Vashti sank onto her couch and pulled Gazsi into her arms. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered into his ear.
He rewarded her with a tight hug and a kiss on her cheek. “Me too, Maman. Will you be away again tomorrow?”
Vashti kissed the top of her son’s head and held him at arm’s length. “One more day, my son.” A sigh escaped. How weary she had grown of the continual conversations that held no significance but to play to the egos of the noblewomen. And the constant need to praise Atossa and even Amestris when she showed her face. Strange that Vashti had seen so little of her these past six days. She had surely been in attendance, but she did not seat herself with the concubines or other wives of Xerxes.
Not that she blamed the woman. Amestris wanted to be singled out as special. To hold first place in Xerxes’ life and heart. To take Vashti’s place. She’d always known it. The looks from Atossa, the whispered words among the servants, and the scowls from Amestris were reason enough to know Vashti was not their first choice as queen. Only Xerxes thought so. And she trusted that he would not forget their long bond, the one that had carried them through years of childlessness and into the coronation and royal apartments as man and wife.
He wouldn’t forget. No matter how drunk he allowed himself to become, he had never done anything to make her fear his wrath. Many others had died under his command, and for this reason men and women all feared coming into his presence without an invitation. His temper could be dreadful. His actions swift.
But he had always treated her with kindness. Gentleness even. Only once had she seen his temper up close, but it was aimed at his mother, not at her. And even then, his mother knew how to cool his ire with a few well-placed words.
“Did I frighten you?” he had said to her once his mother left the room and they were alone in his chambers. “I know I have a quick rage that bursts forth without thought sometimes.” He stroked her cheek, then cupped it with his palm. “But never fear, my love. I will never allow myself to grow angry with you. You could never disappoint me.”
She nodded and allowed him to kiss her, then applied her womanly charms to appease him and soften his unyielding posture until he was relaxed and at ease with her again. Their love that night had produced Gazsi, and she reminded him often that it was his kindness that had brought about his first son. Surely he would always be kind to her.
She smiled at Gazsi now as he slipped from her hold to play again with his games. If only he had been blessed to have a brother to enjoy these moments with him. Perhaps once this final feast ended, before Xerxes went off to war . . . But she did not ponder long on the thought. She’d had six years to conceive another child and had yet to do so. Amestris had blessed Xerxes with two sons, and he had more by his concubines. When she did spend time alone with him, she felt no quickening in her womb.
She stood and gave instructions for Gazsi to move to his own room and ready himself for bed. She would spend more time with him once the feast had passed. For now, she had one more day to plan—a fact she faced as Omid entered the room. One more day to entertain too many women. Then she would sleep for a week.
CHAPTER
Six
Xerxes opened one eye, then quickly shut it, too aware of the blinding light coming through the open windows. When had the dawn snuck up on him? Even his curtained bed did not keep out midday light. He touched his aching head. How long had he slept?
He rose gingerly but still barely made it to the elaborate urn, where he lost the contents of last evening’s festivities. He wiped his mouth with a cloth a servant handed him in silence. His servants knew better than to speak to him after a night of revelry. If only the wine obeyed him as well as his servants did. He always managed to pay for his enjoyment for half of the next day or more.
But tonight would be the last night of feasting for some time. He could get through this once his awful headache subsided.
He walked slowly to his gilded chair, where a table sat laden with small squares—a mixture of powdered birds’ beaks and myrrh—to help his pounding head. Food would come later, if he could stomach this ancient remedy for his overindulgence. Surely one of his physicians could have come up with something better, but he lifted the gooey mess and popped it into his mouth, barely chewing, then pushed it down with a long draft of water.
Servants stood like statues along the wall, watching him. He ignored them as he fingered another of the disgusting squares and leaned against the chair. What if he just tolerated the drumbeat in his head? He closed his eyes, hating himself in that moment.
He was becoming a glutton and a drunkard. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if his father would approve. He pictured Darius, the great king who had conquered kingdoms like his father before him. If he had not died unexpectedly, he would be the one leading the Persian army to war with Greece. Xerxes would simply accompany him, not be the one in full command.
Why did taking command cause him such hesitance? He could not even seem to make a decision in his own household without the advice of others. Had he ever gone against their advice?
The thoughts caused his head to pound harder. He rubbed his temples, which brought his chief eunuch quickly to his side.
“Majesty, this may help,” Harbona said, offering him some white powder and a golden goblet of water.
Xerxes looked at the man. “More birds’ beaks?”
Harbona shook his head. “It is from the bark of a tree. It is said to heal.” He put the powder in the water, stirred, and sipped from the cup.
Xerxes waited and watched. When the eunuch did not fall over dead, Xerxes drank the rest. One could never be too careful when it came to the king’s food and drink. He trusted these eunuchs more than he should. Why had he failed to have the other remedy tested?
He looked out the window over the inner court, where men still slept on benches or were passed out on the grass. He should have them removed until evening, but he had no desire to move, to make any decisions, to sit at court, or to even think. Perhaps he should sleep until evening.
But his body was tired of the bed. He could call for one of his wives . . . Vashti would be comforting. She knew how to help him through these nightmare headaches. Yes, that was what he would do.
