“Tell me quickly. What do you wish?” He did not want his subordinates to think their need for his advice made him glad. Let them think he had better things to do.
“We have a question, my lord,” one said, bowing again. He straightened and twisted the belt at his waist.
Nervous type. Haman hated nervous men. “Out with it then.”
“Yes, my lord. It seems that there is a man who works at the king’s gate, one Mordecai, who refuses to bow when you pass by. He says he does not bow to anyone but his god. He says he is a Jew. Is this something that you, my lord, have allowed because of his beliefs, or is he defying the king’s decree without approval?” The man bowed low once again.
Haman stared at the group, heat rising from the bottom of his feet up through his spine, but he clamped back his anger. “Take me to this Mordecai.” He had heard the name, probably even met him once or twice, but none of the king’s officials had made much of an impression on him. The king had so many men working throughout the palace that even he with his brilliant mind had trouble keeping track of them all.
The group turned and led him down a passage to where Mordecai sat at a table, head bent over papyrus, working like a scribe. He stopped in front of the man and waited. The other officials fell to their knees and touched their foreheads to the stone tiles.
Mordecai did not lift his head or even seem to notice Haman’s presence. Could the man not hear the footsteps or feel the crowd near him? But despite several minutes of Haman standing there, Mordecai refused to look up.
At last Haman whirled about and marched out of the king’s gate, heart racing, rage pulsing through his veins. The Jew had ignored him completely! How dare he! He marched faster, his promise to the king in the back of his mind. He had a trip to plan, and he should not allow himself to overreact because of a mere Jew.
As he entered his house later that night and complained profusely to Zeresh, he realized that one Jew was not enough to pour out his hatred on. Mordecai’s actions deserved the full wrath of every Agagite or Amalekite who had ever walked the earth.
“What are you going to do then?” Zeresh asked as she placed a platter of fresh fruit and vegetables and her tasty stew before him. “Seeing Mordecai alone hang for this crime will not satisfy you, my husband. You know this. His people are a threat to our entire family.”
Haman chewed a piece of flatbread, meeting Zeresh’s wise look. Their sons lived nearby with their families, the start to rebuilding a lost dynasty of Agag. But if he allowed Mordecai to continue to disrespect him, the result would be similar to what Memucan had foretold if Vashti had been allowed to defy her husband. Just as all of the women of Persia would have refused to obey their husbands, so all of the Jews would refuse to bow and perhaps even rise up to harm him.
Mordecai surely knew of the ancient feud between them. It was why he didn’t look up, acknowledge Haman’s position, or bow before his authority. He knew Haman was an Agagite.
“You are right as always, dear wife. We must find a way to destroy all of the Jews throughout the entire kingdom of Xerxes. There is no other way to ensure our safety.” He took a long swig of wine. “It is the only way.”
“But you must be sure you pick the right day for such an endeavor, and you must get the king to allow you to do so.” Zeresh poured him more wine from a sweating wineskin. “How do you plan to do that?”
Haman dipped more bread into the stew. He had no idea. “I will think about it as I travel to Persepolis. I will have time on the journey, and when I report back to the king, I can give him what I have found and perhaps turn his heart to my request at the same time.”
It was possible. Of course it was. Satisfied that the gods were on his side and that he would come up with a solution on this fortuitously timed trip, he continued his meal a happier man.
CHAPTER
Twenty-nine
Esther moved about her suite of rooms, trying to destroy the restless feeling that had taken root inside of her the past few weeks. Xerxes had not called for her in nearly a month, and the absence had left her struggling with understanding why. Had her favor with him already diminished in so short a marriage? Had Amestris taken her place? Had he found a new love?
She told herself he was simply busy. Haman had returned from a trip to Persepolis, and the two of them had been in conference about the king’s building projects ever since—at least according to her eunuch Hathach.
“What if we work on the mosaics today?” Parisa came up beside her and bowed slightly. “You always enjoy working with the tiles.”
Esther stopped her pacing and looked at her maid, then glanced around at all of the women in her service. “Am I that obvious?”
“You seem distracted, my queen. But there is much good you can do even if the king is too busy to call for you,” Zareen said. “What did you enjoy doing before you came here?”
“Certainly not mosaics.” Esther smiled at Parisa. “Though I have come to enjoy working with them since. In truth, I enjoyed weaving with my ima.” Thoughts of Levia caused an ache to settle within her. She missed her family. She missed all that was once so familiar, things that she thought would never change.
“Then we shall order a loom and the finest wool and you can teach us how to weave.” Zareen smiled, obviously pleased with her suggestion.
“There will be no problem with such a thing?” She looked from one maid to the next. She had never had to request anything, for every one of her needs was met before she realized she needed or wanted it.
“There will be no problem at all, my queen,” Hathach said, coming from a side room where he had likely overheard everything. “I will order a loom and the finest of every kind of thread available. You can weave or create fabric, if that is what you wish for, as long as you like.”
