by Wolf, Joan
A softer note crept into his voice. “No one else is going to try to kill me, Esther. Thanks to a loyal guardsman, the plot was discovered in time.”
“This time it was. The next time you might not be so fortunate.”
“I am going to make Coes the new Commander of the Royal Bodyguard, so there is no chance that this episode will be repeated.” He walked to the divan and held out his hand to her. “You are exhausted. It’s time for you to go to bed.”
Esther let him pull her to her feet. “I don’t think I will ever sleep again.”
“Nonsense.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “You have been through a bad time tonight, that is all. Once you are in bed, you will sleep well.”
“I don’t feel safe, Ahasuerus.” She looked up at him. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe again.”
“I’ll have Milis and Artanes stand guard outside your door all night,” the king promised.
“It’s not myself I am afraid for.”
Ahasuerus began to walk her toward the door. “Then I’ll join you, and Milis and Artanes can guard us both.”
“All right.” At the door she turned her face into his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him. His arm tightened and he kissed the top of her head. Then he opened the door and said, “Hathach, take the queen to her bedroom and have Milis and Artanes stand guard outside her door.”
Hathach took Esther’s arm, and Ahasuerus stepped away from her. She turned her head and smiled uncertainly at her uncle. “Good night, Mordecai. And thank you.”
Mordecai understood it was time for him to leave as well. Esther was not the only one who was tired; he was exhausted.
Mordecai said, “It is no secret that Teresh wanted you to go to war with Greece, my lord.”
“I know.” Ahasuerus walked to the divan and sat, gesturing Mordecai to join him. “Nor is it any secret that he was a friend of my Uncle Mardonius.”
“Do you think Mardonius was involved with this plot?”
“I don’t know, and since Teresh has killed himself, I will probably never know. It doesn’t matter. I know I have to watch Mardonius. Teresh was only dangerous because I did not know about him.”
“Treachery is an ugly thing, my lord,” Mordecai said somberly.
“True. But loyalty is golden, and I am fortunate to have in my service many good and loyal men.” For the first time that evening, Ahasuerus smiled. “Thank you, Mordecai, for acting so promptly. You probably saved my life.”
It was the first time that Mordecai had felt the power of the king’s extraordinary charm. You wanted to die for Ahasuerus when he smiled at you like that.
Mordecai answered gruffly, “I am happy I was able to serve you, my lord.”
“I owe you two debts now.”
“Two debts, my lord?”
“You brought me Esther.”
Mordecai bowed his head in acknowledgment. He thought of how the king’s voice had softened when he spoke to his wife. He thought of the kiss Ahasuerus had dropped on Esther’s hair. It looked as if he might care for her after all. Mordecai wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
In the hours since he had first told the king about the plot to kill him, Mordecai had discovered that there was more to the man than that perfect face. He had been livid, but he had behaved with intelligence and control. He had not ordered the summary execution of Smerdis, as he was fully entitled to do under Persian law. “He is a good man,” Esther had said. Apparently he was. But he was not a Jew.
Haman did not hear of the attempt on the king’s life until the next day, which was the day of the Mithra Festival. No judges sat in session on that feast, so Smerdis was kept under house arrest in his home while the rest of the court went on with the usual celebration.
Ahuramazda was the chief god of the Persians and under Darius he had been worshipped as virtually the only god. Ahasuerus, however, had never neglected Mithra, the ancient horse god whom his people had worshipped long before they ever heard of Ahuramazda, the god of the sky. Ahasuerus had held the Mithra Festival in the autumn of each of the years he had ruled in Babylon, so Haman had seen the ceremony before, but this was the first time it was being held in Susa.
There were two traditional parts to the Festival. First the Royal Cavalry staged a splendid parade before the king. Ahasuerus reviewed it from the south platform of the palace, sitting in his golden lions-paw throne, shaded by a gold-embroidered canopy. A dazzling autumn sun poured down, shining off the riders’ bronze helmets and sword sheaths. The horses’ gleaming coats bore dark patches of sweat as they trotted by in perfect formation, each regiment led by its captain.
