Esther

by Rebecca Kanner

  “He whispered in the king’s ear, ‘Listen now to their silence. It is louder than a hundred women screaming. When they learn that Vashti will not come before them, all these men will lose respect not only for you but for your war as well—the war that will make you the greatest king the world has ever known.’

  “He paused and looked out at the crowd. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said urgently, ‘I can see that already they are losing respect for you, just as Vashti has. They stare unflinchingly at a man they should not dare to look at directly.’ He put his lips so close to the king’s ear that they were almost touching it. ‘You must punish Vashti in such a way that they tremble before you once again.’

  “The other chamberlains expected that upon these words the king would recoil. But he did not draw his ear away from Haman’s lips.

  “Haman saw that victory was within reach, and that he must seize it before the king emerged from his goblets. The only way to know he had truly gotten rid of Vashti would be to see her swaying upon the gallows. But he could see that first he must appeal to the king’s pride, make it swell larger than his love for his queen.

  “ ‘Word of this will spread to every woman in the empire’ he told the king. ‘Vashti’s disobedience will feed each wife’s own insolence, and every husband’s resentment of you.

  “ ‘But a royal decree will set your kingdom to rights. A decree meant for every person in the land. Though your subjects are mostly lowborn men who spend their days growing and harvesting barley and sesame, who cultivate palm trees, who are shepherds, potters, and craftsmen, we will make each feel like a king. For should not every man be a king to his wife? First we will tell your subjects that what has happened with Vashti has not happened to you alone, but to all men. What man has not had a woman linger too long in carrying out the tasks he has commanded her to perform? Bringing his dinner, beating the dust from his rugs, weaving the tunics and blankets needed for the next season?

  “ ‘Women will dethrone us all with their contemptuous laughter, every one of them, if we let Vashti’s slight pass.

  “ ‘But!’ Haman cried, delighted already by the words he was about to speak, ‘we will place a royal foot upon women’s backs, bending them so that they bow to men once again. The decree will be sent out to each people in their own language. It will begin: All wives shall give to their husbands honor, both to great and small. It will be a letter of husbands’ superiority and rule over their wives. We will tell each scribe that if a single word is altered he will see his reflection for only the briefest moment in the swords of the king’s soldiers.’

  “Haman did not mention that the number of men in the empire who could read was even less than the number who will live to fifty years.”

  I was impatient for Mordecai to come to whatever lesson he wished to impart. But he continued, “The Greeks have more men who can read, and therefore, more men who think deeply. They know what has come before, so that they can build upon it. They will build higher than we will. This is how they continue to advance, and how they will pass us by in learning if not in numbers.”

  “Is this the lesson I must learn? That reading is important?” I was tired of my cousin’s grim pronouncements about the empire.

  “You know it is the Persians’ practice to deliberate upon affairs of weight when they are drunk; and then on the morrow, when they are sober, the decision to which they came the night before is put before them by the master of the house in which it was made; and if it is then approved of, they act on it; if not, they set it aside. Yet, long before the day ended and the king had emerged from his cups, Vashti was gone. The very next day he mourned the loss of his queen. He had no remorse about the decree though. Hadassah”—he took a deep breath—“you are not one of the king’s subjects. Men are the king’s subjects. Women are the subjects of men.”

  It was true I never saw a woman selling wares in the marketplace anymore. Persian women had enjoyed status that Greek women never could have imagined. They could own property and engage in trade as freely as men. But that was before the decree was issued the year before. “Am I your subject?”

  “You are not my subject. The decree has taught me . . .” He cleared his throat. “The decree has taught me how deeply I care for you. I know this because the thought of the empire’s foot upon the backs of women angers me more now that you have come to live with me. My love for you has started to make me wish the world were kinder.”

  I felt my face flush. We had never before spoken of any affection for each other. “Was Vashti exiled or executed?” I asked quickly.

  “If she was ever executed it was done in secret, for she did not end up upon the gallows. I believe Xerxes could not stomach the thought of his queen’s lifeless flesh being eaten by vultures, her eyes picked out and loosed on the world so that he would feel them, always, upon him.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “It is not my place to speak to him of anything but numbers. I listened. When the feast was over he called me to him to find out what taxes had been collected while he was in his goblets. His eyes were unfocused as I spoke until suddenly he said, ‘Haman advises me to send soldiers to bring Vashti back from the place to which I have sent her. He says that it is too dangerous for her to be free. She will spread false tales about the palace, the empire. About me. I told him she is the mother of my heir, Artaxerxes, whom I have hidden away. I cannot kill her.’ ”

  He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, before continuing, “Haman could not have liked to hear this. But he knew that at least he would have his war. The war we have just lost, the one that has cost the empire half its glory.

  “Hadassah, whose fault is this war?”

  “Haman’s.”

  “No, it is Xerxes’. A ruler’s most important task is figuring out who to trust. Xerxes is both aggressive and uncertain. He is strong-bodied but his heart is weak. His reign will not end well. I only pray he does not bring the whole empire down with him.”

  “Now I know this story is not true cousin, for you do not pray.”

