I knew what he meant because I had once been free. But I had also known starvation and poverty. And I had not always been a eunuch.
Chapter Three
Hadassah
MIRIAM WAS FINGERING THE DELICATE FRINGE on the border of a rug when I spotted Parysatis in her father’s booth across the bazaar. My friend waved, then tilted her head in a small gesture that clearly said get over here.
I glanced at Miriam. While she and Mordecai did not keep to themselves as much as some of our neighbors, I knew they would be disappointed if I spent too much time with a girl who didn’t know a forbidden food from an acceptable one. Parysatis was as Persian as the carpet beneath Miriam’s hand, and she probably worshipped Ahura Mazda, Mithras, or no god at all. But we didn’t talk about gods when we were together, and sometimes a girl needed to talk to another girl. . . .
“I’ll be back soon,” I told Miriam, squeezing her elbow. “I’m going to see Parysatis.”
Miriam looked across the road, bewilderment and concern in her eyes. “You’re going alone?”
“Parysatis is with her older brother. We’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Hadassah, I don’t think—”
I didn’t wait to hear the rest. Miriam was as soft as a feather bed, and I had always been able to work around her gentle protestations. And we would be safe, for Babar, Parysatis’s handsome brother, had proved himself worthy of a name that meant tiger. At eighteen, he seemed to prowl through the marketplace, his muscles gleaming as he glanced left and right for anyone who might dare challenge his skill with a sword and spear.
Babar barely glanced at me as I hurried over and slipped my arm through Parysatis’s, but I felt the touch of his gaze like a current on my skin. “I got away,” I told Parysatis. “It’s so good to see you.”
“And you.” Parysatis leaned into me as a sister might, then glanced across the road at Miriam. “I don’t understand why she’s so protective. You’re thirteen, practically a grown woman.”
“She’s old-fashioned.”
“And so much older than you. How did you end up with your cousins, anyway?”
I shrugged and ran my fingertips over a bolt of blue silk. “My grandfather, Shimei, had two sons, Jair and Abihail. Jair had a son, Mordecai, and many years later he sired Abihail. The younger son was my father.”
“Did you ever know him?” When I shook my head, Parysatis’s eyes softened. “I can’t imagine not knowing my father. Every day he comes home and asks what I would like him to bring me from the bazaar. But if Mordecai does this for you—”
Again I shrugged, implying that Mordecai asked me the same daily question, when in truth he rarely asked if I wanted anything. When not working on the king’s accounts, Mordecai spent his time studying Torah or in prayer. Our home was comfortable, not elaborate, and if my cousin had extra money, he was more likely to give it to the poor than to buy some frippery for the house.
Parysatis’s father, however, lived for art, beauty, and music. The aromatic perfume of myrrh filled my head every time I visited their luxurious home, and I could have spent hours examining the vases, statues, carvings, and artworks without seeing everything. Every wall, floor, fountain, and furnishing in the silk merchant’s dwelling had been designed to delight the senses, and I drank them in until I felt drunk on beauty. I loved hearing the silk merchant talk about the foreign lands where so many of his exquisite pieces originated. I would have given anything to be able to visit those exotic locations.
But even as I reveled in the stimulating aromas, the amazing sights, and the musical splash of the fountains, I could almost see Miriam shaking her head in mournful reproach. “You are too charmed by the world, Hadassah,” she would say. “This place is not our home. Do not let yourself be blinded by trinkets.”
But what was wrong with having nice things? Parysatis had everything a young girl could want—lovely garments, a maidservant, fine jewelry, and the most exquisitely wrought sandals. Her family kept horses at a stable near the river, and she could take a guest out riding whenever she wanted. Though Mordecai would probably say that my friend had been spoiled, Parysatis had never been anything but kind to me. She never criticized, never made me feel guilty for enjoying myself, and never asked why my guardians were so dour.
Not even now.
“I saw him earlier today.” She pinched my arm in an overflow of excitement. “He was at the stable where my father keeps our horses.”
