Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294)

by Hunt, Angela Elwell

  I smiled and gestured to the fruit on the stand.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Hadassah

  I WOKE ON THE THIRD MORNING with a pounding drum at my temple and Miriam’s voice in my head. “You will love whomever you choose to make precious to you,” she had told me when I fretted about marrying Binyamin. “By taking care of your husband, praying for him, and putting his needs before your own, you will love him. I promise.”

  I opened my eyes, half expecting to discover her lined face in the darkness, but all I could see was a faint gray line around the window, a precursor of dawn.

  I rose in the semidarkness, not waking my maids, and dipped a cloth in a basin of cool water. Wringing it out quietly, I held it to my throbbing head and closed my eyes.

  Did I love the king? I had strong feelings for him, but I had not loved him as Miriam loved Mordecai. I had not prayed for him, nor had I consciously put his needs before my own. And how could I take care of him when he had dozens of slaves to meet his needs? I had acquiesced and bowed and favored him because he was my king, but lately I had not done anything—not made even the smallest gesture—simply because I loved him.

  If the king spared my life, I would try to love him better.

  I dipped the cloth back into the cool water, then wrung it out and pressed it to my eyelids. My heart and mind had resigned themselves to the task ahead, but my body protested. I had starved it, dehydrated it, and worried it until I felt as insubstantial as air.

  But I had never felt more convinced that I was about to do the right thing.

  For five years I had lived as Queen Esther, but beneath the crown I had been, in turn, a naive girl, a love-struck fool, a barren woman, and an insecure wife.

  Today, at last, I might be a queen.

  I moved to the balcony and slid the wooden shutters aside, then stepped out to gaze at the blue-black dome of the predawn sky. The moon lingered over the northern horizon, silvering the mountains, and I smiled as I remembered how their beauty moved me on my first night in this chamber. I had been such a girl. I had believed that love required nothing but a man and a willing woman.

  I drew a deep breath, relishing the silence, and felt an instant’s disappointment when footsteps shuffled behind me. “My lady? Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you, Hulta.” No food, no juice, nothing this morning. None of the usual rituals, not even in my dressing room. Because today I would not clothe myself in hopes of catching the king’s eye or stirring his heart. Today I would put on royalty.

  I walked into the cedar-lined room where my garments were stored on shelves, and then I lifted the hinge of a giant trunk and sorted through a mountain of luxurious fabrics. I had worn a traditional gown the day the king announced my selection as queen and arranged a banquet in my honor. I would wear that dress, along with my crown and the heavy gold chain given to those who had earned the king’s favor.

  I had the garments set out by the time my maids rose and began their work. Speaking in quiet whispers, they pulled out the copper tub for my bath and hurried away for hot water.

  I sat silently as they scrubbed my body in preparation for what I had to do. After the bath, I slipped into my dressing gown and sat before my bronze mirror, watching silently as Hurfita painted my lips and elongated my eyes with kohl. Regoita braided my hair and wrapped it around my head. As she pinned the last piece into place, I was surprised to see a touch of gray at my temples. Who went gray at twenty-two?

  “I can paint over that, my queen.” Regoita picked up the kohl pot. “With just a touch of my brush here and there—”

  “No.” I caught her gaze and smiled. “Let it remain.”

  I stared at my bronze reflection and remembered the dark day when the king’s nephew had done what I was about to do. The memory shivered my skin, chilling me despite the warmth of my crowded dressing room.

  The man who would be seated on the throne was not the man who invited me into his bed. And no matter where I met him, my husband’s nature was both malleable and mercurial. Only Adonai knew how he would respond to my premeditated offense.

  Vashti had been deposed because she did not come when called. I might be executed because I came when not called. Both of us, the people would say, should have learned that not even a queen could safely ignore the king’s wishes.

  I motioned for Genunita, who held my royal tunic—a silk gown embroidered with the gold of Ophir and encrusted with precious stones and African pearls. Genunita helped me into the garment, then clicked her tongue as she tied the belt—I was noticeably thinner than I had been five years ago.

