by Wolf, Joan
Haman was not entitled to any form of deference from the Royal Kin, but ordinary men were constrained to bow to the Grand Vizier as he passed by. To Haman, whose Palestinian origins had marked him an outsider in both Babylon and Susa, this reverence was particularly sweet.
As he walked with pretended purposefulness through the Household Court, he affected not to notice as man after man bowed from the waist. He passed into the Treasury rooms, and the officials there immediately bowed as well. Haman was concentrating on looking as if he were attending to some important business, when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that someone was not bowing. He glanced over, surprised to find one of the Royal Kin in so work-a-day an area, and saw that the upright man was not a member of the Royal Kin at all, but the Jew, Mordecai.
Haman stopped.
There were five men in the office. Four of them were bowing. Mordecai stood upright and looked him in the eye.
“It is correct protocol to bow to the Grand Vizier,” Haman said icily.
“I do not bow to an Edomite,” Mordecai replied through his teeth.
And with those simple words, Haman and Mordecai regressed to the primitive hatred of enemy tribesman, the animosity between them burning as hot and fierce as their desert homeland.
“You will bow to me, Jew,” Haman hissed, his eyes mere slits of gold in his furious face.
Mordecai did not reply, but his look of amused arrogance was carefully calculated to infuriate. His back remained straight as a lance.
The tension in the room was almost tangible. Haman felt it, felt the eyes of everyone on him, on his humiliation by this swine of a Jew. He would get Mordecai, he promised himself. The only person in the empire with more power than himself was the king. Mordecai was going to be sorry he had scorned Haman.
Haman was still in a vicious temper when he reached home that evening. His wife, Zeresh, saw him come in through the courtyard gate and went into the front room to greet him. She read his face immediately. “What happened?”
He told her about Mordecai. Zeresh, who had lived in Edom until she married Haman, was not surprised. “All Jews are unbearably arrogant. My father says they have become even worse since they rebuilt the Temple.”
Haman grunted.
She patted his arm. “Dinner is almost ready.”
“I will wash,” Haman said.
After the meal was over and Zeresh had gone to see to the children, Haman took a jug of wine and went to sit in the small side room that belonged to him alone. The evening was cooling down rapidly, and he had a servant put some charcoal into the brazier and light it. Then he leaned back in his cushioned chair, propped his feet upon a footrest, and closed his eyes. He sat in the same position for a long time, the wine untouched on a table beside him, his thoughts on the past.
He remembered the first time he had seen Ahasuerus. At the time, Haman had held a minor position as scribe in the Satrap of Babylon’s household. The surprising news that Darius had named his eldest son to be King of Babylon had not dismayed the satrap, who had perfect confidence that he would continue to be the real power while Darius’ son playacted a royal role.
Haman had not bothered to watch Ahasuerus’ royal entrance into the capital of his new kingdom. Babylon, that great walled city of terraces and opulent gardens, of massive brickwork and glazed tiles, had seen the traditional pageant often enough, and when Ahasuerus drove his golden chariot up the Processional Avenue from the Ishtar Gate, he had received a polite if unenthusiastic welcome from the local populace. Most of the officials, like Haman, had stayed home.
The young king was to reside in the palace Darius had built on the southern citadel, west of the palace of Nebuchadnezzar and just before the massive, moated wall of Imgut-Bel. It was not until the day of the king’s entry that Haman learned of his appointment as Chief Scribe in the new king’s household. This was an honor he had never expected; it was an honor his minor position did not merit. He was stunned.
In all the Persian Empire, the position of Chief Scribe was peculiar to Babylon. Nowhere in the world was writing more commonly employed in the everyday affairs of life than in Babylon, where every important commercial transaction had to be sealed by a written contract. The Chief Scribe was in charge of all public scribes and all public declarations and inscriptions. It was an extremely responsible job, with a high degree of visibility, and it did not take Haman long to figure out why it had been given to a low-ranking Palestinian. The satrap had wanted to insult Ahasuerus. Everyone connected to the court realized the appointment was an insult. It remained to be seen if the new king would realize this as well.
