“But it’s true, Hatach. Yes, pearls will do very well.”
“It may be true—” Hatach snapped his fingers and a maidservant knelt, held out a tray on which ropes of ruddy pearls lay coiled; their rosy fire would glow like sunset against my hair. “—but it is completely unnecessary to tell the entire truth every single moment.”
“What should I say, then?”
“Say you wish whatever he wishes to bestow upon you. Or better yet,” Hatach finished, “say nothing whatsoever. Just smile, and let the man think what he will.”
* * *
So I, Hadassah bas Abihail, wed Ahasuerus, King of Kings, Lord of Half the World, before Ahura Mazda’s Sacred Flame, by rites laid down so long ago no man living knew when or how. No woman, either.
I scarcely noticed the ceremony, or the flame, or that I spoke pagan vows. All I saw was Ahasuerus, and the love in his eyes. Then we were married, and walked together through the gate into the Queen’s Palace to begin our new life together.
It was not so simple as that, of course. But for a month of sun-bright days and honey-sweet nights, I could pretend that it was.
* * *
All unwitting, Ahasuerus made it easy for me to lie to myself, for he proved a most loving and generous husband. Too generous, I told him—
“—truly, it is not necessary to bestow a gift upon me every hour of the day.” The outpouring of gold and gems, slaves and silks, made me uneasy.
“Not necessary, but delightful,” Ahasuerus said. “It gives me pleasure to bestow gifts upon you, beloved. Surely they give you joy?”
“It pleases me to give you pleasure, my lord and husband.”
Ahasuerus smiled. “Then you will be very pleased indeed with this.” He motioned Hatach forward; Hatach came forward, and bowed, and, with a smug look at me, placed an ivory casket in Ahasuerus’s hands. Ahasuerus dismissed Hatach, then turned and set the ivory casket in my hands.
The precious box was old, the ivory deepened to the color of wild honey. Dragons coiled over the panels; whoever had carved them had been a master of the craft.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Thank you, my—Ahasuerus.” Hot blood rushed to my cheeks; I had not yet become accustomed to such intimacy.
He leaned closer and kissed my cheek, his lips cool against my skin. “You are too easily pleased, Esther. That is not your gift. Open it.”
Even more flushed, I obeyed, and found myself staring at a coiled necklace of rubies red as heart’s blood. I looked up into Ahasuerus’s eyes. “These are mine?”
He knew what I meant. “Yes, these are yours. Hegai presented them to me as a suitable morning gift for you. Apparently I am the only one in all Shushan who did not know you would be my queen.”
There was a rueful amusement in his voice; better far than anger, but I did not want him ever to think what he had said half in jest was truth. I closed the casket’s lid over the jewels that had bought my place in his palace, in his bed.
“No,” I said, “there was one other who did not know it. I wept myself to sleep for forty nights fearing you would find your bride among those who came before me. And then I feared you would look upon me and—”
“Not see your beauty?”
“Not see your wife,” I said.
“I will always see you, my wife,” Ahasuerus said, and kissed my forehead. “Never forget that. Always.”
Yes, even a king is entitled to his marriage month, when he and his bride seek only each other’s company. But while a common man may enjoy as much longer as he wishes, a king must answer to duty. We claimed our days and nights full moon to full moon as husband and wife. And then Ahasuerus became King of Kings once more, and I—merely his queen.
* * *
It was hard, after the honey-sweetness of that month, to return to the strict routines of the women’s world. Being queen did not bring me more freedom than most women possessed, but less. Oh, I will not pretend I did not enjoy many aspects of my royal and pampered life. Or that I did not stare into Hegai’s famous silver mirror amazed at how I looked with the queen’s diadem shining against my hair.
But I missed my husband. Being king, he had much he must do. I reminded myself of this daily, schooling myself to greet him only with fond words and open arms. That he was king was hardly his fault—nor could I claim I had no notion before I wed him what that would entail. Ahasuerus did all he could to make life weigh light upon me—and he remembered every word I had spoken to him during our halcyon time together.