She nodded her thanks and sank onto one of the cushioned chairs, extending her legs. Before she could say a word, Shirin stepped forward and bent with bowl and towel and ointments to treat her feet to her ultimate pleasure. Esther leaned back, enjoying the pressure of Shirin’s hands working the ache from her feet. If Xerxes had tired of her, at least she had the ability to enjoy the pleasures of royalty.
But even the thought of things to do that she once enjoyed and the sudden overattention of all of her maids did not seem to have the ability to pull her from the melancholy mood that had slipped over her of late. She should not miss the king. It was not like they would ever have an honest love. She was a queen, he a king. They would live separate lives, probably from now on. She would carry on queenly duties, and when he remembered her, she would go to him.
She could not go to him if he did not ask. Even she was not free to simply enter his presence as she once did. Something had changed between them. Did Haman have something to do with it? Or was it Amestris? Where once she had found favor throughout the court, now she wondered just how long that favor would last.
“Bring the lots.” Haman stood in the main area of his house with his sons surrounding the outer area. A Zoroastrian priest stood near a table, dressed in his white robe and golden sash, holding the Pur in his right hand. He looked at Haman, his gaze penetrating.
The idea to cast the Pur had come to Haman during his visit to Persepolis, and he had hardly been able to contain his excitement or his anxiety to see what the lots would decide. But Zeresh had warned him that to hurry was to invite error. They needed to be precise, she’d said. They needed the Pur to land on the perfect day and time.
“This must be done with great care and precision so that we know the exact will of the gods,” Haman said. “I don’t want anything to get in the way of taking action on my enemies.” He nodded toward the priest as deep silence settled over the room.
Lamps lit the darkness, as night had fallen during this first month of Nisan. The priest rubbed the Pur between both hands, bowed his head, and tossed them into a golden bowl on the table.
Haman stepped closer, his gaze on the priest, his heart pounding. “What day?”
&n
bsp; The priest bent close and took the lamp Haman handed to him. He straightened and shook his head. “They did not land flat. It is impossible to get an accurate reading.”
“Then do it again.” Haman felt the heat rise from his middle to his face. The rage grew every day, and his patience wore thin.
The priest shook his head again. “I am sorry. The Pur can only be cast once a day. It will have to wait until tomorrow.” He picked up the lots, tucked them into a leather pouch, and tied the pouch to the golden sash at his waist.
“The same time tomorrow then,” Haman said, waiting for the man’s acknowledgment. “We will do it every single day for a year if we must, but I will have my day. We will not stop until the Pur is right.”
The priest narrowed his gaze. “Such attempts will be costly.”
“You need not worry about payment. You will be well compensated, I assure you.” Anger bubbled up again at the way the man attempted to control him.
The priest held his gaze. “Nevertheless, a donation to the priesthood will be necessary each week.”
Haman forced himself not to flinch. This man was going to rob him of all of his earthly goods if this took too long. But the thought of destroying Mordecai’s people overruled his concern for his wealth. Once the Jews were destroyed, he would regain far more than the wealth he now possessed.
“Name your price.” He crossed his arms and lifted his chin, reminding the priest just whom he was dealing with. Agagites did not accept Zoroastrian beliefs, but Haman had convinced Xerxes that his entire family had adopted everything Persia had to offer, including her religion. Yet saying so did not take away his disdain for the practices or the priests.
“One siglos a week ought to cover it.” The priest gave him a slight smile.
Outrageous! But Haman merely nodded. The silver he could handle. At least the man hadn’t asked for the gold daric. “Consider it done.” He would send a servant each week to put the coins in their coffers. For now, he simply wanted this to be over with. He wanted the Pur to give him what he needed. It would do no good to anger the gods or to arbitrarily choose a date without the assurance that he had chosen wisely.
“Very well. I will return tomorrow.” The priest turned, bells jingling from his garments, and left the house.
Haman sank onto a couch and put his head in his hands. Zeresh sat beside him and his sons drew close. “Did we do something wrong?” he asked. “How is it possible that we have to do this over again?”
“I am sure it has nothing to do with you, my husband,” Zeresh assured him. “That priest is probably purposely misreading them in order to draw more money from you.”
“I’m sure that’s it, Father,” Dalphon said. “The man looked greedy.”
His other sons agreed, praising Haman and condemning the priest. Perhaps he should have the priests of Zoroaster killed too. But no. He stopped that thought before it could gain strength.
“We must speak no more ill of the priests,” he commanded, standing. “If we dishonor them, the gods will not give me the day that I need. I want their favor, not their wrath. So no more.”
His sons each meekly nodded and whispered their agreement. “We will do as you say, Father,” Aspatha said.
“Good. See to it that you do. And keep this quiet. I want no one else to know until I can bring the results to the king. If word gets out too soon, all could be lost.”
Haman could not even abide that possibility. He would have vengeance on the sons of Abraham for what they had done to his people. He would do whatever it took to destroy them, even if it cost him his life’s fortune.