Haman vividly remembered his trepidation when Ahasuerus had interviewed the men whom the satrap had appointed to the royal household. The new Chief Scribe had joined the crush of officials in the main courtyard and waited for his name to be called so he could go into the throne room, where Ahasuerus sat in state. When finally it was Haman’s turn, he had pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the room, bowing so low that his nose touched his knees.
“You may approach,” the king had said and Haman had looked up.
The sight of the eighteen-year-old Ahasuerus had struck him like a blow, the young king’s beauty was so blindingly pure. Haman had walked forward on unsteady legs until he was within the circle of that unexpected radiance.
Ahasuerus had regarded him gravely. “Tell me about your duties, Haman,” he had said.
The audience had not lasted more than three minutes, but when Haman walked out of the room he had vowed to do everything he could to protect Ahasuerus from the pack of Babylonians he knew would try to pull the young king down.
This protective feeling had only grown stronger over the years, and now Ahasuerus had appointed him Grand Vizier, the most powerful post in all the empire. Why then, he asked himself, am I so dissatisfied?
The shadows deepened and the room turned dark. He sat on, undisturbed by his wife or his servants, who knew enough to leave him alone when he closed the door of his private room.
The face of Ahasuerus as he was today presented itself in the frame of Haman’s mind. At twenty-seven, the king had lost that morning-of-the-world look that had so amazed Haman at their first meeting, and he had certainly shown himself competent to rule. But still Haman felt the familiar need to look after him.
He is too trusting. He sees only the good in people; he never sees the evil. Look at Smerdis and Teresh—he might have been killed. And now he will be grateful to that Jew for warning him.
Haman had labored for years to protect Ahasuerus from untrustworthy friends. During that time he had never once found it strange that the only friend he ever thought Ahasuerus could trust was himself.
The following morning Ahasuerus summoned Haman to the small reception room off the Court of the Royal Kin that he used as an office. He was ready to hear the Treasury report.
When Haman finished detailing his discovery of the Head Treasurer’s thefts from the Tribute payments, Ahasuerus’ mouth was set in a hard line. He was dressed for riding. The window shutters were open, and from beyond the line of trees that gave the king privacy, Haman could hear the sound of horses being led into the south courtyard. Ahasuerus slapped a pair of gloves against his leather breeches and frowned. His hands were ringless, as they always were when he rode. He walked to the window and looked out. Over his shoulder he asked, “How did you discover the fraud?”
“It was simple, my lord. I compared the records with the amount of gold that was actually in the Treasury. They did not match.”
Ahasuerus turned around. “That must have taken you a long time.”
“It did. But it is one of the surest ways to uncover corruption, my lord.”
“How can you be certain that it is Otanes and not one of the under-officials who has taken the missing gold?” Ahasuerus asked.
“If it had been one of the under-officials, he would have changed the records to match the amount of gold, my lord. Otanes could not do that as he cannot
write. Also, the Head Treasurer is the only person to have unlimited access to the Treasury.” Haman shrugged. “I am sure he thought he was perfectly safe, my lord. There is a tremendous amount of gold in the Treasury, and the chance of anyone bothering to reconcile the gold with the records was very slim.”
“Do you think he was robbing my father as well?”
“I am certain of it, my lord.”
Ahasuerus slapped his gloves against his breeches again but harder this time. He was angry. “The senior court officials are certainly keeping my judges busy these days,” he said grimly.
“I am truly sorry to grieve you with this news, my lord.”
“You are certain that the corruption does not spread beyond Otanes?”
Haman had spent an hour the previous evening trying to find a way to implicate Mordecai in this charge. To his disgust, he had been unsuccessful. “I am certain, my lord,” he said regretfully.