I learned much more about my husband once we no longer dwelt on love alone. He liked to give gifts, and he liked to surprise me. I suspected he had at least one dedicated spy reporting to him, and that her name was Vashti. That was how he knew I liked singing birds, and why he sent me a nightingale in a golden cage. It would not sing in the cage, so I released the unhappy creature into my garden. The bird’s wing-feathers had been clipped, so it could not fly free—and by the time its feathers had grown long again and it could fly away if it chose, it had become accustomed to the food I provided and to the safety of the garden’s trees, and so it remained. I listened to the nightingale sing every night until the sweet melody ceased, or I fell asleep.
That, too, was how he knew that I, like Vashti, loved animals—Vashti had a veritable zoo of pets both exotic and commonplace, and she was pleased that I did not shrink away from them as many did. Truly, there was no need to fear any of them, for her animals had been reared as gently as highborn children, and had the soft nature such rearing engenders in animals.
For the past ten years I had missed the comforting presence of animals about me, but as I have said before, good Jews kept neither dogs nor cats, let alone wolves, cheetahs, and foxes.
So the day I opened a gilded basket set into my hands by Ahasuerus and looked down into a small fluffy face and very round dark eyes, I was so astonished I could only stare. The amber-furred puppy stared back, then began to crawl determinedly out of the basket. Regaining my composure, I scooped up the puppy before it fell; it promptly snuggled under my chin, apparently content.
“Do you like her?” Ahasuerus asked. “She comes from Cathay, and no other woman has such a dog.”
“Of course I like her! Oh, Ahasuerus, thank you.” The only dogs I had touched since my father died and I came to live in Shushan had been the gazehound bitch and the pup I had saved when Haman drowned all the rest of her litter in a public fountain. When Haman pulled off my veil, and tried to slash my face open with his whip. But I knew better than to accuse Haman, the king’s good friend and the Queen Mother’s tool—just as I knew better than to say that Vashti, too, cherished such a small imperial dog, although hers was old, its golden fur woven now with silver. And Vashti’s, too, had been given by a man who loved her.…
Ahasuerus leaned forward and kissed my forehead; the puppy yipped in outrage. “Yes, guard your mistress—who values you more than any gem I have given her.” He stroked the puppy’s chin. “What will you call her, my love?”
The name came unbidden to my tongue. “Ishtar. Ishtar, if you think the goddess will not object.”
Ahasuerus laughed, and gently tapped the puppy’s nose. “As this dog is far more royal even than I, and her ancestors belonged to gods—no, my heart, I do not think the goddess of love will take the name amiss.”
That Ahasuerus put great thought into his gifts delighted me. But no gift pleased me so much as the one that granted a wish I had not even dared to dream. Hatach came seeking me as I sat reading on my favorite balcony, the one looking eastward to the sunrise hills, and announced that it was the pleasure of the King of Kings that his queen attend upon him. I rolled up my book, a history of the endless wars of the Greeks against Troy, and followed Hatach back to my chambers, smiling as the puppy Ishtar indignantly followed; I had disturbed her nap.
“O queen, the King of Half the World wishes you to come to him, and to wear this to please him.” Hatach spread his hands, indicating the clothing spread upon a sandalwood ch
est.
I stared at the garb Hatach had laid out for me. A tunic of heavy amber silk; leather trousers sewn with golden leopard heads. Boots to lace up over my calves. “You are certain the king said I was to wear these garments? You heard him with your own ears?” I would not put it past a malicious rival to slip such a command into the chain of servants that ran between me and my husband. I would not accept hearsay.
“Yes, O queen, may you live forever. The King of Kings set them into my arms himself.”
That surprised me more than the garments. Well, then Ahasuerus had some surprise planned for me. Something that required me to wear trousers—I remembered that when Vashti was queen, she had ridden out with him. And I remembered I had told him I was raised on a horse farm in the Karoun Valley.
So he wishes to surprise me by letting me ride with him—and I shall be as astonished as he wishes.