After the last of the magnificent red-coated riders had passed, the second part of the Festival took place: the Presentation of Horses, in which seven yearling colts were offered to the king by Armenian tribesmen as part of their country’s tribute offering.
The Armenians, who had covered fourteen hundred miles of the Royal Road in forty days, filed across the courtyard, each of them leading a horse. The tribesmen walked proudly, not at all intimidated by either the throng of onlookers that packed the South Courtyard or by the prospect of meeting the Great King.
Haman stood behind and to the right of the throne, an honored position merited by his title of King’s Bowbearer. Next to him, on the left side of the throne, stood Coes, the King’s Lancebearer. Lined up behind Haman and Coes were a contingent of the Royal Bodyguard, without their Commander.
Haman’s eyes were on the spectacle in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere. Why didn’t those guards come to me? he thought as he watched the first Armenian mount the platform and prostrate himself before the king. The yearling he was presenting remained in the courtyard with a page holding its leather halter.
Ahasuerus said something to the man, who rose to his feet and looked with a mixture of gratification and wonder at his sovereign.
He is so perfect a king, Haman thought. Even these primitive tribesmen are in awe of him.
A few feet away from him, Coes shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Haman shot him a quick look. He was wracked by jealousy that Ahasuerus had called upon Coes and not upon him.
Coes is a soldier, Haman told himself. That is why Ahasuerus sent for him.
But it hurt. It hurt that the one who had seen Ahasuerus through this crisis had been Coes. Haman thought the king should have sent for him as well. It didn’t help that the one to have alerted Ahasuerus had been the Jew from the Treasury. And the queen had been there as well. But not Haman.
The gold on Ahasuerus’ crown gleamed as he leaned forward to say something to the second tribesman who was kneeling before him.
I am to sit beside him at the feast tonight, Haman told himself. He will get drunk on Mithra’s sacred haoma and he will laugh at my jokes and tell me funny stories and it will be like it was before.
Before Ahasuerus had married that girl.
The Mithra feast was held in the main public room of the palace, the Service Court. The king and his chosen guests dined in the reception room while the rest of the guests were seated at tables that had been placed in the big, columned courtyard.
Haman did not keep his place beside Ahasuerus for long at the feast that evening. The king had been delighted with the Armenian horses, which were smaller and finer than the seventeen-hand-high Persian-bred Niseans. He was full of how he would experiment with breeding them to his own stock to see if he could add some of the Armenian fineness and speed to the Nisean size, and Xerxes soon took Haman’s place so he could discuss this vital topic with his brother. Watching them, Haman thought with amazement that one would never know from the king’s demeanor that he had just had a narrow escape from death.
The feast was not going the way Haman had planned. All during the dinner, which seemed interminable to Haman, he was forced to listen to the brothers discuss with clinical exactitude the various genetic points of every stallion and mare in the royal herd. It was the first time Haman had ever seen Xerxes at ease in hi
s brother’s company.
It was not until the food was finished, and Mithra’s potent brew of fermented mare’s milk was served, that it occurred to him that Ahasuerus might be testing Xerxes to see if he had been involved in the assassination plot. Haman looked at Xerxes’ intent, unselfconscious face and knew that he had not been. Some men might have been capable of such dissimulation, but not Xerxes.
The absence of Smerdis and Teresh had been cause for a good deal of uneasy comment at the start of the feast, but the obvious light-heartedness of the king had soon changed all that. As the night wore on, and the mare’s milk went around, the laughter grew louder and the voices more slurred. It was a moral obligation to get drunk at the Mithra Festival, and Haman looked out over the crowd of diners that were crammed into the Service Court and thought sourly that every Persian present was certainly doing his best to comply with tradition.
He felt someone touch his arm; he turned his head and saw Ahasuerus reaching across his brother. He said, “Come and sit beside me. Xerxes, exchange seats with Haman for a while.”