“Very well. Send a guard to tell Otanes what he stands accused of. And inform the Chief Judge as well.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ahasuerus’ taut face relaxed into a smile. “As ever, I must thank you for your faithful service, my friend. I have chosen the right man to be my Grand Vizier.”
A compliment from Ahasuerus could always send Haman’s spirits soaring. “Thank you, my lord.”
Ahasuerus pulled on his gloves and walked to the door. He tapped once and the page boy on the other side opened it immediately. The king went out to greet his horse.
A few days later Mordecai had an appointment with Ahasuerus to present a letter from the Susa Jews. Ahasuerus listened gravely as Mordecai read the carefully crafted words aloud. When Mordecai had finished, he said, “I am happy that the Jews of Susa desire peace in Palestine. The important issue, however, is what the Jews of Palestine desire.”
“They desire peace also, my lord. It is true that there is a prophet in Jerusalem who is preaching war against Edom, but I have it on the best authority that the people of Jerusalem have paid him no heed.”
“The satrap has told me the same thing.” Ahasuerus laced his slender, ringed fingers together. “What I am wondering,” he said softly, “is why the Susa Jews felt it necessary to approach me on this matter.”
Mordecai looked into Ahasuerus’ eyes. There is a great deal of intelligence in that light-gray gaze, he thought, and on the spur of the moment he decided to be honest.
“I will tell you what we fear, my lord. Edom has long desired a seaport. She took advantage of the years of the Jewish Exile to move settlers into Jewish land in southern Judah. She would dearly love to move even further west, across our entire country, to the sea. This is something we cannot allow.”
Ahasuerus said, “Do you have any reason to believe that Edom will attempt such a movement?”
“Not at the moment, my lord.”
“And in the future?”
“My lord, I would not be honest with you if I did not say that the Jews of Susa are greatly concerned about the fact that you have appointed an Edomite to be your Grand Vizier. We fear that if, for some reason, trouble should arise in Judah, you will hear only one viewpoint on the subject.”
Ahasuerus unclasped his hands and the light glistened off a ruby in one of his rings. He said, “What if I told you that there is also a Jewish voice close to my ear?”
Mordecai’s heart leaped. Esther has told him who she is! It was the only explanation Mordecai could conceive of that would account for the king’s extraordinary statement. He saw that Ahasuerus was waiting for his reply and managed to say hoarsely, “I would ask who that voice might belong to, my lord.”
“It belongs to you, Mordecai,” the king said gently. “I am appointing you to take Otanes’ place as Head Treasurer of the empire.”
Haman could not believe it when he heard the news. He was too stunned even to feel outraged.
I devoted months to proving that Otanes was embezzling gold from the Treasury and this is my reward. Otanes’ position is to be given to a Jew.
There was nothing he could do about it. Haman knew better than to think he could question the king’s judgment in regard to this appointment. However gracious Ahasuerus might be, he kept a space around himself that no one dared to step into. The greatest desire of Haman’s life was to be the person who was allowed to enter that space.
He had never done so, but until now he had had the consolation of knowing that no one else was closer to Ahasuerus than he was.
In Mordecai, Haman scented a dangerous rival.
Mordecai was a friend of the queen’s, and Ahasuerus seemed bewitched by his new wife. While Haman could not consider a woman a serious adversary, he feared the Jew.
Because of his connection to the queen, Mordecai would have access to the royal apartments.
Mordecai had been the man responsible for bringing to light Teresh’s plot against the king’s life.
Worst of all, Ahasuerus liked him. He would never have made him Head Treasurer otherwise.
For nine long years, admiration and jealousy had lived in uneasy coexistence within Haman’s heart. With the appointment of Mordecai, the delicate balance of those emotions began to tip in the wrong direction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Esther was stunned when Ahasuerus told her about Mordecai’s appointment. Her uncle was to be Head Treasurer! This was almost as incredible as her becoming queen.
“You look surprised,” Ahasuerus said.
“I am. I did not know you had such an admiration for Mordecai. You don’t know him very well, after all.”