  He half-smiled. This was half a smile more than I was accustomed to seeing on his face. “It is true, I do not pray,” he said. “But a few times I have thought of what this king will do to the empire and been tempted. I hope our God is more powerful than the king’s and Haman’s gods, and more wise.”

  I had not prayed much either, not since God let my parents die. “Does Xerxes miss his queen?” I asked.

  He looked at me in surprise. “Ah! I knew I had left something out. I was in the palace when the feast ended, and the king came out of his goblets and remembered that he had sent his queen away. His belly that had been so full of wine now filled with misery. It grew so heavy that it dragged him from his throne. Yet his agony became larger still, pressing against his bowels, his lungs, his heart. He let out a terrible wail that could be heard throughout the palace. It did not sound human. All of his misery birthed from him in that wail.”

  Though Xerxes seemed impetuous and weak, I could not help but feel sad for him.

  “I fear this misery is his true heir,” Mordecai said, “and soon it shall rule the empire.”

  I thought of Mordecai’s tale as I watched the son of the king’s cruelest and most ambitious adviser place a rope around my wrists and tie it with a bowline knot. Parsha smelled like he had not taken a wet cloth to his neck and underarms in many days of journeying beneath the pounding sun. His nails scratched my already raw skin as he hooked his fingers over the rope and pulled me to stand. I was glad for my cousin’s long hours in the palace, hours that did not allow him to be out in the road except very early and very late. I did not want him to see me at the mercy of a soldier. He might blame himself for not sending me farther from the city.

  Parsha got back on his horse, and the rope tugged upon my wrists. I began to march.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  THE VOW

  I did not raise my eyes from the ground. I felt alone except for the
Faravahar against my breast. I hoped that if God were watching, He would not look at the Faravahar, but at all of our suffering, and that He would bring it to an end. An end other than death.

  Just when the humiliation seemed too great to bear, my feet went out from under me and my knees and elbows opened upon the road. Because I had torn off strips of my tunic to bandage Cyra, it was too short to shield my legs.

  “You brought this upon yourself,” Parsha called down to me. “You are lucky this is your only punishment for trying to escape.”

  After I managed to rise to my feet again, I felt a calloused hand gently squeeze my shoulder. I knew by the Nisaean horse that had ridden up beside me that it was Erez’s hand. The kindness of his touch diminished my anger and brought me more pain than my burning knees or the rope around my wrists. I wanted only to be angry. If I allowed myself to feel sadness—for Cyra, my parents, my own future—I might not have the strength to go on.

  I do not yet know how to run on bloodied feet, but I will learn. And then, one day, I will find a way to have Dalphon and Parsha killed. Them and the man who pulled me from my bed and forced me into this nightmare.

  CHAPTER NINE

  * * *

  THE PALACE

  It filled me with shame that men I had bargained with only days before watched as I was marched behind Parsha’s horse. Each day Mordecai had dropped silver coins into my palm and sent me to the market to choose lamb and goat meat, jars of honey and fresh goats’ milk. I had freely haggled with men from all over the empire. Now I was conscious not only of the rope around my wrists but also of my sweat-soaked tunic. It was ragged at the bottom where I had ripped off strips to bandage Cyra’s wounds, and my bloodied knees were as naked as my head. Humiliation kept my gaze lowered upon the hooves of Parsha’s horse.

  On the ground lay evidence of the haste with which the market had closed. I stepped over a broken pitcher but could not avoid some smashed dates that stuck to the bottom of my sandals and to my left foot where the sandal had worn through. I saw swathes of yellow and blue silk that only yesterday would have seemed like treasures too good to leave behind.

  I also saw, out of the corner of my eye, that Erez had stopped to subdue a man who must have been the father of one of the virgins. The man was screaming, “She is only twelve!”

  “Then she is the king’s twelve-year-old.”

  “She is betrothed!”

  “And she will be fatherless if you do not turn around and quietly walk away.”

  I remembered what Erez had said: I regret almost everything I have done since drawing back the bow and killing the panther. Yet all that I did for Persia I would do again.

  One of the merchants gathered along the side of the road waiting for the market to reopen said, “These are the prettiest virgins in the empire?”

  I recognized the voice. It was Arshan the rug seller. He had sold me four crimson rugs and had his sons carry them to Mordecai’s hut for me. The rugs now hung on the walls of what had been my home.

  I did not let my shame keep me from turning to glare at him. It has been a long walk, you soulless boar. Arshan must have felt my eyes upon him, because he looked back at me, and whatever it was he saw silenced him. Did he recognize me? Would he talk about me with the other merchants, with neighbors, with Mordecai, who would now have to come to the market himself each day until he took on a servant?

  Erez rode up beside me again and leaned down with a piece of purple silk. I did not have to ask him what to do with it. I lowered my head and clumsily tied the fabric over my hair with my bound hands, pulling it low on my brow as though it were possible to hide.

  Ahead something was starting to block out the sun. I looked up just enough to see the girls ahead of me leaving the sunlight and moving into a shadow—the shadow of a giant stone arch.

