by Tommy Tenney
A thin trail of pale smoke wandered high into the blue sky from the royal palace’s highest point—the gleaming golden dome that housed the King’s own living quarters. I strained my memory to recall any reason why a celebratory bonfire or ceremonial pyre would have caused smoke to rise from that spot. I could think of none.
I stood straight and took a few absurd, awkward steps—as though being a few cubits closer would have made such a distant sight any clearer. My gaze stayed so riveted and my posture so frozen that before long the young concubines around me began to stare as well. I think you must have joined them around that time. Within a minute, the air was filled with gasps and exclamations. By then the thin trail had become a thick, dark column. A bright red flame shot into the air, wrenching a single cry from our assembled group. Clumps of soldiers and royal aides were now running toward the first of the enormous courtyard gates. From where I stood I could see the fear in their eyes.
I stumbled into an abortive run but immediately felt Jesse’s hands and torso block my way.
“Hadassah, you must stay here,” he commanded. “You would not get within a stadium of the palace, and even then you would succeed only in imperiling your own person.”
“But Mordecai is in there!” I cried. “I have to make certain he is safe!”
“I’ll have someone go to the palace and learn of him. But you must stay here or we will have two of you in mortal danger. Please. Stay and pray.”
He forcibly turned me around and faced me back toward the harem spectators. Reluctantly I walked back and took my place among them.
Strange—it felt as though my very life was going up in smoke. The familiar shape of those ramparts, those giant statues, those dizzying towers and mountainous columns, seemed to embody my whole adult existence. I found it even more ironic that while I had recently felt I was dying inside, now even the outward manifestations of my life were being wrenched away from me. Not to mention that they likely housed the person who meant so much to me, my Poppa, Mordecai . . .
I hardly moved twenty cubits the entire night, for the very worst outcome imaginable came to pass. The entire royal palace burned. I alternately sat and stood with the group, and Jesse came by for a few moments at a time while he wasn’t ferrying refugees from the palace into spare harem quarters.
In spite of its inherent tragedy, and my growing panic over Mordecai’s fate, the fire proved the most spectacular display I have ever witnessed. Flames the size of houses tossed huge glowing tongues of yellow and red, cascading sparks into the darkness. In the later hours, collapsing palace walls added their own eruptions of coals and cinders while against their radiant afterglow, tiny silhouettes could be seen scurrying about, apparently dragging out bodies and piles of precious objects. At times it seemed a war was being waged, for column after column of wide-eyed soldiers seemed to pour across the terrace from Susa and parts beyond, to disappear into the inner courtyards. I could not tell if they were there to wage some form of battle, restore civil order, or simply to assist the helpers. . . .
Chapter Forty-three
In the long hours following the fire, rumor after rumor swept through our ranks of spectators. Had the King been overthrown? Had some form of judgment of the gods befallen the empire? One odd whisper had it that Artaxerxes had gathered all those he suspected of conspiring against him—the Princes of the Face, the highest palace echelons—into one great banquet hall, locked the doors, and set the place aflame. As you might imagine, that particular report multiplied my panic about my beloved Mordecai.
If that terrifying night held any solace for me, it was that it afforded my first opportunity to meet you. Without fanfare I slipped beside you in the line of spectators, smiled, and we exchanged some of the oft-repeated phrases about the appalling crisis. Before too long I had introduced myself, and in the process confirmed our suspicion about the Esther Edict. When I told you my name was Hadassah, I remember your eyes widening and your saying in an awestruck voice, “You mean Queen Esther?”
Your gaze quickly fell, and I am sure you realized you had just betrayed yourself in recognizing my Hebrew name.
“So it’s true—you’ve been placed under an edict. An edict named after me?” I encouraged you.
I’ll never forget how you looked deeply into my eyes, even as you nodded, then burst into tears.
“Please do not think me a coward, Your Highness . . .”