  I did not want her sympathy. “I think,” I said, “that the belt might have stretched a bit.”

  When Genunita had finished, Regoita stepped forward and placed the crown on my head. I turned to face my maids, and in their expressions I saw that I had succeeded—they gazed upon me with awe and a trace of wonder.

  Hatakh, who had entered at the back of the room, nodded with solemn approval. “I have come,” he said simply, “to escort you to the throne room. Whenever you are ready, my queen.”

  I looked at Hurfita and Ruhshita, who had been busy preparing for a banquet. “Is everything ready?”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  I gripped the back of a chair for support, lifted my chin, and met Hatakh’s gaze. “Then let us go.”

  A tremor of mingled fear and anticipation rippled through me as I left the queen’s palace and walked with Hatakh, my maids, and several other eunuchs to the throne room. With no fanfare, we slipped into the great entry hall. Beyond it, in the inner chamber, I could see my husband sitting on his throne, his forehead creased with deep thought.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Hatakh whispered.

  I wiped my damp palms on my gown, then reached for the solidity of his arm. “I’m a little wobbly, dear friend.”

  “You should have eaten something,” he said, wringing his hands like a nervous mother. “Pinch your cheeks, you’re far too pale. Hulta, straighten the hem of her gown. Regoita, secure the crown; I think it might be slipping.”

  My maids hurried to obey, supposedly repairing my appearance, but I knew no real damage had been done on the walk from my chambers. Hatakh was only trying to postpone the inevitable.

  If only he could command strength to my spine as easily as he commanded my maids.

  “Leave me now.” The words sprang unbidden to my lips, urged there by my desperate wish to have the ordeal finished. I took a step forward, moving closer to the shimmering veil that marked the boundary of the inner chamber, the place no one could enter without a royal summons. Beyond the veil, I saw my husband on the throne and Harbonah standing behind the gilded seat. I could not see Haman.

  I drew a deep breath and stepped forward, aware that my gold-encrusted sandals made a faintly metallic sound on the gleaming tiles. The guards stiffened, and Harbonah’s head turned in my direction. The king looked up, a frown darkening his countenance.

  My knees trembled, but I had committed myself. I continued on, moving forward so resolutely that the heavy dress seemed to move with an energy all its own. Encased in pearls, gold, and precious stones, my body felt numb. I tried to smile at the man I loved, but I am not sure what emotions flashed across my face. I only knew that my husband was unhappy at the disturbance. Soon he would prove himself every inch a king and condemn me to a messy and violent death. . . .

  But his face cleared, as if he had suddenly recognized me, and he reached for his golden scepter, extending it to me over a space that felt like a thousand paces away.

  Still on my feet, I reached out and touched the corporeal symbol of my king’s authority and power.

  Relief, combined with physical weakness, merged in a wave so strong that the room went black for an instant. But I would not faint. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to remain upright, then lifted my eyelids and smiled at my husband.

  “What troubles you, Queen Esther?” the king asked, clearly recognizi
ng that I would not risk my life on a whim. Genuine concern shone in his eyes, along with something that looked like respect. “What brings you to me? Whatever your request, up to half the kingdom, it will be given to you.”

  I took comfort from the fact that the king had spoken of me as his queen. And his extravagant offer bode well for my petition.

  But I could not lay out my case before these nobles. I knew my husband’s nature and I knew my enemy. If I explained my situation now, Haman would have time to conspire against me. He would have opportunity to renew his efforts and persuade the king to honor his edict, and my people and I would be doomed.

  So I could not afford to be open with my request. My husband had looked on me with generosity, but his was a changeable nature. Tomorrow he might not look on me with such favor, but I would have to face that risk.

  I bowed my head in a gracious gesture. “If it is all right with the king,” I answered in a strong voice I barely recognized as my own, “let the king and Haman come today to the banquet I have prepared for him.”