At first Xerxes looked annoyed, then he shrugged and got up. He staggered and would have fallen to his knees if Haman had not caught him by the arm.
“I am fine,” Xerxes announced haughtily, and fell into the chair that Haman had drawn out for him. He put his face down on the table and promptly went to sleep.
Ahasuerus laughed. “Xerxes can’t hold his haoma.”
Haman said stiffly, “He appears to have consumed a great deal, my lord.” He regarded the drunken scene in front of him. “As has everyone else in the room.”
Ahasuerus leaned back in his golden chair. “It came at a good time, the Mithra Festival. I needed to get drunk tonight.”
“Indeed, my lord,” Haman answered with a disapproval he did not trouble to hide. “That is one way to deal with ugliness.”
Ahasuerus looked amused. “You don’t approve, do you? Don’t Palestinians ever get drunk, Haman?”
“Sometimes, my lord.”
“I don’t think you do. I think you are upright and sober at all hours and under all circumstances. Is that true?”
Haman replied with dignity, “I know this is true, my lord. We are always loyal to our friends.”
The king reached out and laid a hand upon Haman’s forearm. Haman stopped breathing.
“I know you are, Haman. And that is why you are going to be my new Grand Vizier.”
It was a moment before Haman understood. Then his &7 mouth dropped open.
Ahasuerus saw his astonishment. He patted Haman’s arm and returned his own hand to his cup. “I made a mistake when I left my father’s men in the important court offices. I am replacing them with men who are loyal to me.”
“I don’t know what to say, my lord.” This was true. Haman was stunned.
Ahasuerus smiled and handed his new Grand Vizier a cup of haoma. “Drink to your new honor.” It was a command.
Haman fought down his distaste and took a sip of the filthy liquid. He could not keep himself from shuddering.
Ahasuerus laughed, and when Haman had finally finished the cup, the king handed him another one, then another after that. By the time Haman finally got to bed, he was sure he was going to die.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When Haman awoke the following morning, he wished that he had died. He had not believed it possible for a head to hurt as badly as his did. How did the Persians do it? How could they bear to put themselves through this agony? No amount of ephemeral good cheer was worth feeling like this.
He dragged himself out of bed, drank three cups of water, and refused anything to eat. His wife, who had never seen him in such a state, was sure that he was ill. “Stay home today, my lord,” she implored. “You are not well. Surely the king can do without you for one day.”
Haman peered at Zeresh’s face through slitted eyes. “I am not sick. And I am not going to give those Persians reason to think that I cannot drink just as well as they can.”
Zeresh’s mouth dropped open. “Drink what?”
Haman groaned. “Don’t talk so loudly. I will be back later.”
Walking carefully, he went to the door. When he reached it he turned slowly and said, “By the way, the king has named me his new Grand Vizier.” Grimly he walked out into the blinding sunlight.
Haman understood that this trial was not a necessity; as king, Ahasuerus was the Supreme Magistrate in the empire, and it was his right under law to judge those who were charged with crimes against the State or his own person. The king was allowing Smerdis a hearing by a judge because his conviction in open court would put to rest any rumors that the king had had him executed for political reasons. Haman agreed with the king’s decision.
Royal Persian judges were known for their incorruptibility. They were chosen from among the Persian nobility and held office until their death. They could only be removed for miscarriage of justice, and this did not happen frequently. The Persian kings took the administration of justice seriously and dealt severely with judges who were dishonest. No one was likely to forget the fate of the judge whom Darius had found guilty of accepting a bribe. After the offending judge had been executed, he was flayed and his skin cut into strips, which were then used to cover the seat from which he once delivered justice. Darius had made his point, and there had been no cases of bribed judges since.
The Service Court today was filled with solemn-faced nobles, many of whom showed unmistakable signs of the previous evening’s carouse. Haman remained on the fringe of the crowd so that he could make an unobtrusive exit if necessary. He had spent half the night heaving up his insides and his stomach still did not feel calm. He almost did get sick when he saw the tall, dark-haired man with a thin, intelligent face standing close to the judge’s chair.
