Eleventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3403 after Creation[1]
This is the month of good fortune, and what fortune we have had! My hands find it hard to write steadily when I review the events of today, though the king kissed them repeatedly and told me not to fear. I have just delivered a message to the king, from Mordecai, that two of the palace eunuchs, Bigthana and Teresh, who guard the King’s Gate, have plotted to kill him. Mordecai delivered the message to me by my servant Stateira, who received it from the eunuch she sent to buy red roses for me.
I felt sick when I read Mordecai’s note. Bigthana and Teresh are highly trusted, and highly visible. If they have plotted this evil, what else could be lurking in the palace? I have been here over four years now, and I have seen many petty squabbles, especially among the advisers to the king, but this shocked me deeply. My mind races ahead and I imagine bloodshed and falling to the sword myself if an enemy disposes of Xerxes. Xerxes has been my captor, but he is also now my shield. I wondered why Mordecai had not simply alerted Haman, the king’s most trusted servant, who often attends to matters at the King’s Gate. Mordecai has written to me that everyone bows to this man and pays deepest homage and respect to him. Haman continually finds favor with his counsel to the king. Why did Haman, then, not know of this plot? Haman knows all that occurs within the king’s gates. Either he has misjudged the loyalty of these two men, or is himself misjudged as a worthy adviser. I feel dread when I think of how close evil sleeps to the king, and so to me. How many others would kill him, kill us, and will they be unmasked in time? How odd it is to see my twentieth birthday, and count myself fortunate for it!
But back to the more urgent horror Mordecai had written about. As G-d would have it, after I received the note, Xerxes called me to his chambers at once. The message from Mordecai burned in my hand. How would I explain it? How did a queen come into possession of a note from a male commoner? Everyone knew why I was being called; but no one knew why my feet flew so quickly down the corridor to his bedchamber. I drew a deep breath as the doors were opened for me. Xerxes knew at once I was not right. He removed my veil[2] softly and led me to a chair. I found I could not speak, but instead handed him the note.
His face grew hard as he read the lines, and he turned and summoned his guards, whispering a command. The guards’ grips tightened around their swords, and they left to fulfill the king’s wishes.
Xerxes turned back to me and smiled. As I have often told you, he is not a man of details. He asked no questions about Mordecai or the note. Instead he drew me into his arms and began to wash my distress away with his kisses. He had not called me to his chambers to be distracted with a plot of unhappy palace guards; my lion had only grown hungry for me. I sighed and settled into his embrace. Perhaps it will afford me the chance to bear a child. There are times, I confess, that I find myself welcoming his touch only for the dream of having a child.
Yes, as I write it now, this story of my days, like all the days following my coronation, seems to me now to be a disappointment. For all my excitement and adventures, I am still a royal prisoner. I know I will never be returned to my people, or Mordecai, or to my dreams of Cyrus, and I still cannot reveal my secret. My role as Xerxes’ queen means I am little more than plumage for his kingdom, and I wonder if this is how I will fill all my years. If I am not to be a mother, what will sustain me? How will I spend my time in this palace? Is this all G-d has called me to? Why, oh Lord, have you endowed me with such qualities that will never be used in my situation? Why have you given me a desire for more, when I know it can never be? There was a time when I wanted to be queen, for it seemed a way out. But now I want more. Curse this heart that stays awake when life all around has fallen asleep.
To see the spring lambs and tend my roses, to feel the warm sand under my toes and on my face, to grow sleepy in the noonday heat. These little freedoms of the people, those I miss and imagine they could comfort me in ways that gold and jewels cannot. But I must be grateful. Ashtari says discontent shows in a woman’s features, making her undesirable to a man. So I will be grateful that I still have the king’s heart—although I must share his body—and grateful for my crown. I may long to set eyes on dear Mordecai, but I will be grateful for the continual counsel through his notes sent to me in secret by his friends at the palace gates. I long, too, to walk freely through the streets of Susa, but inside the palace I am freely given all I ask. This is not such an unpleasant ending for an orphan, and I will resolve to honor G-d with my portions. Yes, this is a feast I have been given, and it is wrong of me to dream of the crumbs of freedom I once had. Do not let me betray my king, or my G-d, with thoughts of the happy past. Let those be forever sealed and lost, for they belonged to a daughter named Hadassah, who walked among the Jews of Susa. She is no more.