“I know what is important; I know he is loyal. And I interviewed a few of the other men in the Treasury. They all spoke highly of his ability. I’m sick of appointments going to members of the Royal Kin who are incompetent as well as disloyal. Mordecai is the sort of man I need right now.”
They were in Esther’s bed, in Esther’s bedroom, which was where, to the amazement of his court, Ahasuerus still regularly slept. They were retiring early because he had to be up before dawn. Tomorrow was one of Ahuramazda’s holy days, so he would be riding out to the mountains with the Magi to the god’s shrine.
Ahasuerus went to sleep quickly, as he always did, but Esther lay awake, her mind busy with this new development. She was happy for her uncle, of course. He deserved to be recognized for his honesty and his ability. But what would this appointment mean for her? With Mordecai now in a position close to Ahasuerus, what was her role supposed to be? If it truly had been God’s plan for her to become queen, was it so that Mordecai could achieve this high position? Certainly he was now in a better place than she to know all of the political news, to be able to set the Jewish side of Palestinian issues before the king. So where did that leave her?
Ahasuerus lay next to her, his back toward her, his breathing deep and slow and regular. Uncle Mordecai had snored so loudly that sometimes Esther had had trouble getting to sleep. But Ahasuerus slept quietly, his breath only audible if she listened closely. She put out her hand and laid it lightly on his warm back. She could feel the horseman’s muscles beneath the thin linen of his night robe.
She loved him so much. She hated having to lie to him. He, who hated lying more than anything in the world, had given his precious love to a woman who was a Lie.
For she thought that he did love her. She felt it in him. With her he could relax his guard, be simply Ahasuerus the person, not Ahasuerus the Great King. If he found out that she had been lying to him all this time . . . she shivered. It would hurt him unbearably. He did not give his love or his trust easily, and he had given both to her. And she was a Lie.
If she told him who she was right now, perhaps she could make him understand. She thought about this for a while, imagining the scene, trying out the different words she might use, but she always ended up back in the same dead end. How could she tell him the truth without involving her uncle? Ahasuerus knew that Mordecai had presented her to Hegai. Their connection could not be clearer.
The t
ears began to roll slowly down Esther’s face as she recognized she was as trapped as she had ever been. Trapped by the necessity to maintain her uncle’s credibility and trapped even more tightly by her love for Ahasuerus.
The thing she feared the most was for Ahasuerus to learn her identity from someone else. If Haman, for example, should look into Mordecai’s background and find he had a niece named Esther who had disappeared . . .
Esther closed her eyes tightly and prayed: My Father in Heaven. Please, please do not let that happen. If the truth has to come out, let it come from me. It would devastate Ahasuerus to hear it from anyone else. Please, Father. Take pity on Your daughter. I have tried to do Your will. I was obedient to my uncle, who sent me here to do Your work. Do not desert me, I beg You. Do not let Ahasuerus find out who I am.
Worn out by emotion, Esther finally fell asleep and when she awoke, Ahasuerus was gone. She was still in bed picking at her breakfast when Luara came back in. “Take this tray away, Luara,” she said fretfully. “It makes me sick to look at it.”
Luara picked up the tray and said in the calm way that Esther so valued, “Do you feel well enough to see Hegai? He has been requesting an audience with you.”
True to her promise to Ahasuerus, Esther had been trying to involve the Head Eunuch more actively in her affairs. Hathach had been understanding when Esther explained her plight to him. There was a great difference in Hathach these days. Simply, the young man was happy, far too happy to begrudge Hegai his place in the sun.
Esther told Luara to admit the Head Eunuch, who came in with his stately tread. When he reached the bed, he bowed.
“Good morning, Hegai,” Esther said.
“Good morning, my lady. I hope you are well.” His eyes flicked shrewdly over her pale face, and Esther had little doubt that he had guessed the reason for her pallor.
“Very well, thank you,” she answered.
“I bring a request from the Head Treasurer, my lady. He would like to see you today.”