Who could understand the mind of a king?
Before he could turn away, Xerxes held out a staying hand. “Would you walk with me?”
Mordecai fought to keep his surprise from showing. “I . . . of course, my lord. I would be honored.”
The king looked pleased as he nodded and stood. With a single motion he swept his royal robes behind him and descended the step. Mordecai could not recall ever seeing him on even ground, but Xerxes did not need the step to tower above the court. They were of a height—something Mordecai encountered rarely.
“I will not keep you long,” the king said as he led the way through the hall, “but I could not pass up the opportunity to ask a few questions of a man obviously learned. You must be of strong faith, to be so esteemed by your people. Am I right?”
Mordecai nodded. “My faith in Jehovah has sustained me through many a trial, my king.”
“And you are a descendant of Shadrach, who was friend to the great Belteshazzar. One of the three who emerged unsinged from the furnace.”
“That is right.” Mordecai glanced over his shoulder when he felt people crowding in. The king’s guard—he ought to have realized.
“I confess I am bemused by your God. In some ways, he seems much like mine. Both your Jehovah and my Ahura Mazda are uncreated. Both are said to be the father of all things good. Correct?”
Mordecai smiled. “Largely. Jehovah is the father of all creation.”
Xerxes, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, sent him an incredulous look. “And this is where Judaism ceases to make sense to me. How can you worship a deity from whom both good and evil flow?”
“I do not.” How to explain? Mordecai inclined his heart to God and prayed for the right answers to come to his lips. “Jehovah is all things good, yes—all wisdom, all justice, all mercy. Which means he knows that worship offered only out of duty is meaningless, so he gave his creation choice. And surely the king knows that creation often chooses unwisely.”
Xerxes chuckled and motioned toward the exit. They stepped into the blinding sunshine. Summer would be upon them soon, and while the grounds within the palace complex remained green with life from the irrigation canals, the rest of Susa glistened golden brown in the unrelenting rays.
“Humanity is unwise, indeed.” The king descended the steps and headed toward a lush strip of garden. “But we do not claim Ahura Mazda is all-powerful. Our god could not take choice away, and men are often swayed by Angra Mainyu. Does your religion have an evil one?”
“Certainly. We call him Satan. But unlike your Angra Mainyu, Satan is a created being, one who chose to oppose Jehovah. He was once an angel—like your lesser immortals—but rebelled against God.” He hesitated, but decided he might as well voice his question. “I have often wondered about the opposition of good and evil in Mazdayasna. According to your religion, Angra Mainyu is also uncreated. How, then, is he not the equal to your Ahura Mazda? How can you know good will triumph?”
Xerxes lifted his brows and gave him a lopsided smile. “Is that not why we call religion ‘faith’? We trust—and we labor.” The king sighed and cast his gaze out over the garden. “I have respect for your people, and for your Jehovah. Yet according to Jartosht, there is only one god—Ahura Mazda. All other deities are demons, servants of the evil one.”
“And according to our prophets, there is only one God—Jehovah. The deities other nations serve are idols, lifeless and without power. Even your ancestors acknowledged that my God is a living God.”
“I have read their words.” Xerxes’ brow knit. “I know the stories of the three thrown into the fire, of the great Belteshazzar and the den of lions. I know that while some kings of Babylon and Persia had no use for your God, others acknowledged the power demonstrated on behalf of the Jews.”
The king paused in the shade of a wide-stretching hornbeam tree. “The law of Persia and Media cannot be altered, because tradition holds that the king is a god. The words of our most esteemed prophet say that none but Ahura Mazda should be worshiped. In order to keep peace and prosperity in our empire, we allow all to believe as they please. It is a difficult balance.”
Mordecai focused his gaze on a delicate flower, pink and vibrant where there should have been only desert. “It is. In the history of my people, it is when they concern themselves with other gods and forget Jehovah that ill befalls the nation. We seem to remember him better when in exile.”
A hint of a smile captured the king’s mouth. “I have a Jewess in my house—she has been entertaining my children with many of the stories of your people, and they are always so delighted that they tell me about them whenever I visit.” The smile faded, and Xerxes faced him again. “Many of you claim your Jehovah is a personal God, that he cares for his children and orders the universe. I cannot discount the evidence of him. Yet with my own eyes I have seen Ahura Mazda.”
Mordecai straightened. His curiosity was piqued . . . and his soul seemed to stretch forward, waiting to see if it would recognize truth or lie. “Have you?”
“Two years ago.” Xerxes motioned him on again, following a winding path through the garden. “I was new to the throne, and my friend and cousin Mardonius was adamant that I punish Greece for rising against my father. The only voice of disagreement was my father’s brother, Artabanus. When he first spoke against me, I was furious.”
The king smiled again, ruefully, and shook his head. “But when I retired that night, I realized his was the more measured argument, the sounder wisdom. I decided that the next morning, I would announce my change in plans. That night I dreamed.” He halted, gazed across the fountain spurting clear water. “A tall man, fine of face, came to me and taunted me for turning away from greatness. Though something in me quivered at the dream, I determined not to be affected by such things. I followed through on my decision and announced the change of plans. The people rejoiced.”