“Harbona!” His words were harsh to his own ears. “Send for my queen. I will see Vashti now.”
Harbona bowed. “Yes, my lord.” He took another eunuch with him and hurried from the king’s chambers.
Xerxes leaned back and let his muscles relax. Vashti would help him get through this final day. And she would give him the courage he needed to take on the Greeks. Like it or not, war was coming. He would leave in a few weeks, as even now the army was gathering and heading to Susa, where he would join them. Tonight was his last night to enjoy life as he knew it. Hopefully, he would be returning victorious and could live as he wanted—in peace.
Vashti’s servant answered the hard knock on her door. She looked up from helping Gazsi tie the leather straps of his sandals. Though servants usually did such work, she enjoyed doing things mothers did whenever she had the chance. And she had spent too many nights away from her son with this week of feasting. By the time she returned to her rooms each night, Gazsi was fast asleep. So she spent her mornings with him before he headed off with the palace tutors.
“My queen,” Omid said, interrupting her thoughts. “Two of the king’s eunuchs are here, requesting your presence in the king’s chambers.”
“Now?” She straightened. What could Xerxes possibly want so early in the day? She had not seen him since this celebration in Susa began. But she accepted her robe and simple crown from her maid and followed Harbona and Karkas toward the king’s rooms.
She entered without announcement. Xerxes sat in his chair near the window, elbows on a table, head in his hands.
“Another headache?” she whispered to Harbona.
He nodded.
Vashti removed her robe and stepped closer, kneeling at the king’s side. She touched his kne
e. He looked up and met her gaze. “Another headache?” she said softly.
He grimaced without speaking. She stood behind him and worked her fingers along his temples and neck and the top of his shoulders. Slowly, she felt the sinews in his neck and shoulders soften, his muscles relaxing under her touch.
He leaned his head against her palm. “You always know how to help.” He turned slowly and smiled at her. “Whatever would I do without you?”
“Pray we never have to find out,” she said, sitting beside him.
He took her hand in his. “I know I drink too much. I allow myself to be swayed by the men beneath me. I find it too hard to not try to please them.”
His admission did not surprise her. Some would have called him weak, but she had known him for so long. He had a deep need to be accepted. Perhaps he was still trying to earn his father’s favor—something she was certain he’d never felt during the years Darius lived.
“Your men think very highly of you, my lord. They respect you because you are generous and good, not simply because you are Darius’s son. They fear you. You must never fear them.” She stroked his cheek with her free hand. “You are the king of Persia. You do not need their approval.” She hoped her words convinced him to stop his revelry, his drunkenness, which always caused trouble for him, either personally or in some manner in the kingdom. Never mind the lie that all of his men respected him. She would not speak the truth to him. It would only cause his fragile ego to crack more.
“Perhaps you are right.” He squeezed her fingers, then kissed their tips. “You always make me feel better. You make my world right.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She lowered her head in respect, but he lifted it with a gentle touch.
“Never stop telling me the truth. I depend on you, for there is no one else I trust more.” He looked her up and down. “And none of my advisors are nearly as beautiful as you are.”
She blushed at his comment, but more at the look he gave her. Compliments from him made her glad of heart, but somehow she did not enjoy dwelling on them lest she conclude he was not sincere. “Is your headache gone then?”
“You have banished it from me completely.” He took a piece of flatbread from the table. “And now I am hungry.”
“Then you should eat.” She took the date spread and slathered it over the bread.
They ate together in silence after he bid her to join him. Sometimes she wished moments like these would never end. But too soon he would move on and prepare for his last night of celebration. As would she.
“I enjoy spending time with you like this,” she said as he popped the last piece of bread into his mouth.
He finished with a swallow of goat’s milk. “As do I.” He stood and offered her his hand. “I will call for you again soon. One more night of feasting in Susa. Then we can live normally again until I head to war.”
“Yes. War.” She did not hide the sadness that one word evoked.
He took her in his arms. “You will miss me.” He kissed her forehead.
“Yes.” She searched his gaze. “Please come back safely to me.”
“I will. I promise.”
He could not promise, of course, but neither one of them was willing to say what they both feared. That he could die in battle. So she smiled and pretended that all was well.
He walked her to the door, and she slipped back into the hall. A few hours of peace until she must don her royal robes and greet the noblewomen one last time. She hurried to her rooms, wanting as much time away from the crowds as she could get.
Hadassah stood in the sitting area, watching while Levia fussed over Mordecai before he headed to work at the palace.
“Must you spend the entire day and night there again?” Levia leaned forward and kissed Mordecai’s cheek.
Mordecai gave his wife a fond look, then glanced at Hadassah and smiled. “Take care of her,” he said to Hadassah before looking back at his wife. “Levia, you know I cannot disobey the king’s edict. He has requested all of the men of Susa to attend his feast. And you know a request does not come with an option to say no. I will go to my work as usual and then join the feasting. Be thankful this is the last day.” He kissed her and turned toward the door.
“Be on your guard,” Levia warned. “Drunken kings are not safe kings.”