* * *
Ahasuerus still managed to amaze me. For when he led me through the stable courtyards, he stopped in the largest—a vast open space as large as some men’s palaces—and gestured toward a line of horses, each held firmly by two grooms. Beautiful animals, well-muscled and strong-boned, the sunlight throwing a sheen of gold over their sleek hides. Nisean stallions, restive and powerful, hard even for two strong men to hold. Puzzled, I slanted a glance up at Ahasuerus.
“Fine stallions,” I said, question in my tone.
“Ah, you have not guessed all my surprise, for all your wisdom, my love. Look closer—is there not one above all the others that takes your eye?”
I studied the stallions again. At first I saw only that any of these horses was worth a prince’s crown. Then, as I turned my eyes down the line, my gaze stopped, caught by a heavy-muscled gray. I looked, and looked, and then I forgot I was Queen of Persia and stood by the side of the King of Kings. I pulled my hand from his and ran three paces forward. Then I put my fingers to my mouth and whistled.
The sound cut the air, piercing as a hawk’s cry. The gray flung his head up, then half-reared and bounded forward off his haunches. The grooms could not hold him; he cantered across the smooth stones of the courtyard and stopped, pawing the ground, a few feet from me.
“Star,” I said, and held out my hand.
He bowed his head and delicately stepped the last short distance between us. I set my hands upon the sides of his beautiful head, and he leaned his forehead against me. “Oh, my Star.” I began to cry, and felt Ahasuerus’s hand upon my shoulder.
“You are pleased, my heart?” he asked, and I managed to nod. When I stopped crying against Star’s neck, I stepped back and examined him. I had not seen my hot-spirited darling for a decade; time had changed him. Age had paled his coat to moon-silver and added heavy muscle to his neck and shoulders. The pure white star still shone upon his left front fetlock, but I did not need that mark to know him.
The Master of Horse approached, bowed. “O queen, this is indeed a fine animal, but he is used only to set to the mares. No one can ride him, and did he not sire such fine offspring, he would long ago have been gelded.”
“That still would not have reconciled him to a man upon his back,” I said. “But I can ride him.” I grasped a handful of Star’s mane—and then I remembered, not that I was queen, but that it had been ten years since I had swung myself up onto a horse. I turned to Ahasuerus.
“If it please the king,” I said, “and if it is permitted, will he assist me up?”
Ahasuerus smiled. “It pleases the king,” he said and then, to the utter horror of the Master of Horse, bent and linked his hands together. I set my foot upon his hands and sprang onto Star’s back.
Star danced sideways; my body swayed with the motion, remembering. I bent to kiss the crest of Star’s neck, and to hide more tears.
“He was in my own stables all along,” Ahasuerus said. “Is that not wondrous?”
“Oh, yes—almost as wondrous as you—I mean, my lord king—”
Ahasuerus laughed. “I’m your husband, Esther. You may call me by my name, or by any other name that pleases you.”
“I am honored.” I also had no intention of doing so, save in our most private moments. I knew what was due the king’s dignity. Ahasuerus might wear that dignity easily—I liked him for it—but his queen should not seem to hold his honor lightly.
* * *
Nor should the king’s dearest friend. It seemed to me that Haman acted too freely in the presence of the king—and not only in private, when a king could choose to set aside his exalted rank and remove his crown for a few brief hours. Ahasuerus had raised Haman high, and Haman took immoderate advantage of that favor.
Ahasuerus took great delight in presenting me to Haman, who was now the king’s vizier; second only to the king in honor and power. I had no warning, no chance to don a veil. I could only pray that Haman had long ago forgotten my face.
But that hope did the moment Ahasuerus took my hand and said, “Dearest Esther, behold the man I love above all others. I hope Haman will prove as good a friend to you as he is to me.”
For once I could think of no words to say. I clasped Ahasuerus’s hand tightly and inclined my head. Haman stared at me, and I saw recognition flare in his angry eyes. He had no choice but to bow before me; I could see how he hated that.
“Haman, my good friend, you see that I am the most fortunate man in all the world—and I owe my happiness to you.” Ahasuerus smiled upon us both.
I found my voice. “How so, my lord and my king?”
