Once I even saw King Ahasuerus and Queen Vashti riding through the vast square at the foot of the Great Staircase. For the queen to ride out through the city was a shocking breach of court etiquette. A queen who wished to travel did so confined in a gilded litter. I was not too proud to stop and stare just as everyone else did. Queen Vashti was my age, too, she was just fifteen. She rode beside the king; I could not see King Ahasuerus’s face, for he was turned away from me, his attention upon his laughing queen. I wondered what he had said, to amuse her so well. I wondered more that he indulged her so greatly.
True, a veil covered Queen Vashti’s face, but the glittering fabric was so sheer I could see that her beauty was no mere courtly pretense. I had often doubted any woman could be as beautiful as Queen Vashti was reputed to be; now I saw I was wrong, for the queen truly was lovely as the stars. Her famously pale hair shone like snow on the high hills.
I watched as they rode away from me. My last thought of Queen Vashti was that she did not ride even half so well as she clearly thought she did.
She needs to balance her weight better. But I suppose the king does not notice, and no one else dares tell her—and that she would not listen if anyone dared.
* * *
The first time I saw the Lord Prince Haman, he was drowning a litter of puppies in the fountain by the Eastern Gate. He had tied the pup’s mother, a beautiful sable-and-white gazehound, to his horse’s reins; a groom held the restive horse as the bitch struggled frantically to free herself. She had no chance of saving her pups. Nor had anyone yet dared interfere with Lord Haman’s deadly pastime—even though he polluted public water. Half a dozen small bodies already floated in the sullied fountain. Scowling, Haman dangled another squeaking pup by its neck and then shoved it underwater.
When I started forward, a woman caught my arm. “Let it be,” she said in a low voice. “That’s Lord Haman, the king’s friend.”
“My thanks for the warning,” I said, and ran up behind Haman and pushed with all my strength, sending him facedown into the fountain. As he struggled up, swearing, I reached into the water, grabbing for the puppies. I could tell almost at once it was too late—all the pups save one fell cold and limp from my hands onto the stones paving the street.
But that last one still lived, and coughed up water as I rubbed its sides. I carried it over to Haman’s horse and untied the desperate bitch; Haman’s groom had dropped the reins to hurry over and help his master out of the fountain. Just as the gazehound bitch bounded free, a hand fell heavy on my shoulder. Haman pulled me around to face him.
“How dare you interfere?” He did not shout in anger, but seemed to growl, a low flat sound. “Who are you, to hinder a prince?” Before I could answer, he grabbed a handful of my blue veil and yanked it off, revealing my face. I heard gasps from those watching, and a few cries of outrage.
Doubtless Haman expected me to melt into the street from shame—and I admit his action shocked me.
“How dare you unveil a woman on a public street?” I held my head high, as if I were a queen and he a beggar. “And who are you, who dares kill dogs and pollute a public fountain?” Most of those watching would be appalled that he drowned puppies, and water is more precious than frankincense; no one corrupts a well or a fountain. The gazehound bitch pressed up against me, nuzzling for her pup; I tucked the puppy under my arm and stroked the bitch’s lean elegant head.
“Here!” Haman snapped his fingers and gestured to the gazehound; I felt the bitch shrink back. “And you, girl, give me that mongrel—no, better, you drown the ill-bred creature.”
Ah, so that’s it—my lord prince’s purebred bitch chose her own mate. I glanced down at the wet puppy I held, then looked back at Haman, who stood soaked and dripping.
“She will not come to you,” I said, “nor will I obey commands from you.”
“She will come or I will beat her until she learns obedience.” Haman reached for the braided leather whip looped over his saddlebow.
“That will not teach obedience, but fear.” Without taking my gaze from Haman, I stooped and gathered up my veil. “Let us pass, and I will not complain of this to my family.”
“You will complain—do you know who I am, girl? I am Prince Haman.” Clearly he expected me to gasp and grovel at this. When I did neither, he added, “The King of Kings calls me friend.”