Yet one small burning ember remains of her, and would that I could quench it! For as long as I know Cyrus is outside my gates, I cannot give all of myself to the king. My heart betrays me in my weak moments, and I see myself in Cyrus’s arms. I hate him for it at times. I must be free to love my king. (I wonder so often what is the nature of love—is it a decision made on earth, of logic and reason, a choice made in the time here between dust and dust? Is it made in heaven, a supernatural force that binds us together in this world, and the next? Is love made in man’s will, or G-d’s heart?)
One of my servants told me this as she brushed my hair: “We each have many lives, lived in succession. We love in another life the one denied to us in this one.” She seemed so sure, although no one she knows has ever returned from the dead to confirm her theory, and it seems to me only an excuse. I know she is in love with a kitchen servant she cannot have (his wife and three children being lively obstacles) and the hallway guard would have her for himself. I suspect he has plied her with this promise she can love another later!
G-d help me, I do not always want to turn my thoughts away from Cyrus, but I know I cannot have what I want. Why should I live a half-life, torn from a memory of a boy who has grown into a man; and who is to say I could have ever loved the man? I belong to the king, the man who made me what I am.
This is why they never spoke of love in the harem. For who can teach the heart? I can pose my arms just so, I can cast down my eyes, and roll my hips; I can seduce, but I cannot control whom I love. The physical arts are just a masquerade, and these jesters pray no one removes their secret, innermost veils, or the deception is lost. Yes, every girl who goes into the king is an amusement, and nothing more, meant for him the way you would amuse a baby by some shining scrap.
The king has given his heart to me, however—and a wretched recipient I am if I will not return it fully. I lie awake night after night, reasoning with my heart, the way a farmer pleads for rain. How is it women learn to master their hearts? Is it effortless for some, and they are allowed to marry and be content? Have there been others, like me, who went to the altar with a cleaved heart? How did they learn to love—or forget—fully? It is not enough to persuade my heart that I have to keep offering my body night after night, no matter who my heart loves. I give myself willingly, but then close my eyes to sleep, and in my dreams all is undone. I am again with Cyrus.
[1] There are gaps in the diary entries that appear to be unaccounted for. Experts speculate that there are two plausible reasons for the missing dates: theft (by ancient or modern tomb raiders), or that Esther was inattentive to her diaries at times. Because Queen Esther’s diaries were offered for sale by a private party, who would not disclose the circumstances in which they had been acquired, forensic scientists have had difficulties exploring these theories. Later in the diaries, where the most obvious gaps appear, we will revisit these explanations.
[2] At this time in the history of Iran, before the birth of the Islamic faith, only married women in the Middle East wore veils, intended as a sign of highest honor. Anyone else caught wearing a veil would be be
aten.
41
Eighth Day of the Month of Nisan
Eleventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3403 after Creation
Ashtari was angry with me when I awoke this morning. She had not slept in my chambers but in her own bed, some distance down the corridor of the palace. She shoved something onto my lap as I struggled to adjust my eyes to the morning light.
“I know of the rose that was left for you. I would have thought nothing of it, save that this was beside your bed when I entered this morning. This is the gift of a suitor.” Her tone was accusing.
I looked closely at what she had shoved toward me. It was a pouch made from the hide of an animal, perhaps one of the minks that the men in the eastern portion of the empire raise. It was heavy, and as I opened the drawstring, a rope of jewels slid out into my hand. It had a thick cluster of sapphires in the center, with sapphires dangling from many loops on either side of the cluster, all the way around the necklace. I was speechless, and for Ashtari, this was just as damning. She glared at me until I found my tongue.