“Who?” I asked, though I knew perfectly well whom she meant.
“Mushka.” She breathed the name. “And he looked so handsome on his stallion! My father says he is destined to grow up to be a very important man. I only wish I could know that I am destined to become his wife.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Parysatis was in love with the king’s seventeen-year-old nephew. The young man was handsome, but Mordecai said Mushka spent far too much time in the pursuit of pleasure. If the boy really wanted to learn how to help his royal uncle, he should take a post in the military or the treasury and not spend his time splashing silver around at the bazaar.
I, on the other hand, felt my heart turn over whenever Parysatis’s brother entered the room. I tried to pretend he meant nothing to me, but Babar was the most beautiful youth I’d ever seen.
“So.” Parysatis ran her palm over a lovely selection of silk, then held it up to her cheek and grinned at me. “Have you heard the amazing news?”
I hesitated, not wanting to appear completely ignorant. “The news about silk?”
She tipped her head back and released a charming, musical laugh. “The royal banquet, you silly. The feast for us.”
My heart did a double beat. “Us?” The word came out in a squeak. “As in you and me?”
“As in you and me and your family and my family and all the citizens of Susa. My father learned the details last night. Apparently the king intends to reward us for our patience with his soldiers. He is giving a banquet to honor every citizen of Susa, from the noblest family to the most common. Father says our banquet will be every bit as grand and glorious as the feast for the king’s army. And Mushka is certain to be present!”
Stunned speechless, I shifted my gaze to the wide bowl of sky overhead. I had dreamed of visiting the palace ever since meeting the queen, but in my daydreams I was a grown woman and I climbed the steps to the palace with a wealthy and well-bred husband at my side. My dream self wore a long silk gown with dozens of delicate pleats, and my hair was laced with gold cords and pinned up in a riot of curls. My beautiful jewelry gleamed in the sun—gifts from my husband, who bore a striking resemblance to Babar—including a richly decorated necklace, a carved gold bracelet, and a pair of shimmering earrings. In that imagined moment, I felt I could finally be called beautiful. . . .
But if Parysatis was telling the truth, I would be visiting the palace soon. I wouldn’t be nearly as striking as I’d hoped to be, but I would happily trade my daydream for this incredible reality.
“Are you sure your father’s information can be trusted?” I pinched the plump flesh of her upper arm. “Because if you’re teasing—”
She pulled away from me, laughing. “I’m not teasing, I promise. So ask your cousin Mordecai for a new gown because you’re going to need one. Something regal, something silk and—” she winked—“something expensive. With all of Susa present, you’ll want to stand out.”
I snorted softly. In the company of so many wealthy and noblewomen, a simple Jewish girl was far more likely to fade into the background.
Parysatis had spoken the truth. The next day a royal herald stood at the top of the great staircase and announced the banquet for the citizens of Susa, while mounted couriers carried the proclamation to distant points of the city. Women buzzed with the news as they filled their jars at the well, and patrons crowded the silk merchants’ shops from the time they opened for trading until the time they blew out their lamps.
Miriam, however, insisted she did not want a new dress, and I didn�
��t need one.
I couldn’t have been more horrified if she’d said she planned to attend the royal banquet in sackcloth.
“But Miriam! Every woman in the city will be wearing her best on each of the seven days. You need several new dresses and so do I.”
She shook her head. “We shall wear what we have and be happy. Women should be modest, Hadassah, and not overly concerned with outward beauty. Sarah was beautiful, yes, but her beauty was rooted in her kind and gentle spirit.”
“But—” I wanted to argue that I was young, I wasn’t yet married, and surely we should want to look our best for a king we respected. But for each of my points, Miriam would have an effective counterpoint. She would say the young should be protected, I would be betrothed soon enough, and I should live to please Adonai and not a pagan king.
I knew exactly what she’d say and didn’t particularly want to hear any of her reasons.