“Call me Hadassah, please, my dear. Just Hadassah. No one but fellow Jews know of my maiden name. And few outside the court know I retook it when His Majesty was killed.”
“Oh, Hadassah, you don’t know what a relief it is to speak freely with someone about who I really am! I have felt like such a prisoner. As if my life was over. The day those soldiers brought me through the Royal Gate, I felt something wither inside me. And I told G-d, Just take my soul, for I am dead from this day onward. My life is over, even if my body continues to mimic the pretenses of life.”
“You know, Leah,” I answered, “I have endured many days of emotions just like those. Some of them, as a Jewess, you already know about—the near extinction of our people at the hands of Haman, an enemy of our people who somehow acquired authority with my husband.”
“Of course, your High—I mean, Hadassah . . .” she responded.
“But I’ve suffered through other occasions to feel that my life was over,” I continued. “I know the emotion even now. The overwhelming certainty that everything is over for me. That the end has come. That things could not grow worse, and they will not recover. But do you know something? It was never true and isn’t even now. As much as my inner tendencies prod me to believe otherwise, no state of affairs ever turns out to be as permanent as it feels at the time. Every time I thought my life had ended, G-d intervened—and it turned out to be just a beginning.”
“Surely none of them rivaled the Haman crisis, which became a turning point in history,” you noted quietly.
“Oh yes, they did,” I answered. “For instance, did you know that my parents were murdered when I was just a child? It is the reason I was raised by my cousin Mordecai. And I thought my life had ended even then. Though I was too young to articulate it at the time, being adopted by an older cousin I hardly knew seemed to be just an aftermath—the beginning of my life’s slow decline. It hardly seemed like the start of anything meaningful. Yet it was.”
I remember that this recollection triggered another sad response in you. You lowered your face into your arms and sobbed, whispering of your parents, “Perhaps my father is the reason I consider myself dead,” you confessed to me. “He tore his clothing and went into mourning when I was taken. And maybe he’s right. Maybe I ceased being a human being when I entered the harem to become a royal plaything.” You lowered your head, and I could barely hear your last words.
“You know, when I also was taken by force and removed to the palace harem,” I said, lifting your face to mine, “I knew beyond a doubt that my life was over. After all, I had been stolen away from everything I knew, just at the dawn of my womanhood, to a life of depravity and luxurious imprisonment. I would never leave those walls. I would never know real love or fulfillment. I would be forever a disgrace to my people. And, how wrong I was!”
“Yes. It was the beginning of your journey to queenhood,” you replied, looking a bit dreamy, I thought.
“But even when I became Queen, I assumed that was the culmination, although hardly an unfortunate one. It still seemed like nothing more could happen to possibly top that wondrous event. After all, I was Queen of the largest, most powerful empire in the world! Even better, the King was truly, genuinely in love with me. What more could a woman ask for?”
“Saving her people from extermination,” you replied softly, thoughtfully. And that was when I knew you were indeed a remarkable, insightful young woman. And I knew—if I had any uncertainties before—the long missive I had been working on would indeed come into your possession when I had completed it.
“And you know
what?” I asked you. “Here I am watching this ornate, overdone palace burn to pieces, once again feeling sorry for myself. Defying G-d to add another episode to my life! When will I learn? My only true concern right now, Leah, is about Mordecai. . . . ”
At some time in the early morning, when you had fallen asleep and some fellow bystanders and I had fallen into a sort of numb stupor, I saw the figure of a good friend approaching, one of the many worthy, G-d-fearing young Jewish men Mordecai had sponsored into positions of influence throughout the palace. Nehemiah had already risen to royal cupbearer—a position far more exalted and close to the King than its mere title might suggest.
“Mordecai is safe,” he said breathlessly. “Although he is very frightened and his body was badly taxed in his escape. He asked me to come give you news of his condition.”
I embraced him out of sheer gratitude, found a place to recline outdoors, and promptly fell into a deep slumber. I felt safe surrounded by palace guards who, despite my demotion, watched over their former Queen with some respect and loyalty.