“Ashtari, why do you accuse me of betrayal? I have done nothing wrong, and you know this.”
“Who is leaving you these gifts?” she demanded.
“I do not know, and even if I did, what could I do? I am attended by you and the servants faithfully; I am never out of your sight, save for my evenings in the king’s bed. Yes, that is the only time I am away from here, and would you accuse me of cheating even there?”
Her face softened as she knew I was right. I had done nothing wrong that she could see, and yet she was uneasy.
“It is all too easy for a queen to die, Esther. Perhaps you have done nothing, perhaps you have cast a glance to someone who mistook your meaning. I do not know, but I know others have been killed for less than this. Do I remind you that if you die, I will die as well? You were brought here a prisoner some five years ago; do you forget I have been held here much longer? Yet you do not see me behaving recklessly. I content myself to live in your shadow, even as you live in the king’s. But this lovely necklace may well cost all of us our necks.”
I was at a loss, for I had not invited these gifts, nor did I know whom they came from. I could not be sure they were not from Xerxes, but I could not ask him, either.
“Do nothing, Ashtari. We must wait, wait for someone to tip his hand.” I eyed her coldly for a moment so she would not miss my next point. “Never question my loyalty again, Ashtari. I am loyal to the crown, and to the king, and I am loyal to a G-d you know nothing of. I would sooner die than betray this G-d, or my king.” I softened my words now with a smile and reached for her hand. “Or my closest friend.”
42
Fourth Day of the Month of Iyyar
Eleventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3403 after Creation
The last few days have passed quietly. Ashtari and Hagai stay alert, but my suitor has not revealed himself, if he be not Xerxes, nor has he sent any more gifts to me in the dark of night. It may well have been Xerxes himself, for he is prone to sending gifts unannounced and for no reason. We shall see.
As I wait for the truth to be revealed, Xerxes has given the order for everyone at the King’s Gate to bow down when Haman passes, and Mordecai refuses to do so. Haman has continued to climb through the ranks of Xerxes’ trusted advisers, until there is no one who has the king’s ear more readily, save for myself. I have never met him, although he was present at my coronation, I am sure, and of course at the great exhibition that followed. I would like to meet him, though, if it were ever possible, as Hagai tells me no one is more clever, or protective of the king and his interests, than this Haman. The king honors him. The exterior guards have been beseeching Mordecai, whom they’ve become accustomed to seeing every day at the palace gates, to bow down like the rest of them when Haman arrives and is announced. Yet Mordecai refuses to bow because Haman is an Agagite, and Haman’s pride is wounded.
How my thoughts of Mordecai make me smile as I write this! I know it is not pride that keeps him standing but his love of our Lord. “How can you bow down to a man, when your people have seen the glory of the Lord?” he would often ask me when we saw others practicing their strange customs. “G-d has left us no room for the awe of man.” What I loved best about Mordecai was that he loved so many people so well. In some people, love of G-d leaves little love for others, especially those who stumble and sin often. But Mordecai loved G-d so well that his love was multiplied, and all felt at ease in his presence. I am ashamed to say I pitied myself as a young girl; now I wonder if others envied me, that I was raised in a home of such love.
I never told this to my good cousin, but during the festival days of our people, when we would make our long walk to hear instruction and praises from our holy men, those were the days I treasured most. Yes, I complained of blisters on my feet, and of the sun, and of the way our lunch smelled in its goatskin bag. But at Mordecai’s side, his hand in mine, he taught me of life and G-d and all things worth living for. He loved to quote Solomon, “Even in laughter the heart may ache.” He wanted me to see so much more than what met my eyes. He taught me to look for the sadness in the eyes of the widows at market, the exhaustion behind the smile of a woman when her time to birth is close at hand. No wonder he was the most beloved of our village.
Haman knows Mordecai not. Would that Haman could draw closer and see Mordecai for who he is! For I know Mordecai does not oppose Haman, but merely stands for what he knows to be true. I pray all this will be settled in good time.