  The king did not even take the time to consider, but immediately glanced at Harbonah. “Bring Haman quickly, so what Esther has asked can be done.”

  I closed my eyes, well aware of the irony. Once before, a king asked a queen to attend a banquet and she refused, with disastrous results. But a queen had just asked a king to attend a banquet, and he had accepted.

  My beloved husband smiled at me. “I will be with you soon.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Harbonah

  THE KING DID NOT NEED ME to accompany him to the queen’s banquet, but I wouldn’t have missed it for all the gold in the treasury. I walked behind the king and Haman, then stood out of the way as the queen welcomed her husband and the fiend. “Everything has been arranged in the garden pavilion,” she said, her smile only slightly frayed. “I am honored, my king, that you would grant me this wish.”

  The king looked at her, obviously bemused, but he didn’t question her further until all three of them had finished eating. As they reclined on their couches and Hatakh poured a dessert wine, the king leaned toward his queen and repeated his question. “What is your wish? It shall be granted you. And what is your request? Be it as great as half the kingdom, it shall be fulfilled.”

  My thoughts flitted to another occasion when he had uttered those same words—the day when he had promised Artaynta up to half the kingdom. She had only asked for his robe, but oh, what dire consequences resulted from her entreaty.

  My queen would face dire consequences if she didn’t summon the courage to ask for her life.

  The king studied his queen intently, and I saw her bosom rise as she drew a breath to answer. But she did not unmask her identity, nor did she reveal the plot against her.

  “My request, what I want, is this,” she said, lowering her head as though she knew she might be testing the king’s patience. “If I have won the king’s favor, if it pleases the king to grant my request and do what I want, let the king and Haman come to the banquet I will prepare for them tomorrow. Then I will do as the king has said.”

  “A woman of mystery,” my master answered, a half smile brightening his face. “The orphan star fallen from the sky to grace my throne room—yes, Haman and I will come. We will not fail you.”

  I blinked in bafflement when the king and his vizier rose and left the queen’s palace.

  Feigning some business with Hatakh, I waited until they had departed, then turned to Esther. “My queen, do you think it wise to toy with the king in this way? You know his nature—you know how changeable he is.”

  “I do,” she said, her voice pitched for my ears alone. “And I know I must use his impulsiveness in my cause. I must defeat Haman quickly, so I cannot allow him time to parley with the king behind my back. If I had spoken out today, the king might have gone to his advisors as he did with Vashti. The advisors would remind him that the law of the Medes and Persians cannot be changed. Then Haman and his silver tongue would convince the king that he would do well to be rid of a Jewish queen and her people.”

  I stared at her, amazed that Mordecai’s little Hadassah had become wiser than many of the king’s vice-regents—indeed, wiser than the king himself. She had reasoned carefully, and she understood the king better than Haman could ever hope to.

  She knew him nearly as well as I did.

  “May your God bless your undertaking,” I told her, meaning every word. “I must return to my master.”

  Later that afternoon, while the king rested and Haman took his leave, I stood at the king’s balcony and watched the vizier descend the grand staircase. The man practically skipped down the steps, so pleased was he by the queen’s special attention, and as he entered the court of the king’s treasury his heart must have been buoyed by the sight of so many falling prostrate before him.

  Except for one rogue accountant. Even from where I stood, I could see Mordecai at his post, dignified and solidly upright. He did not bend, he did not tremble, he did not even look up as Haman strutted by. This complete lack of respect could only inflame Haman’s overly inflated sense of importance, so I reminded myself to speak sense to my friend. If Mordecai didn’t at least stay out of Haman’s sight, he might find himself meeting the executioner before the thirteenth day of Adar.

  I was napping in my alcove when a loud and rhythmic banging rose from the plain. I went in search of the sound and found Hatakh standing by the balcony that overlooked the Valley of the Artists, where the sound seemed to originate. “What is that noise?” I peered at the area below, home to many of the noble families. “And why must they work at night?”