Soon afterward I awoke in a pile of cushions, with the glare of morning light beating down. I opened my eyes, coughed at the smoke in the air, stood, and then nearly fell again.
Our old horizon had been transformed. The stone outline that had for years framed my every morning sun was gone, leaving a void of almost palpable emptiness. In place of the palace’s formidable profile lay a jagged, ungainly pile of rubble and a lingering mist of light brown smoke. The once-grand terraces that had framed it now lay cluttered with charred piles and rubbish.
Mordecai stumbled up to me an hour later, through a scattering of onlookers and rescued furnishings. He looked ragged, aged, and devastated. We fell into each other’s arms.
“Oh, my sweetheart,” he said, “it is so dreadful. Not only is it destroyed, but there are . . . dozens, hundreds dead.”
“Artaxerxes?”
“He is well. Amestris and the royal family all survived. Most of the highest ranking got out alive.”
“Where will they all go?”
“There are other palaces, you know. Susa will be rebuilt, but for now there is always Persepolis, Ecbatana, Pâthragâda. The empire will continue, even in a rather precarious state.”
“But there are so many rumors, Poppa,” I said, falling into my familiar habit of speaking to him like a young girl.
“Yes, and the worst one is that a Jew started the fire. That one of us began some sort of religious ceremony with festival candles in the living quarters, and one of them caught a drape aflame.”
“But there are no Jews living in the royal living quarters. At least not since I left . . .”
Mordecai fixed me with the doleful stare that always warns me I’m being a bit dense, ignoring an important conclusion.
“Are you,” I started, unwilling to even phrase the words, “are you saying that the rumor blames me?”
“Most Persians aren’t aware that you’ve moved from the palace.”
“Oh, my goodness!” It was inane, but it was the only statement I could think to voice my consternation. I took two steps backward and covered my mouth.
“It seems our own success has now grown to endanger us,” Mordecai continued. “Many noble Persian households now resent the influence we’ve acquired. They consider Jews suspicious foreigners who’ve somehow developed a mysterious hold over their royal family.”
“What am I going to do? What are we going to do?”
His eyes closed and he shook his head solemnly.
“I think you need to leave, Hadassah,” he said, his voice low. “Not forever, but for several months—a year perhaps. Just to get you out of the palace.”
“Are you joking with me? I’m not going anywhere!”
“I fear you must.”
“You? How about we? Why wouldn’t you come with me, if the danger is so dire?”
“For several reasons. One of them is another piece of news I haven’t had time to tell you. You see, earlier yesterday, I received a visit from Ezra.”
“A visit from the priest? What difference—?”
“Don’t be impertinent, my dear,” he interrupted. “You know that the priest of Babylon is also the head of the Exile. The Exilarch. Next Shabbat, Ezra will inform the synagogues of Babylon and Susa that he has named a new Exilarch. He has passed the title on to me.”
I forgot all of my palace etiquette and royal decorum as my mouth dropped. “What? Why would he do such a thing?”
“Do you remember when I told you last month that our priest Ezra had made a special petition to the King?”
“Yes. Something about offering to beautify the Temple in Jerusalem.”
“That’s right. Well, two nights ago, the King ruled on Ezra’s offer. He accepted it! Ezra is leaving with fifteen hundred of our best men as soon as he can gather them.”
“I was certain Artaxerxes would laugh Ezra out of the palace!”
“So was I. But I schemed, shall we say, with Nehemiah to smooth the way politically, as best I could. For instance, there is a prophet out there named Malachi, who persists in openly calling for rebellion against the King. Ezra, on the other hand, opposes him. Ezra believes in the Jewish people faithfully serving wherever we find ourselves. So it serves the King’s interest to give Ezra the upper hand.”
I threw my arms around him. “Oh, Mordecai. You have received such an honor! You’ll bring such prestige and power to the office. It is a great day for our people.”
“Well, not in the eyes of the rabbis. They will say I cannot lead our people because I am not of the line of David.”
