Game of Queens

by India Edghill

  “Are you?” Hegai swiftly kissed my forehead; his lips warm against my cool skin. “That pleases me, my queen.”

  I managed to stand still long enough for him to tuck the shawl around my body. “Hegai, where is Cassandane? I must speak with her.”

  “You should come bathe, and rest.” Hegai coaxed my hair into a loose braid that I half-undid when I shook my head.

  “No. Not until I have spoken with Cassandane—oh, better, have her come join me in the Queen’s Bath.”

  “Of course.” Hegai’s voice sounded odd, but when I glanced up at him, his face revealed nothing. “May I ask what you must so urgently say to her on this of all mornings?”

  “That she is to be married at once!” I envisioned Cassandane’s delight—and I found myself able to smile at Hegai, and then to laugh and run off down the corridor, back to my own palace—just as if nothing had changed.

  HEGAI

  I had known this night must come for years. What had I been hoping for? For the young king to die? Even if Ahasuerus died, what good would his death do me?

  It had been my duty to escort the queen to the king’s bed. But no rule said the Chief Eunuch must stand outside the royal door all night. So when the great door closed behind Vashti, I left to walk through the corridors and gardens of the Women’s Palace. I spent hours trying to flee the image of Vashti naked in Ahasuerus’s arms. But the image refused to vanish.

  When the moon stood high overhead I walked back to the Queen’s Palace, though I knew Vashti would not be there. She is in the king’s bed—no. No, do not think of her there, of him giving her pleasure.

  Do not think of her naked in your arms instead of his.…

  * * *

  In morning’s clear light, Vashti at first seemed happy enough after her wedding night. But her joy seemed forced, and her gaze slid aside from mine.

  The second night, Hatach slid into my apartments long before midnight to tell me that the queen had already left the king’s bedchamber. I managed to calmly thank Hatach and send him to his own bed without alarming him. Then I went swiftly along the path to the Queen’s Palace, and then to Vashti’s private rooms.

  I saw no one. The rooms were empty. The lamps had not been lit. Only the full moon’s light softened the gloom. I stepped out of my slippers and walked cat-soft into Vashti’s bedchamber, through the darkness to her wide silver bed.

  Vashti lay with her face pressed into a pillow, clearly hoping to silence her misery. Now I knew why there were no servants in the queen’s rooms. The queen had sent them away.

  Why was she here alone? What had Ahasuerus done? Surely he had not hurt her? Been unkind? I stroked Vashti’s hair. “What’s wrong, little queen? Come, tell me. Why are you crying?”

  Still she said nothing, and trembled with unspent sobs. I was not even certain she had heard my words. I tried again, hardly realizing I spoke not as Chief Eunuch, calm and commanding, but as worried lover. “Vashti, tell me, please. What happened?”

  She rolled away from my caressing hand and sat up. She pushed back her hair and uttered a gasp of unsteady laughter. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing,” I repeated. Of all the things I had worried myself into near madness over as I contemplated Vashti’s nights with her husband, never had I thought of this.

  “Oh, Hegai, you should see your face!” Then she began to laugh, a harsh, wild sound.

  “Stop that or I will pour cold water over you,” I told her calmly; enough vases of flowers stood in her room to make this possible. Vashti stopped, laughter ending in a few hiccups; she pressed her hand over her mouth and stared at me round-eyed as an owl.

  “Now, my queen, tell me what happened and why I find you here, alone, weeping.” I could not stop myself from adding, “You say ‘nothing’ happened. Do you mean the king did not—”

  “Oh.” Vashti blushed, her pale face crimson. Her gaze slid away from me; apparently there was something intensely fascinating on the floor to her left. “Of course I did not mean that. I—it was—nothing like I expected, I mean.”

  Ah. Nothing that pleased you. Ahasuerus did not please you. Unworthy joy flooded me and I let the subject of what had happened in the king’s bed fade away. Vashti made it easy to do, as she leaned forward until I could see her breasts beneath her sheer silk gown.

  “Hegai, do you think my body beautiful?”

