Palace official-I even control the King's schedule. Many believe my post is as powerful in reality as that of the King! Wouldn't you agree that this is the best position I could occupy? It's ideal!”

  His oldest friend and captain raised a toast to Haman the Magnificent. Haman drank deeply, then looked into his glass with a reflective, even sentimental look. “I am truly humbled to see how far this life has taken me. To work a heartbeat away from the throne of the world's strongest kingdom, to be rich beyond measure, to have ten strapping sons already beginning to lead my troops in my absence, carrying on my tradition-I am truly blessed by the gods.”

  “Wife,” he said abruptly, turning to Zeresh, “did you hear they have even invited me back for another feast tomorrow night? It seems I am to become a regular dinner guest with the royal couple!”

  But then, in a transformation so lightning quick his listeners jerked back in shock, he scowled and began to snarl.

  “Oh, but then the indignity that stole all the joy of it! It makes it seem like nothing! That worthless piece of-”

  “What is it, Haman?” interrupted Zeresh. “Tell us!”

  “Mordecai! That moldy little worm! He was at the Gate as I passed. Did not even stir, let alone rise to pay me the homage I am due-and that Xerxes ordered for me. Ah! Isn't it amazing how quickly one insult can ruin even the highest satisfaction? All the heights of the evening, the contentments of a lifetime, then seeing that creature sit there in his stench steals away all my happiness! All my triumph!”

  Zeresh laid a hand upon his arm. “Well, then, do not let him rob your joy. Take the initiative. Maybe now is the time to put all that immense influence to good use.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  She chuckled, then went silent for a moment. “Have a gallows pole built fifty cubits high tonight, here in the yard, and in the morning ask the King's permission to execute Mordecai upon it. Then go to your private royal banquet tomorrow night in peace and vindication.”

  A broad smile crossed Haman's face. He leaned forward and gave his wife an unusual embrace. “She really has good ideas, don't you think?” he said to his lieutenants.

  Goblets of wine raised up across the room. Haman nearly wept with joy. Mordecai, the bane of his existence, now had mere hours to live.

  Within minutes Haman was shouting at workmen to hasten the process of preparing the longest private gallows pole ever seen in Susa. His plan was already in place-he would only bring it out in public view minutes before the execution, stunning both the condemned man and the whole city in the process. No one would ever disrespect him again. He tried to imagine the sight of Mordecai impaled atop the shaft, but the thought was too blissful for him to even contemplate.

  But this eventful night was not yet spent of its surprises. Deep in the innermost chambers of the Palace complex, King Xerxes was suf fering through a sleepless night. He knew from my demeanor that something significant was brewing. What was it? No matter how relentlessly he tried to clear his mind, it would not stop tumbling forth with a cavalcade of anxious and even irrational thoughts. He was simply not at peace; his
mind could not digest the myriad events and threats to his power churning like bile through the pit of his stomach. He briefly thought of calling for me, but he quickly put the idea aside. He was not at his best body and soul-and far too restless.

  Now, you could say that intestinal indigestion kept the King awake. In fact, he had indulged heartily at my banquet. He had not been eating much of late, or so I had heard, but that night he had stuffed himself on the feast I had prepared. I suppose it was impossible for him to resist my urgings to eat.

  Or perhaps the cause was his bewilderment over my strange behavior and my even more mysterious request. Or even the many cares that afflicted him in those days-finances, Palace intrigues, his stubborn obsession with exterminating the Greeks.

  But I say it was the Spirit of the Most High sent down to trouble his slumber and cast his attention in a direction of G-d's own choosing. The only insomnia cure Xerxes could think of at that moment was to have someone read to him from the most lifeless and stultifying document in the Palace's world-renowned library the Chronicles of the King, the court records, if you please.