At that, Xerxes rolled his eyes. “Then the next night, he came again. I awoke so frightened that I ran to my uncle and demanded he dress in my robes and sleep in my bed so that he would have the same dream.”
Mordecai could not resist a smile. “Did that work?”
“Oddly.” Xerxes chuckled. “It was a plan that would not have made sense in the morning, but he humored me. When he slept, the same figure appeared to him, asking why he dared try to dissuade me from the course set out by the god. He lunged at Artabanus with red-hot pokers aimed at his eyes. My uncle awoke screaming—and of a changed heart. The god’s will was clear. I announced yet another change of plans, and the people rejoiced.”
Mordecai shook his head. “Fickle people—yet devoted to their king, and rightly so.”
“And to their god.” Xerxes sighed to a halt and faced him. “Hence my dilemma. I have seen proof of my god—and evidence of yours too. But only one can be the true god. I was hoping your insight would show me they are one and the same, but I am not certain. Could it be so?”
His spirit seemed to close up around him, giving him the strangest sensation of a wall thrown up. “I cannot think so, my king. I am no priest, nor a prophet like Daniel, whom you call Belteshezzar. I have not the wisdom of my ancestors. But this dream of yours . . . I cannot say if it is from your god, but it would not be from mine. This much I know. Though Jehovah may promise greatness, he does not encourage pride. And he would never lunge at a man with pokers.”
Xerxes arched his brows. “But did he not wrestle with your forefather Jacob? Is that not how he earned the name Israel?”
“You are a well-learned man.” Mordecai could not help but respect a ruler who knew so much about the least of his subjects. “I have seen many a father wrestle with his children. Never have I seen one try to put out their eyes.”
“Well, Artabanus can be very trying.” Grinning, Xerxes turned back toward the palace. “I thank you for speaking with me. I wish there were a happier way to resolve our beliefs, but alas. We shall have to be content with mutual respect and disagreement.”
S
omething stirred within him, tickled its way up until words came from his mouth that Mordecai did not recognize as his own. “You will see the power of Jehovah yourself, my king.”
Xerxes inclined his head, eyes dancing. “Let us hope you have a touch of the prophet after all, my friend. I should very much like to see more of your God. From what I have read, he puts on quite a show.”
Mordecai said nothing more, but he had to wonder if this king would take such proof to heart any more than his ancestors had. They were all happy enough to acknowledge his God’s power . . . but never did they call him theirs.
~*~
“My lord.”
Xerxes paused and turned to Hegai. The custodian hurried toward him from the women’s palace, concern etched on his face. All thoughts of slipping away for a quiet dinner in solitude fled. “What is it?”
“The women.” Hegai panted to a halt and sketched a bow. “They are arguing. I would not usually bother the king with such things, but it is over the crown.”
Xerxes sighed even as he headed for his wives. He should have realized this would come up. He ought to have spoken to them days ago, but he had more pressing concerns. Naming Darius as his heir yesterday. Making sure Amestris made no foolish attempts before her entourage departed Susa this morning.
Now, though, he must deal with the ambitions of the harem.
Raised female voices reached him long before Hegai showed him to the courtyard in the house of wives. He halted in the shadows rather than make his presence known.
One of his older wives hushed a younger with a matronly scowl. “You are all fools if you think this is anything but a warning to the rest of us. The next to wear the crown will be his choice, not a result of your plotting.”
The younger sneered. Had he once thought her beautiful? She looked hateful and petty now. “You are so complacent only because you think you will be queen, Suri, now that you are the senior wife. But he already had one queen he cared nothing for, why would he appoint you now that she is gone?”
Xerxes winced. The ways of women still astounded him sometimes. They fought their battles in secret, using weapons that one could not defend against.
Give him spears on an open battlefield any day.
Suri shook her head as if dealing with an out-of-sorts daughter. “Well, if he chooses for love, you ought to give up all hope of the title. It would go to Kasia.”
Xerxes swept his gaze over the crowd of women, wondering what Kasia would say to that. He found her nowhere in their numbers.
An explosion broke out, snippets of angry words bombarding him.
“He would not!”
“She is only a concubine!”
“That wretch?”
“Never!”
Movement from the opposite hallway caught his eye, and Kasia stepped into the courtyard. He folded his arms to await whatever she had to say. This may be the moment when hidden ambitions came to light.
But her face spoke of pain, and she shook her head as if in sorrow. “Why do you grow so angry over what we all know will never be?”
“Because in this moment, you are the favorite.” He could not see which woman answered her. “And in this moment, Persia has no queen. Why would the king not name the one he loves?”
“The king does not love me,” Kasia said softly. He straightened—did she doubt him? Then her lips pulled up. “Xerxes does.”
Ah. He smiled.
Suri shook her head. “You say that as if there is a difference, child. Let me assure you there is none. Even when his older brother was the presumed heir, Xerxes did nothing not geared toward ruling someday. Take that away, and you would not be left with a man. You would be left with a corpse.”