  Hatakh gave me a sour look. “Have you not heard? The workmen have not ceased to talk about it. Susa has never seen the like.”

  I searched the rooftops and grounds of the nearby homes. “The like of what?”

  “A pike,” Hatakh answered, his face grim. “Earlier this afternoon, Haman ordered workmen to erect a seventy-five-foot pike in his courtyard. Apparently he plans to execute someone and hoist the body for all the city to see.”

  A subterranean chill ran through me. Without being told, I knew who Haman planned to impale.

  That night I put the king to bed at the usual hour, but apparently he had much on his mind. I sat in my alcove, waiting for the steady sounds of his breathing, but sleep eluded him. Clearly, something troubled my master, for he tossed and turned, fitful in his restlessness yet unwilling to talk about whatever weighed on his mind. I had an idea of what vexed him, but a slave dared not broach a personal subject without the king’s invitation.

  After a long while, he sat up and called out for me. “A light, eunuch. I can’t sleep.”

  I hurried into his chamber and lit the oil lamp by the bed. “Is something troubling my master?”

  “My thoughts are too heavy for sleep. I need a distraction.”

  I folded my hands. “Would the king like me to summon a harpist?”

  “Too entertaining. I need something dull.” He thought a moment, then settled back on his pillows. “Summon one of the court scribes. I will review the daily record.”

  “Any particular year, my king?”

  A thoughtful look flitted over the king’s face. “The seventh year of my reign.”

  I smothered a smile as I sent for a scribe. The king might not want to admit it, but I knew why he yearned to hear records from that particular time. That was the year he met and crowned Queen Esther.

  Arsames, the scribe who arrived to read the court chronicles, had one of the most unpleasant and monotonous voices in the palace. I sat in my curtained alcove, out of sight but not out of hearing, and in no time at all the scribe’s thin voice put me to sleep. I was drifting in a shallow doze, my head bobbing, when the king’s voice abruptly brought me awake.

  “Read that again!”

  I lifted my head and blinked to focus my eyes. Still in bed, my master sat upright and stared at the startled scribe.

  Arsames lowered the scroll and pe
ered over the top. “My king?”

  “Read that part again—how the queen came to me with news of a plot.”

  With shaking fingers, the scribe searched the leather scroll while his servant held an oil lamp closer to the text.

  “‘Queen Esther approached the inner throne room,’” the scribe read, “‘with urgent news from a man called Mordecai, who works in the treasury at the King’s Gate. Being skilled with languages, this Mordecai overheard a plot by two of the king’s guards, Bigtan and Teresh, who planned to assassinate the king. The men were summoned immediately and sent away for trial.’”

  “I remember.” The king smiled, his eyes alight. “Continue.”

  Arsames searched the scroll again, then read, “‘Bigtan and Teresh confessed and were executed for daring to plot against the king.’”

  “Read on,” the king urged. “What was done for this Mordecai? Was he promoted? How was he rewarded?”

  The scribe searched the scroll, then finally lowered it. “I can find no record of any reward, promotion, or honor.” He cringed as though he was afraid the king would punish him for the omission. “Apparently nothing was done.”

  The king looked at me. “What was done for this Mordecai? Was he granted honor or promotion?”

  I stepped forward, honored to point out the oversight. “Nothing was done for him, my king. Nothing at all.”

  The king pressed his lips together, then pointed at the scribe, who quaked beneath the long shadow of the royal finger. “That is not acceptable. But you may go.”

  The scribe gathered his scrolls and hurried for the door while the king got out of bed. “Who is in the courtyard, Harbonah? Find someone and bring him to me.”

  I ignored a lifetime of protocol and left the room without a proper bow. I flew down the corridor and into the open courtyard, where one or two of the royal counselors usually arrived early in case the king had some urgent need. Dawn had barely pinked the eastern sky, but I sensed movement in the courtyard. I saw the shadow before I saw the man.