  Something in her voice made me understand that my answer was important; that she asked a grave question. I took her hands in mine and looked into her eyes. “You are beautiful. You will always be beautiful to my eyes.”

  “Always?” The word choked on a last sob.

  “Always.” I wiped her damp face with my sash, silently thanking the Great God that I had worn such unadorned garb. It is difficult to comfort someone and wipe tears from her face with a sash embroidered with gold and silver until it is stiff and heavy as ice.

  “How long is always, Hegai?”

  “Until we both are old and our hair is gray.”

  She laughed, rather unsteadily—but she laughed. “But Hegai, how will you know when my hair turns gray?

  “I will know,” I said, reaching out to stroke her hair.

  Vashti flung herself into my arms—for comfort, I told myself. Just as she had done since she was a child, she turned to me for comfort and consolation. “You love me, don’t you, Hegai?”

  For a heartbeat hope flared up, and I put my hands on her cheeks, tilted her head back so I could look into her eyes. Hope faded, for what I saw there was the plea of an unhappy child. You are not truly a woman yet, Vashti. But at least you turn to me. I will not fail you.

  I bent and kissed her hot damp forehead. “Of course I love you, my queen.”

  Vashti smiled, and curled herself into my arms. A few minutes later, she was asleep. Yes, Vashti, I love you. I settled myself comfortably on her bed, and stroked her back as I watched the full moon’s light fading toward morning.

  I will love you until the stars burn out.

  Not even Vashti must ever know what I felt for her—but I longed to create some visible symbol of my love. What gift from lover to beloved will be safe to give?

  Late one night, I found my answer in the timeless story of Zariadres and Odatis, two lovers who fell in love in a dream. Poppies. I will plant a bed of poppies in the Queen’s Garden. No one would see anything odd in an addition to Vashti’s garden. And every time she danced past that plot, she would see my gift: the eternal lover’s flower.

  Yes. I will give my beloved red poppies.

  Smiling, I picked up my scroll again. I wished I could thank the poet who had inspired me—but the song was so old no one even knew who had first written down its words. My thanks would have to be silent; as silent as my gift to my beloved.

  VASHTI

  Cassandane’s wedding to Dariel took place despite the Queen Mother’s objections—or possibly because of them.

  “Ahasuerus, are you mad? The woman belonged to your father King Smerdis! No other man may touch her without the king’s permission!” Amestris said, and Ahasuerus looked straight into his mother’s eyes and said:

  “I am the king, Mother, and I grant the lady Cassandane permission to marry whom she wishes.”

  I think that was the first time Ahasuerus had ever defied his mother. Amestris seemed to hesitate, and then merely shrugged, as if the matter were too trivial to concern herself about. So I happily watched Cassandane married to her beloved Dariel. I put a silver casket filled with pearls into her hands as a wedding present, and Ahasuerus granted them apartments in the palace.

  Amestris presented Ahasuerus with Dariel to be captain of the king’s guard instead of the Queen Mother’s—which I think was meant to indicate her displeasure with both of them. But I do not think either of them objected to the change.

  After that, Ahasuerus unexpectedly announced that the King of Kings and Queen of Queens would spend their marriage month at the old summer palace in Ecbatana, in the high mountains. There we rode out hawking
, or walked through fields full of spring flowers, or stood upon the rooftop and watched the summer stars. And there neither of us had to pay any heed to Amestris, who remained in Shushan.

  At first I hoped that away from the imperial palace, things might change between Ahasuerus and me; I longed for the passion Cassandane had so lovingly described. But I swiftly realized that hope was vain; I must be content with fondness. Ahasuerus the husband, the man, eluded me.

  HEGAI

  With Vashti gone, I was lonely. An odd complaint, you may think, from one who barely had an hour go by without someone seeking him out. To be master of the imperial harem is no sinecure; I was the one who ensured all ran smoothly, from the smallest task to the greatest.

  But even surrounded by all the slaves and servants, eunuchs and concubines, who inhabited the Women’s Palace, I missed my beloved. I missed Vashti.

  And I knew that when Vashti returned from Ecbatana, she would return changed. She would return as Ahasuerus’s wife.