“But you are the Prime Minister of the Empire!”
“Not for long, if the sentiment against our people does not subside.” Mordecai grabbed my hands in a show of sincerity. “Now, my dear, you know why I cannot leave with you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Poppa. I didn’t escape when Haman tried to kill us all, and I won’t now. It would be running away exactly when my people need me most!”
He smiled.
“Not if the place you run away to is Jerusalem.”
Chapter Forty-four
So twenty years after I first talked of a runaway pilgrimage with my beloved Jesse, my dream of returning to the land of my people was actually coming true! The thought of seeing Jerusalem blended a chill of reality with quivers of warm delight.
And yet I found the prospect bittersweet. I would be leaving behind so many people I greatly loved! Including, of course, my new friend—you, Leah. I was so glad I was able to leave the document with you—it would be some link, however tenuous, between us during the long time apart.
As you know, we said our tearful good-byes right outside the palace gates. I remember your arms around my neck, and wondering if either of us would ever let go. Then, weeping like a child, I glanced back from my horse to see you waving there, alongside Jesse in the shadow of the very gryphon statue where he and I had shared that first kiss!
It felt as though I was leaving my entire life behind. If Mordecai had not been beside me for that first leg of the trip, I am not sure I would have been able to follow through.
Mordecai escorted me as far as Babylon, outside which the travelers actually planned to assemble. So for the first time since he had rushed me out of the city of my birth as a traumatized youngster, painful wounds from my family’s terrible attack and murder still under poultices, we now returned to our home city.
I harbored a few details that my battered memory had not banished from my mind, but when we passed under the Ishtar Gate, I looked up and felt a shudder of vague recognition wrack my body. I reached over in the seat of the carriage, which Mordecai had arranged for the trip, and grasped him tightly, overcome by a sudden paralyzing terror. I begged him not to take me into the area where our house had stood, and of course he emphatically agreed. Even as we left the gate behind and proceeded through the city’s main thoroughfare, my mind’s eye continued to hurl flashes of horror back into my conscio
usness. I clung to Poppa until we were safely past Babylon’s far wall.
And yet now, with the fear behind me, I find a curious solace in the experience. In a way, despite the unpleasant emotions it unearthed, returning to my birthplace was the perfect way to begin this expedition. It was almost as though the impending voyage was a rebirth of sorts, a new beginning and renewal of my life.
G-d’s hand seemed strong on our undertaking from that very first day we crested the banks of the Ahava Canal, on Babylon’s far side, and gazed down on the sprawling crowd of people, vehicles, and animals gathered for the trip. I am not sure what I had expected, but the sight of such a large throng caught my breath. The whole enterprise had seemed like a half-baked affair to me until then.
When we approached the leader’s circle, we found a caravan already in some disarray. As we drove up, Ezra, a lean, red-bearded man likely in his late thirties, came running over alongside our carriage.
“Master Mordecai!” he exclaimed, using the title when Poppa had been a palace scribe years before. Then, catching sight of me, he bowed respectfully. “Your Highness, welcome to our humble caravan.”
We climbed out of the carriage, and Ezra stepped in close to Mordecai.
“We have encountered our first challenge, even within sight of Babylon, I fear,” Ezra admitted. “We were close to embarking when I conducted a count of our people and discovered that there were no Levites at all among us.”
This also surprised Mordecai. “Do you not intend to offer sacrifices in the Temple when you arrive?”
“Exactly, Master. This is why I have sent eleven of our men to Iddo in an attempt to correct this imbalance. Until they return, I must beg your indulgence. We will not be going anywhere until they return.”
Mordecai fixed him with an appraising look. “And I am glad to hear it, my friend. I will remain here with Hadassah until you do.”
Emotionally as taut as a bowstring in face of our departure, I was not as accepting when I heard that we would have to wait, camping here among smelly pack animals and turgid canal waters, with no knowledge of when we would leave.