Even as I cautioned myself to prudent silence, I found myself saying, “Does the King of Kings know how you ill-use his subjects and his city?” Prince Haman seemed struck dumb by my defiance—but as I wrapped my veil around the puppy, Haman whirled and lashed out with the thick leather whip. He knew how to use that whip, and he meant to wound; meant to teach me obedience.
Had his blow landed, Haman’s whip would have laid open my face from eye to chin. And if Haman’s whip had marred me, many lives would have changed forever.
But Haman’s whip never touched my flesh, for I knew better than ever to take my eyes from an enemy. I heard the creak of leather and the swish of the lash, and I did the one thing no man would ever expect: I swiftly stepped toward Haman.
Instead of slashing my face, Haman’s whip cracked in the spot I had been only a heartbeat ago. And as the whip sagged and slithered onto the paving stones, I grabbed the lash and pulled, using all my weight. His balance lost, Haman stumbled forward, and I tugged again and wrenched the whip out of Haman’s hand.
He did not expect me to be strong, and he did not expect me to do anything but cower weeping before him. Nor did he expect those gawking and looking on to laugh. Prince Haman, the king’s friend, pulled to his knees by a girl? A girl who already had pushed him into a fountain?
Laughter—a thing men like Haman cannot endure. Haman lurched to his feet; he slipped on the damp paving stones, which angered him further. He reached for me, thinking perhaps to grasp back his whip; I stepped back as the gazehound bitch growled. Haman stopped, and demanded,
“Who are you? In the name of Ahura Mazda and the name of the King of Kings, I command you to tell me the truth!” Blood had rushed to Haman’s face; crimson flared across his cheeks.
I was sorely tempted to tell him he should command by Ahriman the Dark and not by Ahura Mazda the Good, but I said only, “I am Hadassah.”
“Don’t play games with me, girl, or I’ll have you taken up as a common harlot. Whose daughter are you? Whose wife?”
“I am Hadassah, daughter of Abihail. I am no man’s wife yet.” I coiled Haman’s whip and tucked it into my girdle. “Since you took my veil, I will take your whip in exchange.”
For a moment I thought Prince Haman’s blood would burst through his skin; never before had I seen such fury. “That is mine.”
“It is mine now.” I do not know how I kept my voice steady. “But I will give the whip to you if you give me the bitch. I can promise you will never lay eyes on either her or her pup again.”
I knew I was risking much—but I hoped that Haman, already mocked by onlookers, would wish only to swiftly end this clash of wills. If he did not, I would lose, for I was neither a prince nor the king’s friend. At first it seemed that anger would rule him, but as Haman looked from me to those looking on, the furious crimson faded from his cheeks.
“If you want that worthless bitch, she is yours if she follows you.” Haman laughed, a harsh, almost cruel sound. He turned and spread his hands wide, as if offering his false contrition to the crowd. “Is that fair and just?”
A low murmur from the people surrounding us; a few, braver than the others, called out that Prince Haman was both just and fair.
I looked at the fountain, which would have to be drained and cleansed, and at the wet bodies of the dead puppies. I pulled the coiled whip from my girdle, tested its weight in my hand. I felt the sun burn hot on my uncovered hair.
Fair and just.
I let the whip fall from my hand and walked away from Haman with my head high, a wet shivering puppy wrapped in my ruined veil and a thin nervous bitch trotting along with me, pre
ssing close to my side and making soft whimpering noises. All I could think, as I led her home, was that Mordecai would be furious at me for being unveiled on the public street.
Once I returned home and settled the bitch with her puppy, I went to wash the dust of the street off my face. It was only then that fear fled through my blood, faster and ever faster, until my hands shook so I could hold nothing. I still sat pale and trembling until Mordecai returned home. When he questioned me, I told him all that had passed that day.
“And I am sorry I was in the street unveiled, but truly, cousin, it was not my fault. The bitch and pup are in the garden. I couldn’t think where else to put them.”
To my utter astonishment, Mordecai put his arm around me. “Better the garden than the kitchen,” was all he said. I waited for him to forbid me to set even the shadow of my foot beyond our doorstep henceforth, but he did not.