Ahasuerus seemed surprised. “Did not Vashti tell you that the reason you are here is because of Haman? The search for my queen sprang from his mind—I never would have thought of such a thing.”
“Then I am in Prince Haman’s debt.” Since I knew it would please Ahasuerus, I managed to smile. I prayed I would never lay eyes upon Haman again, but that prayer was not answered—or say, rather, that the answer to my prayer was “no.”
For since Ahasuerus regarded Haman as a brother, he brought Haman with him when he came to visit me in the Queen’s Palace. I always made them both welcome; ordered Haman’s favorite dishes prepared to set before him. My courtesy to his friend pleased Ahasuerus, and that pleased me. But I loathed Haman; my judgment of him could never be impartial.
I could never forget the image of Haman in a rage, drowning still-blind puppies in a public fountain. When forced to endure his presence, I retreated behind my veil, no matter that it was sheer as smoke, and spoke as few words to him as possible. Ahasuerus attributed this withdrawal to my innate modesty, but I do not think my chaste reserve deceived Haman. Just as when I looked upon Haman, I saw the man who had ripped away my concealing veil on the public street, when Haman looked upon me, he saw the woman who had wrenched his own whip from his hands. Only Ahasuerus kept us from engaging in open battle. I loved Ahasuerus too much to distress him by behaving cruelly to his dearest friend—
—and Haman loved being the king’s friend too much to risk losing the riches and power it bestowed upon him.
So on days that Ahasuerus brought Haman into my garden, I greeted him with a low murmur of words that barely passed beyond the delicate fabric of my veil. And while Ahasuerus and Haman played chess, or Twenty Squares, or discussed the affairs of empire, I studied them both. I knew Haman was my enemy, for he both hated and feared me. Each time he accompanied Ahasuerus and was forced to laugh and talk, Haman watched me with keen eyes.
I feared that someday Haman would force Ahasuerus to choose between his friend and his wife. I knew I must never allow that day to come.
What I did not know was that I was already too late to prevent it.
VASHTI
I had liked Esther from the hour we first met in the Garden of Roses, and had admired her through the long year that had followed. But only now that Esther had become our queen did I understand how truly she deserved her crown. Its weight did not alter her, nor did the power that was now hers change her.
Queen Esther did not forget those who had befriended
her, or those she had befriended. Generous with both coin and kindness, she even seemed to win Queen Mother Amestris’s friendship—at least after Amestris’s first anger faded. Esther dealt with her easily, softly, without apparent effort.
“It is simple,” Esther said, when I expressed my admiration for her skill at managing the Queen Mother. “Amestris loves only one thing, power, and wishes only one thing, to be queen forever. I bow before her, and beg her to advise me, and I listen carefully as she speaks.”
“But Esther—” I stopped, realizing that I was merely a princess of the House of Babylon—and Esther wore the diadem of the Queen of Queens. I had schemed to put that diadem on Esther’s midnight-fire hair, and now must bow before the queen I had created.
Not an easy lesson, but a vital one. Ahasuerus must never be forced to choose between his beloved wife and his dearest sister.
And I knew I had much to learn from Esther. Esther’s nature was a generous one, her heart a kind one. She was as clever at lessons and gifts as she was at languages and numbers.
My favorite gift from her was intangible—but most useful. I thought I rode well; I was wrong. Once I saw Queen Esther upon her Star, I knew I only sat upon a horse without falling off. Esther—she and the horse became one creature. I watched, entranced, as that creature danced across the earth. So swift, so fast.
So free.
“I would like to ride your Star,” I said, when Esther rode back to me, and was astonished to hear her answer,
“No.”
How dare she deny me! Swift anger kindled in my blood. Then, as I stared at Esther, the anger receded. I am not queen. She is.
“No one rides Star but me.” Esther smiled; she did not know that her simple “No” had changed the way I looked upon the world.
That it had changed me.
I still dwelt in the palace as if I were a queen, but that was illusion only. I could dwell here all the rest of my days—as the king’s sister, as the queen’s friend, as—
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