43
Tenth Day of the Month of Elul
Eleventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3403 after Creation
The courts are quiet this evening, and likely will be for several more days. The Magi have arrived to give blessings and prophecies from Ahura Mazda. Xerxes and I have talked long of religion and gods; I could not reveal my secret, that I am a Jew, but I did express my disdain and weariness of so many secret idols in the land and the courts. The false teachers create discord among sisters and friends, and have introduced so many girls to opium and dishonor. Mordecai tells me that in some idol temples, a bride must give herself to a complete stranger before she can return to her groom on their wedding night. It sickens me. Why are people so easily led astray? It is not good for them, and not good for the kingdom.
Xerxes’ father, Darius, allowed all to live as they saw fit; Darius even honored our G-d as the one true G-d. But Xerxes, perhaps seeing my point so clearly as he stamped out rebellion from the more volatile sects, has issued a demand that no god is to be publicly worshipped but Ahura Mazda. It is not quite the desired outcome I would have wished for, and now even I secretly live in rebellion to the crown. I continue to pray daily, facing Jerusalem, reciting what Scriptures are in my memory. I have sent gold to Mordecai to buy sacrifices for me at the appointed times, to intercede for me here, and for our people living under Xerxes’ hand.
I am comforted by the story of another Jew who walked these palace halls, also brought here a slave. His name was Daniel, and he was troubled by many restless dreams. How I feel he is my brother now, watching from heaven. He slept, but was disturbed by G-d’s hand. I cannot sleep, for fear of being disturbed by the hand of a mortal.
In his dreams, Daniel saw the future, the future of the crown and the empire, and I wonder if he saw me. He prayed in privacy, as I must, even as he knew his enemies were stalking him, wanting to expose his secret and thus end his life.
I am weary of so much deception. Daniel’s prophecies were great and many, but as for me, my mind strains to find a reason G-d would keep me here.
44
Twenty-first Day of the Month of Elul
Eleventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3403 after Creation
The courts have been qu
iet for days now, and I have grown accustomed to taking walks through the gardens, unescorted. The Gardens of the Queen are magnificent, each woman before me having left something of herself. Flowers and fruits from every region are here, some bearing one woman’s favorite fruit, another a scented blossom that was often tucked behind another’s ear. It is enchanting to walk through the rows, and I have selected a spot for my own name, and will, of course, plant a red rosebush. The gardeners have arranged all the trees and plants in such pleasing fashions; some of the greens, which have no fruit or flower and would be cut down in another garden, are instead coaxed into high shapes, and trimmed to resemble animals. (Never was a camel so pleasant to sit under!) Although it is walled in on all four sides, the open sky above brings fresh air, and rain, and the stars seem like blossoms set on high above the trees.
It is a blessed relief to be gone from prying eyes, eyes that admired my robes, or fancied themselves wearing them if the tides of fortune turn inside the palace for some unseen traitor. In the gardens at night, I am again returned to myself, and I smell the flowers, stroking their cool, soft petals, whispering my secrets to them and listening to theirs. Some of the imported flowers do not flourish here, and I endeavor to understand why. I have given notes to the gardener each morning, and look forward all day to returning to my little friends to see how they fare. The pomegranates have been doing so well this year, and a new variety of honeysuckle has made the garden irresistible. Birds of many colors and songs have made their home here with us also. My garden is indeed another country. It is here that I am truly the queen, and I rule with a gentle hand. It is a place of beauty and simple joys, where I can easily uproot what is unpleasant, what does not belong.
On certain rare nights, I am told, a mysterious flower blooms along the east wall. The eunuchs say it is called the Scent of the Beloved, and when it blooms, the dreams of all who smell its fragrance are blessed. Young girls are said to see the faces of their future husbands in their dreams. Old women are said to see the faces of their grandchildren not yet born. I do not know what I would see in my dreams.
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