I don’t know whether the dogs or my actions appalled Mordecai more. Persians cherish the creatures. Good Jews keep neither cats nor dogs.
But Mordecai found the bitch and her pup a good home with a Persian who owned farms far from Shushan.
And he warned me that I must never let Haman set eyes on me again. “For Haman hates Jews, and you have given him reason to hate you twice over,” Mordecai said.
“I think Haman hates everyone,” I said.
“Perhaps—but he is an Agagite, and hates Jews more than all others.”
Of course, thanks to Mordecai’s teachings, I knew the story. Long ago, King Saul of Israel had defeated King Agag in battle, and disobeyed the Lord’s command to slaughter all those he and his army had taken captive. The Prophet Samuel seized King Saul’s sword and himself slew King Agag. All Agag’s men were put to the sword. Not even their beasts were left alive.
I agreed with Mordecai that I must never again face Haman—but I did not believe he hated a whole race because of a battle that took place five hundred years before he was born. That ancient battle was merely Haman’s excuse.
* * *
The great feast given by King Ahasuerus entertained all the world, and the bazaars of Shushan flowed over with fine goods to tempt the king’s guests and their retinues. Like everyone else in Shushan, I had watched seemingly endless processions of noble and royal guests glitter their way through the streets to the palace. Both the Great Staircase and the King’s Gate had been gilded in honor of the feast. At night, when a thousand torches burned, a river of fire seemed to flow up from the city to the palace above us.
But even wonders, too often seen, become familiar. By the seventh day of the feast, I only glanced at the dazzling spectacle high on the hill before I went early to my bed. Late in the night I heard someone banging upon our door. But it was not my place to run and answer such a summons, and a few moments later I heard Mordecai’s voice. That made me sit up in my bed, for Mordecai rarely raised his voice, and if I could hear him now, he was amazed indeed.
The next morning I learned why Mordecai had been called in the night. The news whipped through Shushan like wildfire.
Queen Vashti had defied the king. Queen Vashti had insulted the king. Queen Vashti had been stripped of her robes and her jewels and her crown and was queen no longer.
“But what did Queen Vashti actually do?” I asked our servant Leah. Leah had been to the market early, to buy eggs while they were fresh, and had come running back out of breath and without eggs. And she hadn’t stopped talking since, although as she repeated the same phrases over and over again, I had learned only enough to know that Mordecai must have been summoned to the palace to write upon the matter of the queen.
Leah gasped for air. “What did Queen Vashti do? I’ve been telling you, she defied him. The king, may he live forever, ordered her to come to his feast and—she refused!”
“Why?” I asked, and Leah gaped at me.
“What difference does that make? The King of Kings set her aside. There’s a law, a decree. It says that Vashti shall come no more before the king. That’s what it says. So she’s not queen anymore.”
* * *
For days, no one in Shushan seemed able to talk of anything but Queen Vashti’s rebellion. I said very little on the matter, for I could not understand why the king would send for his wife when he must know she could not in decency obey him. Flaunt the queen unveiled before a hall full of drunken men? How could he? Doubtless he had been far too drunk to know better—
After seven days of feasting, I suppose they were all too drunk to know better. That was one of the many things I did not say. Mordecai, too, kept silent, saying only that the entire matter was most unfortunate. But he stared at me as he spoke; an odd, intent gaze.
* * *
Although a royal decree had been sent throughout the empire, north to south, east to west, proclaiming that Vashti was no longer queen, to everyone’s amazement, she still dwelt in the palace. There was no talk of execution, or of exile. Slowly, as time passed, the gilt wore away from the Great Staircase. More slowly still, the gossip about Vashti died.
The king must take a new wife, of course. A new queen. Everyone assumed a proper princess would be found for him. Kings married princesses to ensure royal bloodlines and to seal political alliances. So it had always been; so it would be now.
When at last it was announced that a new queen was to be chosen, and how, all Shushan seemed to run mad.