So I decided to carry my request to Mordecai. Though the man had a will of iron, if I approached him with a note of pleading in my voice and a pitiable expression on my face, Mordecai’s iron could be softened. I always felt a little guilty after manipulating him so obviously, but he was intelligent enough to see through my wiles. And as long as he was willing to grant me a favor . . .
Knowing that Mordecai would soon appear, I waited outside our courtyard as the sun began to set behind the royal fortress. His bushy brow rose when he saw me standing outside the gate.
“Hadassah.” A note of rebuke underlined his voice. “A young woman should not stand idly in the street.”
“I was waiting for you.” I smiled and let him lead me into the courtyard. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the upcoming banquet.”
“I have.” He closed the gate behind us and turned, the suggestion of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “And I’m sure you’ll agree that the three of us should stay home.”
I gaped at him, momentarily bewildered by the absurd idea that he might not want to attend. “But—but it’s a gift! To thank us for housing those soldiers.”
“I hardly think that allowing three men to sleep in our courtyard deserves such generosity.”
“But to refuse the invitation would be an insult to the king, would it not?”
His eyes sank into nets of wrinkles as his smile deepened. “Are you worried the king might be offended by the absence of an aging accountant and a thirteen-year-old girl? But that is not why you waited for me. Along with my assurance that we will attend the banquet, what do you need?”
I drew a deep breath, utterly relieved. “Parysatis says she’s wearing a new dress every night, and her father has commissioned special jewelry in honor of the occasion. I wouldn’t ask for so much, but a new gown would be nice. I want this banquet to be something I will never forget. Soon I will be married and then I will become a mother and have many little ones. Considering that I will spend my days chasing children and keeping house, this banquet might be the high point of my life.”
His heavy brows furrowed. “You think your life will amount to so little?”
I sighed, not understanding why he couldn’t see the obvious. What other fate could possibly await a girl like me?
“Never usurp the right of the Almighty to plan your future,” he said, his dark eyes intent on my face. “HaShem is always at work, even when you can’t see Him.”
I wanted to cry out in frustration, but a display of temper would never influence Mordecai to act in my favor. My cousin remained silent, his eyes probing mine as if he would discover the motivation for my request. Then he gave me a small smile. “I happen to know a man whose wife is a skilled dressmaker. Tomorrow I will ask if she has time to make another gown before the banquet.”
I clapped in victory. “Thank you, cousin! Thank you!”
He looked at me in patient amusement, then shook his head and went inside the house, leaving me to dance in the courtyard alone.
Chapter Four
Harbonah
BY THE TIME THE FIRST CITIZEN OF SUSA ARRIVED on the inaugural day of the king’s banquet, fresh white cotton curtains canopied the garden, providing shade from the bright winter sun. Beneath the canopies, blue silk banners fluttered from silver rods, tied by purple cords of fine linen. The apadana’s towering columns gleamed with a fresh coat of oil, and the marble tile shone beneath our sandals. The intricate mosaic flooring of malachite, marble, onyx, and mother-of-pearl moved more than one guest to stop in his tracks and gape at the heretofore unimagined majesty of the king’s palace.
I mopped my damp forehead with a square of spotless linen and tucked it into a pocket of my tunic. We had worked through the night to make certain everything would be ready for the residents of Susa, and by some miracle we had finished our cleaning, baking, polishing, steaming, and roasting. If any element was missing—in truth, I clung to the hope that the king’s guests could not miss what they had never seen.
Never before in the history of the Medes and the Persians—perhaps in the history of the world—had a king thrown open the doors of his palace and invited everyone outside his walls to partake of his hospitality. As slaves escorted the male citizens of Susa, both lowly and great, to dining couches in the garden, female servants led the guests’ wives and daughters to similar accommodations in the queen’s palace. Knowing that women were fascinated by the living quarters of other women, I had suggested the king ask Queen Vashti to give the women a tour of her rooms after the feast. She had balked—no surprise there—but when I reminded her that Hatakh, the queen’s chamberlain, would handle all the details, she relented.