  In my haste to escape the merciless sun, I overtook Parsha. He pressed his foot against my back—not hard enough to push me over but just enough to let me know he could. He dropped the rope. “Watch this one!” I heard him call to another soldier.

  I had seen Xerxes’ palace many times. It was said that at least half the world’s gold was housed inside, and it looked like no small amount was on the outside either. I would never again mistake the oddly colored sphinx, winged griffins, and bulls for decorations; they were a warning: the gold and power of this palace are many thousand times greater than you. Golden lions that had looked regal and graceful when I had gone to market each day now gazed upon me with scorn.

  I gathered up the rope that hung from my wrists and pitched myself into the shadow of the arch as though the darkness had arms to catch me.

  A hundred stairs loomed before me. By the tenth step I understood that the heat had penetrated my bones and the marrow inside them had caught fire and turned to ashes. What blood had not evaporated from my body seemed to have crusted in my veins.

  And yet I continued to climb until finally I stood panting, with the others, in the colossal doorway to the king’s gatehouse.

  I was filled with a terrified awe. The hallway in front of me was wide enough for fifty men to walk through side by side. I knew that I was going to disappear down that hallway. Soon only the king’s servants would see me, unless one day the king himself deigned to look at me. I would spend my days in the maze of rooms at the southern side of the palace, waiting for him to want me.

  My fears came back to me like blades I had somehow managed to swallow but now felt tearing my stomach. The fear I’d had in the marketplace, that someone would see me, was replaced by the fear that no one outside of the palace would ever see me again. I wanted to turn around and scream at the merchants, even the one I had just glared at, “Look at me—at my eyes, my hair!” No husband would ever see them now.

  I thought suddenly of Erez and how his eyes had widened when I’d yanked off my head scarf. He was still in the world, somewhere behind me. Maybe I had seen the last of him. But maybe I had not. Thinking of him gave me the strength to walk through the gatehouse without glancing at any of the rooms along each side of me. I put one foot in front of the other until I emerged into daylight again. I ignored the heat. I had decided I would ignore as many horrible things as possible. I would live if I could, I would fight if I had to, I would do whatever was necessary in order to hold on to my life no matter how much I would not like it.

  We were herded around the northeast corner of the palace, through the doorway of a court larger than some villages. As I gazed around I had a wonderful realization: Parsha and Dalphon could never raise a whip here. There are too many treasures. Xerxes had not foregone the opportunity to display his victory over the Greeks. White stone men with no tunics on—spoils from Athens—stood all around. Beyond them, colorful statues of soldiers with spears were posted at even intervals along the perimeter of the room. I was startled when one of them coughed. Though the soldiers were as still as Greek statues, they were men, men who might cough at the dust we brought from the road or run after me should I try to escape. Despite the size of the room, I knew I was trapped.

  I looked to the heavens, hoping for some sort of sign. Columns higher than twenty men held up a ceiling made of stone. I could not suppress a vision of it crashing down and crushing us the way the winemaker crushed grapes beneath his feet.

  Dalphon’s voice came from somewhere ahead of me, ordering the soldiers to untie the girls from the line. A soldier looked suspiciously at the rope I held in my hand. But he undid the bowline knot around my wrists and took it from me without a word.

  “Come up here where we can see you,” Dalphon ordered us.

  Parsha was suddenly beside me. “Did you not hear my little brother?”

  My feet and legs were too tired from climbing up the stairs for me to shuffle any faster. I expected Parsha to prod me with his hand or foot as he had done before. I braced myself for the kick, but it did not come.

  Instead he said, “Slowing your steps will not stop time.”

  I smiled despite the aching in my body. �
��You cannot touch me here.”

  “I told you I do what I want.” But he did not sound as confident as he had outside the palace.

  I looked him full in the face, unafraid of him for the first time. My mother had once told me: Be careful what you say, Hadassah. Being unkind drains the beauty from a person’s eyes. When I looked at Parsha’s huge honey-colored eyes I could see that she had lied to me. “Farewell, Parsha,” I said.

  “Maybe not. My cousin Halannah is the king’s favorite, and she will skin you like a lamb being readied for a stew. We will see how the king likes you then. Perhaps you will end up in our barracks and we will come to know each other better.”

  He laughed, and then, mercifully, fell back.

  There were many more girls in the hall than there had been on the march. At least two hundred girls were ahead of me. There were girls from Ecbatana, Persepolis, Sardis, Nineveh, and Memphis, and a few other girls who must have naively visited Shushan at precisely the wrong time, or perhaps their families had heard of the royal decree and sent their girls here in the hopes they might be queen. The king would have his pick. It seemed many more girls were crying now than on the march. Perhaps they had not had the energy to cry then.

  Little men walked amongst us. If they pointed at a girl, the soldiers separated her from the group. I looked at these girls, trying to figure out why they were being set apart. When I saw a girl with pale, desert-colored skin tuck her chin to her shoulder to hide a dark mole, I understood that I did not want any of the little men to point at me. The girl raised a hand to hide her face but it was too late. A little man pointed at her and a soldier directed her to another group of girls and a life that I would not have wished upon anyone.