The Jew from the Treasury Office. Haman’s eyes narrowed as he remembered all the times he had passed Mordecai and not known he was a Jew. He had only discovered Mordecai’s background yesterday, when he had learned about the plot to kill the king. It was a bitter thought to Haman that it was a Jew who had saved Ahasuerus from the murderous plan.
There was a stir by the main door on the east wall of the Service Court, and Sisames, the judge who would be hearing Smerdis’ case today, came in. His white hair showed his venerable years, and the distinctive scarlet stole of justice was draped around his stooped shoulders. He crossed to the high-backed judge’s chair, then, with slow deliberation, turned to face the smaller door on the west wall. A narrow purple carpet ran from this door to the Great King’s empty throne.
Everyone in the Service Court turned with the judge. Minutes passed. Haman thought about his own miserable physical state and wondered if the king was indisposed.
Finally the door they were all watching so intently opened. A page stepped into the court and in a clear high treble announced the entrance of the Great King. A moment later Ahasuerus appeared, dressed in full court attire. His outer robe, dyed with costly Phoenician purple, was embroidered in gold with pictures of an eagle. His tunic was purple also, and the white trousers that showed beneath the robe were edged with purple as well. He wore a gold crown, gold earrings, gold bracelets, and about his waist a gold belt to support the short Persian sword that hung at his side. In his right hand he carried a slender golden scepter.
At the king’s entrance the entire roomful of men prostrated themselves. They remained thus until he had crossed the carpet and taken his seat upon the high golden lion’s throne that stood to the judge’s right.
The men in the room rose to their feet. Sisames mounted his crimson footstool to sit in the judge’s chair, where he called for the prisoner. Smerdis, wearing only a plain white tunic, was brought in by two guards to stand before Sisames. The charges against the Grand Vizier were read by a clerk, and Smerdis declared in a loud, defiant voice that they were untrue. Sisames then called Milis and Artanes to give their evidence.
Haman watched Ahasuerus as Milis related his interview with Teresh. No sign of an
y emotion except polite interest appeared on the king’s face as he listened to the treacherous tale. Nor did the king betray any sign that he had been drinking the night before. Haman, who knew how much haoma Ahasuerus had consumed, was amazed.
Next Sisames called Mordecai, who related to the judge how the two guardsmen had approached him because they hoped he could get word of the plot to the queen.
Haman was horrified to hear that Esther had been introduced to the court by a Jew. He had heard that her mother’s family was Babylonian. How did this Jew fit into her background?
The Jew was speaking Aramaic in the accent of Susa, not of Babylon. Many Babylonian Jews had emigrated to Susa, of course, and they had insinuated their way into the city’s commerce, as they had done in Babylon.
They are like a pack of vultures, Haman thought bitterly. Wherever they go, they make money by putting the local merchants out of business. They are never satisfied; they always want more. Look at how they want to take our land in Palestine away from us!
Mordecai finally finished giving his testimony and next Sisames called Coes, who reported in an emotionless voice the suicide of Teresh. An audible shock ran around the room when the gathered courtiers heard this news.
After Coes had returned to his place, Sisames said to Smerdis, who had been standing in front of the judge the whole time, “How do you answer these charges, Grand Vizier?”
“My lord Sisames,” Smerdis said, in the same loud defiant voice he had used to declare his innocence. “It is true that these two guards approached me with their story about Teresh’s plot, but it was so ridiculous that I did not believe them. That is the only reason I did not report what they said to the king, my lord. I simply did not think that such a mad plan, supposedly headed by the commander of the king’s own Bodyguard, could be true!”
“Did you consider, Grand Vizier, what reason these men might have for concocting such a lie?” Sisames asked.
Smerdis turned his head toward Ahasuerus. “I thought they wanted to impress the king with their loyalty. Everyone knows how much the king reveres that virtue. I could not conceive that Teresh, a man I knew, would be plotting against the king’s life. It did not sound possible.”