  Mine only in my heart, and in my dreams.

  * * *

  Ever since I was appointed Chief Eunuch, I had made it a habit to go out into the streets of Shushan each week. I admit I took pleasure in going down the Great Staircase, gazing upon the city and the fields beyond its walls—but my true reason for doing so was to keep apace of Shushan’s gossip.

  That explains how I came to be standing in the market, watching a slave merchant offer his wares. That Vashti had been in Ecbatana on her marriage-month and I missed her deeply explains how I came to commit an act of arrant folly. That disaster did not follow was purest good fortune.

  As I stood there, my attendant waving a peacock-feather fan beside me to keep the dust and flies away, assistants led a slave out from the merchant’s courtyard and pushed him toward the steps up to the platform. He resisted, a movement that caught my eye. I turned to look—

  —and for a heartbeat thought I looked upon Vashti playing the maddest of mad jests. Moonlight hair streaming down—

  Then the slave turned, and I breathed again. Of course it was not Vashti.

  But I could not rip my gaze from the boy. He was perhaps fifteen, and from the slant of his eyes and the sunburnt amber of his skin, I judged him to be of one of the horse tribes from the north. His long soft hair, his supple young body, entranced me. Had Vashti been born a boy, she would look like this.…

  “Will it please my noble, gracious lord to see more of the boy? Would you hear him sing, or see him dance?” The slave merchant had noted my interest, scented a rich sale.

  I ignored the unctuous queries. “How much?” I asked, and the slave dealer shook his head.

  “A thousand apologies, noble lord, but I have promised a dozen men that he will be shown on the auction block. A eunuch of such high quality, a pearl of such perfection, such rarity, will bring—”

  That, of course, is why he is being pushed onto the sale platform even as the dealer speaks. I suspected the boy had become too difficult to handle; a rebellious slave is a liability to a slave merchant. I interrupted the dealer’s recitation of the boy’s virtues by raising my hand.

  “Do not waste my time. You know who I am, and whom I serve. I want that boy. Now tell me how much.” I should have pretended only a mild interest, begun the bargaining by pointing out the boy’s faults. I knew I acted as foolishly as Vashti, but I did not care. I cared only that when I went back to the palace, that boy came with me.

  The merchant hesitated, clearly trying to decide just how much he could overcharge me. At last he said, “Two hundred darics.”

  An outrageous amount for an untrained, unruly boy, and both the slave merchant and I knew it. But I found myself saying, “Very well. Two hundred darics.” It was, after all, the price that Daniel had once paid to free me from a cruel fate.

  The merchant stared, but managed to say, “Did Your Excellency agree?”

  “Yes,” I said, “My Excellency did. Is the bargain sealed?”

  The slave merchant agreed so swiftly he nearly choked on the words. And that is how I came to return to the palace with a very beautiful and very sullen young eunuch following me.

  * * *

  I sent my new acquisition off to bathe and eat before I talked with him. So it was not until the sun had set that the boy was brought to my bedchamber. His skin glowed with sweet oil, his hair flowed like mountain snow down his back, and his expression radiated defiance. I remembered when I had been that young, and that terrified.…

  I shoved undesired memories away. “So,” I said, “what is your name?”

  He stared at his feet, and mumbled something that might have been anything from his name to a curse.

  “Look at me,” I said calmly, “and try again. Now, what is your name?”

  He lifted his head and stared at me. And in his eyes I saw, not Vashti, but myself—a highborn boy whose future had been destroyed by one stroke of the gelding knife.

  “Bagoas,” he said. “My name is Bagoas.”

  Of course it is. You should learn to lie more convincingly, child. I smiled at him and held my hand out to him. “I was Bagoas once. Well, be Bagoas if it pleases you. But if it does not—someday you will have your own name. One you choose.”

  He ignored this. He looked from me over to my broad bed; clearly reluctant, he walked over to the bed, sat on it in the most graceless fashion possible, and stared at me, waiting. Drawn by the lamplight dancing over his hair, I went to him and sat beside him. When I put my arm around him, he turned rigid as stone.