Mordecai simply nodded and waved as he stepped into the street. Levia stood a moment watching him, then turned to Hadassah and released a shaky breath. “I fear for him.”
“I know you do.” Hadassah stepped closer and touched Levia’s arm. “You are a good wife to him. But I know Mordecai is cautious. You know he rarely even dresses in the way of the Hebrews to protect us. And he stopped wearing his beard the way the law prescribes in order to work for the king without questions.”
“And I fear he will bring down Adonai’s wrath on us all by keeping his secrets.” Levia moved her arms as if she were swatting a fly, then walked to a low couch, sat, and picked up her spindle. “It is his secrecy I fear as much as I do the king.”
“But we live in a foreign land, Ima. Abba would not keep such secrets or break such laws if he did not believe God would understand. Surely we cannot keep every commandment. We cannot sacrifice without a temple. We are barely able to recite the Torah together in this pagan land.” Hadassah sat beside Levia and took up a spindle of her own. Once the thread was spun, they could begin the weaving.
“Adonai’s name is in Jerusalem with the other exiles. Might we have been safer there?” Levia glanced at the open window. “Though I wonder since the exile whether we are truly safe anywhere.”
“Surely God will protect us here, as He has since we came.” Hadassah hoped her words were true as she fed the thread through the spindle and pondered Levia’s comment. Jerusalem held a fascination for her, and she often wondered if Solomon’s palace was anything like King Xerxes’ in Susa. Mordecai claimed Xerxes also had a palace in Persepolis, but then it was said that Solomon had built many palaces and fortified towns, his greatest accomplishment being the temple—the very thing the exiles had returned to rebuild.
“Do you not fear, my girl? Have we been in this pagan land so long that you and the people your age see no reason to fear God? Even my Mordecai acts this way. If we truly want our God’s blessings, we cannot live in hiding like this.” Levia paused to untangle a thread. She seemed more flustered than normal.
A soft sigh lifted Hadassah’s chest as she worked with the wool. Levia was clearly distraught. But it was unfair of her to think that no one Hadassah’s age, and especially her own husband, did not fear their God.
Hadassah tilted her head to better look into Levia’s face. “I fear God, Ima. Every good Hebrew fears Him.” Didn’t they?
“Not every Hebrew.” Levia snapped the thread. “If we had obeyed Him, our ancestors would not have been sent into exile these more than seventy years.” She looked into Hadassah’s eyes. “I fear Mordecai has become too lax with the Law. We should be meeting with the others every Sabbath, celebrating every holy day, and doing as our God has taught us to do. How can we go on breaking His laws and not suffer for it?”
Hadassah leaned back and allowed the spindle to stop. These were questions Levia should discuss with her friends. Hadassah was not even old enough to marry, yet Levia often confided in her. She struggled with strong feelings on both sides of the question. Mordecai was her protector, the one who had brought her from her mother’s side as she lay dying and took her as his own. She would defend his decisions to do whatever he deemed best to anyone, even his wife.
But Levia had raised her. Taught her every womanly thing she knew. Hadassah understood her frustration when Mordecai seemed to feel the need to please the king even when the king’s commands were nonsensical. Sometimes she knew Levia was right, but she did not have the heart to disobey Mordecai or question his words or decisions as Levia did.
“I don’t know, Ima.” She had already tried to explain her thoughts that surely God would understand. But what if Levia
was right? What if Mordecai was wrong to keep such secrets from the Persians? What if hiding their Hebrew identity except from their small family and close-knit clan was an affront to Adonai?
“Well, I do,” Levia said, interrupting her thoughts. “And I think we are taking a big risk to hide who we are from our captors. As if they don’t already know.” She tsked her tongue as if the whole matter were ridiculous. “But Mordecai will not listen. His reasons make no sense, but will he listen to my reason? Of course not!” She muttered a few more frustrations as Hadassah picked up the spindle once more.
She let Levia rant while her own mind drifted to other things. Soon Levia would tire of this topic, and once Mordecai was home in the evening, life would go on as usual. Hadassah glanced toward the window, where the last shadows of dawn gave way to the brighter glow of morning. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.
Amestris awoke with a start. The dream had been so real. Surely the gods had visited her in the night with the idea that might give her the very thing she had longed for all these years. A smile threatened, but she squelched it. There was no time to imagine the good when she had no indication that her thoughts were anything more than a foolish dream. She would wait and see.
But first she must get word to her uncle. Memucan would help her. If he was not already too drunk with wine. The fool. All men were fools to become so enamored with Xerxes and continually attempt to please him. Everyone knew he was nothing compared to his father. Could barely judge his people or make a ruling without consulting someone. To ask his advisors was not so bad—most kings did so—but to even take the advice of servants? Xerxes was weak.
The thought spurred her to rise, and she snapped at her maids to hurry with her bath and dress her in her best attire. Then she called for her eunuch to get a message to Memucan to meet her. The man had better show up. Yes, it would be difficult to slip away from the king in the middle of a feast, but if he knew what was good for him, he would make a way. She would give him that subtle warning in her message.
Star of Persia: Esther's Story Page 4