Heralds strode through the streets, proclaiming loudly that all maidens might appear before the judges to vie for the queen’s crown.
Whereas the King of Kings has set aside Queen Vashti for the crime of rebellion against him, and whereas the King of Kings is desirous of taking to himself a new queen better than she, the King of Kings decrees that any maiden who has reached the age of fourteen years but not yet that of twenty may come before the judges whom the King of Kings will appoint. And if these judges find her fair and worthy, she will be taken into the palace at Shushan. There the King of Kings will judge each maiden, and the maiden who best pleases him will become Queen of Queens.
There was a great deal more, of course. No woman who had been married might present herself to the judges. Many young fair widows wept over that restriction. No woman already betrothed might compete. Some girls I knew wept when they heard that. I do not think any woman wept to learn that the King of Kings would select a new queen not for politics, nor for wisdom, nor even for her sweet temper, but for her pretty face and shapely body.
Mothers assessed their daughters; girls demanded and got any oil or perfume they asked to beautify their skin and hair, any garments that would best display their form.
The madness spread as every jewel merchant, cloth merchant, perfume merchant, and wig merchant hastened to pull forward their most costly wares. Each hairdresser’s and tailor’s time was bespoken; each bathhouse devoted itself to special beauty treatments. Dancers were summoned to teach girls to move with supple grace. Elegant and expensive courtesans found themselves in demand by virtuous women who once would have spat in their painted faces—women who now urgently wanted their virgin daughters to learn a whore’s tricks, hoping to enthrall the king.
Even I enjoyed the rush and swirl of excitement that swept us all along like a river in spring flood. I found myself gossiping with the other girls in the Jewish Quarter, something I rarely did. Seldom has it taken so long to fill pitchers and jars as we all stood around the well. And seldom has such arrant nonsense been spoken.
One offering was, “I heard the judges are to look upon the maidens naked, because Vashti had a tail and that is why she dared not show herself at the king’s command.”
I laughed outright at the one. “If the judges do examine the would-be-queens naked, it is not to search for tails!”
“Oh, and how would you know, Hadassah? You are very learned, but this is not a contest of learning. It is to find the fairest maiden in the empire.”
“Is it?” I raised my eyebrows. “Where in the proclamation does it say that?”
The other girls regar
ded me pityingly. “It says ‘the maiden who best pleases him.’” Rachel, who could never remember even two lines of the first book of Moses, could recite the entire text of the king’s proclamation perfectly. And did, at least once each day.
“What else,” Rachel continued, “can that mean but the one who is most beautiful? After all, Vashti was the most beautiful woman in the empire.”
“And now is not?” I could not help teasing; I saw one or two of the girls smile.
“She’s not queen anymore.” This was enough for Rachel, and for most of the others, and led into the second most engrossing topic in all Shushan: Vashti’s faults. Now that she was no longer Queen of Queens, Vashti’s beauty had become sorcerous and her nature evil. Everyone had something to contribute to the tarring of Vashti’s character as woman, wife, and queen.
“She slept with snakes.” “She worshipped Ahriman the Dark.” “She ordered her servants to work naked!”
“In a court ruled by protocol and its women ruled by modesty?” I said. “Nonsense.”
No one liked this commonsense rebuke.
“Well, I heard it from—” Leah began, only to have Rachel ruthlessly interrupt.
“She did worse than that.” Rachel lowered her voice with each word until even I found myself stretching my ears to hear what she would say. “She refused him.”
“Refused him what?” asked Elishua; she was still a young girl, and sweet-minded, and even when Rachel hissed, “She refused—she denied him a son,” Elishua clearly did not understand.
“Only the Lord can—” Elishua began, and the less kind girls laughed. Elishua’s cheeks burned crimson, and I took her hand.
“You are quite right, Elishua,” I said. “Only the Lord gives and takes. Blessed be the name of the Lord,” I added, rather tartly, and some of the girls muttered the words after me. Where did modest, well-brought-up maidens hear such arrant, vulgar gossip? Who invented such ridiculous babble?
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