  “I do not wish anyone unwilling in my bed,” I said, and moved my arm, letting him go if he wished. When he did not move, I said, “There are other beds. Find an empty one and go to sleep. You’ve had a long, hard day and need rest.”

  “Yes, my lord Hegai.” He slid off my bed and bowed, then ran to the door and disappeared through it before I could change my mind.

  I lay back against the pillows and stared at the stars painted on the ceiling. Tell me, Immaculate One, what am I to do with the boy now? I could give him to Vashti; she always delighted in gifts. Ah, well—I will think about it tomorrow. Now I should take my own advice, and go to sleep.

  Sleep eluded me for many hours, and when at last I did sleep, I suffered such bad dreams I wished only to wake. It was a relief to rise and begin the day—at least until I remembered I now owned a beautiful young eunuch who called himself Bagoas.

  * * *

  The next night was far worse, for Bagoas came to my bed. Unsummoned, and clearly determined to repay my kindness to him in a fashion he believed acceptable to me.

  So. Bagoas slid into my bed, and I ran my fingers through his long pale hair. Bagoas cupped my face in his hands; through that touch, I felt him tremble. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to mine.

  He tried. Skin against hot skin. We both tried. Flesh pressed against flesh. But in the end, we both failed. His touch failed to rouse any emotion in me but revulsion and I wished with all my heart that I had never seen him. Sheer folly. Callous and revolting. How could I be such a fool?

  Then I noticed that the boy trembled and his eyes shone with tears. He must fear his lack of passion had angered me.

  “Don’t cry. It doesn’t matter.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me try again. I can—I know how to give you pleasure, I do. I was taught, well taught. Please, my noble lord—”

  Well taught—yes, by pain and fear and force. Not every pretty young eunuch had such a tender, gentle teacher as I had. Not for the first time, I blessed Lord Orodes’s name. I put my arm around the boy. “Hush, Bagoas. It is not your fault that neither of us likes to bed with men.”

  He stared at me with tear-filled eyes. “What does it matter what I like? I shall never have it.”

  “Never is a very long time, Bagoas.”

  “At the end of never, I will still be a eunuch,” he said bitterly. “What woman will ever want me? What woman will want half a man?”

  “You will be surprised to learn how man
y women would rather welcome a eunuch to her bed than a whole man. Come to that, you will be surprised to learn how many women would rather share her bed with her cat or her dog. I even knew a woman who would rather sleep with snakes than with her husband.” I had my reward; Bagoas laughed.

  “I, too, would rather sleep with serpents than with any man I have yet seen.” His muscles relaxed, and he tried to suppress a yawn. The small flames of lamplight sent ripples of shadow over his moon-bright hair, his sun-amber skin.

  “Trust me,” I said, “women will fling themselves begging at your feet, if that is what you wish.”

  He looked skeptical, but said only, “Surely it is as you say, lord.”

  “Surely a boy with your face and your wit can carve his future to his liking. And there is more to life than rolling about in a bed with a woman, or man, or whatever it is that you favor.” I stroked his pale hair, so like Vashti’s. But he is not what you desire. He is not Vashti.

  I forced away the image of Vashti on her wedding night. The thinnest of silks over her skin, skin that gleamed like pearls in the flickering torchlight. Her hair unbound, falling down past her hips, sliding over her thighs with each step she took. Her eyes uncertain at the door to the king’s bedchamber, as I opened it and guided her over the threshold into the waiting darkness …

  “My lord Hegai? Do you wish me to leave or to stay?”

  The image of Vashti’s uncertain eyes vanished. “Oh, you may stay. There is room enough. And there is something I wish to ask of you. No, two things.”

  He stared down and drew in a deep breath. Clearly he believed I was about to ask he perform some unknown but repulsive act. “Of course, my lord. Whatever you desire. I am yours.” He managed to speak with only the faintest tremor of fear and anger. Definitely he had great promise.

  “The first is that you tell me your name.”

  After a long silence, he told me, but his name sounded so strange to my ears I could not easily repeat it. Well, many of us came into the palace with one name and remained here with another. After a moment, he offered something freely. “It means wolf.”