Still, the queen was not happy about the king’s grand gesture. She had given birth to my master’s third son only a few months before, and though she did not have to tend or nurse the infant, she often cited the birth as an excuse for not appearing at various royal functions. On this occasion, however, the king had insisted that she play her part.
I was standing near the western staircase and observing the guests’ arrival when I spotted Mordecai with his wife and charming ward. The accountant wore his usual austere tunic, adorned only with a light fringe at the bottom, but both women wore beautiful gowns. The girl’s, I noticed, had been cut in the latest fashion, close fitting through the body with long, flaring sleeves. Both Mordecai’s wife and ward wore silk scarves over their hair, a modest and traditional accessory.
I lifted my hand and caught the accountant’s gaze. “I am happy to see you, my friend. Welcome to the king’s house.”
Mordecai and his wife responded with the perfunctory nod I received from most people, but the girl fairly glowed at my words. And since I had a soft spot for that delightful creature, I acted on an impulse.
“Ladies—” I bowed to them—“may I escort you to the queen’s garden? She is waiting to delight and entertain you.”
Mordecai’s wife frowned, obviously uncomfortable with the situation, but the girl’s lips parted in a gasp of eagerness. Yes, this one yearned for a taste of the life she would never find among her fellow Judeans. If the others in the Jewish district were as hardworking, sober, and taciturn as Mordecai, I doubted they ever indulged in the sort of feasting they would enjoy at the queen’s banquet.
Mordecai’s hand caught his wife’s wrist before I could lead the women away. “Be wary.” He kept his voice low. “I will attempt to leave as soon as I can make a discreet exit. We need not stay late every night.”
The girl’s face crumpled with disappointment. “Cousin, this is a celebration!”
“What have we to celebrate here?” Mordecai’s mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “We will enjoy the king’s hospitality for a while and then we will go. We need not remain here all night.”
As the young woman’s lower lip edged forward in a pout, I lifted my hand to smother a smile. The Persians had made sure I would never father a child, but I had grown up serving royal children, so I recognized youthful displeasure when I saw it.
My friend Mordecai was likely to have an unhapp
y walk home.
Chapter Five
Harbonah
FOR SEVEN DAYS THE CITIZENS OF SUSA feasted and drank at the king’s table. Food streamed from the kitchen on hundreds of platters, while wine flowed like water from golden vessels. The king observed everything from the shelter of his private tent, the queen tolerated her role as hostess, and the king’s nephew Mushka played the fool, entertaining the male guests with ribald jokes and crude imitations of oblivious wealthy merchants and Persian nobles who passed by his table.
When the sixth day of feasting had ended, I stood at the balcony and looked over the streets of Susa, watching the unfortunate results of the king’s liberality. Only a few guests made it home that first night without mishap, for nearly every man who’d indulged in the king’s wine either stumbled or vomited or made a fool of himself on the journey. The people managed the king’s generosity better on the second and third nights, and guests left the palace on the fourth and fifth nights in relative sobriety. But the collective self-control slipped on the sixth night, as if every man feared he’d never be offered a cup of wine again.
I dreaded the seventh and final night.
Everyone seemed to understand that my master’s generosity would be a once-in-a-lifetime occasion. Never again would events align in the same pattern; never again would the king’s wine flow without restriction.
I saw resolution in the determined faces of the early arrivals—they had come to gorge themselves. Men greeted me with hungry eyes, many of them admitting they had not yet broken their fast in order to leave room in their bellies for the king’s delicacies. The women wore brighter colors and more numerous jewels than on previous days, and many of them twittered with anticipation, eagerly awaiting whatever entertainment the queen had arranged for this last day of the royal feast.
Mordecai’s family proved to be an exception. They arrived later than most of the guests, and as they reached the top of the western staircase Mordecai caught my sleeve. “I am glad to see you, Harbonah,” he said, motioning toward an alcove where we could talk privately. “And as much as I would hate to insult the king’s hospitality, my family and I must depart before sunset. If you could seat me toward the back of the garden so that I can slip out unobserved . . .”
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