He never would have argued with the words, would have denied that they were an accusation rather than a compliment. Until Kasia.
Did the others recognize the secret truth in her smile? “I am sorry you think so. My point, though, is that if he favors me, it is not as a queen. I am only a concubine, raised in a poor family with more children than luxuries. I am ill-suited to the demands of the crown. More, I am a Jew. I confess it proudly, but we all know one of my people will never be given such power.”
Murmurs of agreement sounded, though most made it sound as though they insulted her rather than granting the point she herself made.
She looked at several of the women in turn. “You seem to find new reasons to dislike me at every turn, but let this not be one of them. I will never rule over any of you.”
That was as good a cue for him to enter as any. He stepped out into the sunlight. “None of you will ever rule over the others.”
All the women turned his way, varying degrees of surprise and guilt on their faces. He glared back. “You think I know nothing of women’s ambitions? The older among you, with sons nearly men, would plot the assassination of my chosen heir so that your child might take his place. The younger among you would lord your new power over the older and make life miserable in my palace.”
He slashed a hand through the air. “No. I have my heir—and no need of a queen. I have an army to gather, a war to win. Perhaps when I return, I will have the time to worry with this. If so, rest assured I will not pick from your numbers. I will bring in new wives, ones whose sons will not age until Darius has already learned the ways of ruling and is ready to take my place. And if I name a new queen, it will be one who treats you better than you treat each other.” His gaze flicked to Kasia, then back to the women at large. “The next to mutter about this will find herself divorced and sent home in shame to her parents. Do I make myself clear?”
They were quick to duck their heads, seek the ground with their gazes. All modesty, all demureness, all obedience.
He trusted the lot of them about as much as a den of vipers.
Stepping out of the courtyard again, he nodded to Hegai. “Thank you for telling me what was underway. Were all but Kasia present when I got here?”
“Jasmine left when the grumbling began. I suspect she is the one who informed Kasia.”
“Hmm.” He folded his arms, tapped a finger against his elbow. He would speak to her, but not when any would think it of import.
The perfect excuse dashed through the courtyard as if summoned by his thoughts. “Father!”
He scooped up Chinara with a grin and gave her a hug. “I wondered where you were—I have been here two whole minutes with empty arms.”
The girl giggled and snuggled close. “Mother would not let me out of the room until the shouting stopped.”
And her mother now wove through the dispersing crowd, a flush on her round cheeks. “My apologies, my lord. She heard your voice . . .”
“And I am thankful she did.” He kissed his daughter’s head and, when she wiggled for freedom, put her down. His voice he pitched low. “I will be leaving soon, Jasmine. I will need eyes and ears in the harem while I am gone. Can I trust you with that?”
Within those strange silver eyes he read everything he had hoped for—recognition, respect, obedience. She nodded. “I would be honored to serve you, my husband.”
“Good.” He smiled and nodded over her shoulder. “She is on the run again.”
Jasmine scurried away, leaving him alone with his custodian. Solitude had lost its appeal, though. “Have Kasia come to my palace now, Hegai. I would share a meal with her.”
Thirteen
Kasia ran her hand over the dog’s head and scratched behind its ear. The beast leaned into her and smiled. Whoever would have thought a dog could smile? “You are a good pup, Zad. Soon enough you shall have your strength back completely.”
Zad rewarded her encouragement with a lick and sprawled in the grass. Kasia grinned and patted his side. “My family never had a pet,” she said to Desma.
A masculine voice replied, “It is not a pet—it is a guard dog. You will spoil him, lady.”
Her shoulders stiffened as she looked up into the face of her husband’s brother. She had seen him several times this week, but n
ever without Xerxes present. Something about him always made her uneasy—perhaps embarrassment at having thought it Masistes she met at the river.
Or perhaps it was that predatory glint in his eyes.
Kasia forced a smile. “He deserves the spoiling after eating hemlock on my behalf.”
Theron shifted into alert. Masistes sent a demeaning glare her eunuch’s way that seemed to say, Remember your place, slave. “Are you looking forward to the journey this week, lady?”
Masistes had sought her out in the private garden of the women’s palace to talk about travel? “It will be interesting to see more of my husband’s empire, but I confess I shall miss Susa this summer.”
And her family. Abba and Ima, her brothers and sisters. Esther and Mordecai. But that was a pain she kept cradled close to her chest, especially as concerned Esther. She had not mentioned her even to Xerxes, though she spoke of her family. Jehovah was the only one here who would understand how deeply she missed her young friend.
Masistes may have intended the curve of his lips to be a smile. It looked more like a sneer. “Nonsense—no one could miss Susa in the summer. It is unlivable.”
“And yet I lived here quite happily through sixteen summers.”
Masistes lowered himself to the ground beside her with a chuckle devoid of amusement. “Sixteen summers. Forgive me for saying so, but you are older than I would have thought. How is it that my brother found you before you wed another? Such beauty rarely makes it to sixteen without a husband.”
She swallowed against the trepidation rising in her throat. “God obviously saved me for the king. He must have known I could love no other like Xerxes.”
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