CHAPTER
Thirty
One Year Later
Esther stood on the roof above her rooms, looking down at the court of women. She had visited Xerxes’ harem once but had been met with a sense of mild hostility and never returned. What had happened to the favor she once felt from everyone who saw her?
She glimpsed Amestris and her train of maids emerge from the halls into the courtyard, cross the tiled stones, and enter a door that led to her private rooms. That Esther’s rooms were closer to the king’s brought some comfort, but what good did it do if she rarely saw him? He had his fill of other women, and perhaps she had grown wearying to him. Less beautiful. She had aged a little, though at twenty-one she was certainly young enough to attract his attention. Had she somehow offended him?
“You are fretting again,” Parisa said, coming alongside her near the parapet. Of her seven maids, Parisa had grown the closest to her, the one she most confided in.
“You read me too well, my friend.” She smiled and touched the girl’s hand, then sighed and turned away from the court. “I have none my equal here.” She glanced at Parisa. “I mean no offense.”
“There is no offense to be taken, my queen. I am honored you call me friend, but you are right, you have no equal in this place. You are not equal to the king and Amestris is a queen of sorts, but she is not the queen of Persia, as you are. You do realize that gives you advantages to do whatever you want, of course.” The girl moved her hand in an arc, as if all of Persia were Esther’s for the taking.
Esther laughed. “You exaggerate. I am a bird in a cage here. I cannot travel freely about the city without an army of guards surrounding me. I cannot even walk about but must be carried in a litter. I do have free rein of my rooms, but I cannot visit the king without his request. And the women of the harem favor Amestris. It did not seem as though they did at first, but she has somehow bewitched them to take her side, and I’m not sure what she is up to. Do they plan a coup to unseat me like Vashti?”
Parisa linked her hand through Esther’s, something Esther had often allowed her to do, and led her toward the opposite side of the roof, where she could look down on the main palace gardens. “There is always gossip and intrigue among royal circles, my queen.” She pointed to the beauty below them. “And it would not surprise me to learn that Amestris intends to somehow, someday take your place. But she has no standing with the king right now. Her sons are her only claim to anything close to the throne. When Darius is of age, and if the king names him co-regent, then Amestris will be someone with whom to contend. But for now, you have nothing to fear.”
Esther listened to the whisper of the wind and the call of the birds in the trees below her. Arched doorways lined the enclosed garden, and nobles held conversations in huddled sections of the vast space, their voices blocked by the dense foliage.
“I am not afraid,” she said after a lengthy pause. “Amestris is a lonely, bitter woman, and I think if I were in her position, I might feel the same. To marry a man, to bear him children, and then to be set aside by someone so much younger like me . . . well, I just feel sorry for her sometimes.”
Parisa chuckled. “Amestris needs no one to feel sorry for her. She is a conniving woman, and trust me when I say that you would do well to keep your distance and never tell her anything. She will use it against you. Even if she tries to befriend you, do not let her. You are the queen. You do not have to be her friend.”
Esther met her maid’s gaze, lifting a brow, surprised by the outburst. “Has something happened that causes you to speak so sternly? This isn’t like you, Parisa.” The girl had always been easy to talk to, but she had never spoken against others in the palace.
Parisa looked down as though studying her feet. “It is just . . .” She paused and shifted from foot to foot. Uncomfortable silence followed. She looked up at last and met Esther’s gaze. “My queen, forgive me. I know I spoke harshly against one of the king’s wives, and it is not my place to give you advice. But there has been talk among the servants, and perhaps it is something you should know.”
“Tell me.” Esther’s skin tingled as a sliver of apprehension slid up her spine.
Parisa leaned closer. “The rumors are old and not possible to prove, but some say that Amestris was behind the plot to remove Vashti.”
“That is not new. The gossips have suggested it from the beginning.” Esth
er crossed her arms, slightly relieved but a little put out that her maid would simply relive old stories.
“That is not all. There is also talk that she was behind the plot to kill the king.” She lowered her voice. “The one Mordecai discovered.”
Esther shook her head. “That was fully investigated, and nothing came to light to suggest such a thing. Could it be possible that the gossips are simply unhappy with Amestris and seek to smear her reputation?” She would need to put an end to this talk. It was not good to speak ill of others no matter how much Esther disliked them. Even Haman was a man she refused to defame out loud, despite how much she disdained him privately.
“There is one more reason, my queen.” Parisa bowed her head briefly, and when she looked up, her gaze held fire. The meek maid had been replaced by a woman who could not keep silent.
Esther straightened. “What is it?”
“There is talk that Haman is up to something. He is keeping it very private, but his wife has become quite close with Amestris. One of the guards told Hathach that they are plotting something. He fears it is something against the king.” She blew out a breath. “Or you.”
“Me?” Esther choked on a laugh. “Why would Haman care about me?” Though she had always wondered if he wanted the king’s position. Would he assassinate Xerxes to gain the throne? Would Amestris help him to do such a thing when her son’s own life would be at stake? It made no sense.
“Amestris would care to see you deposed. Haman would care to see the king removed.” She looked quickly about her and clamped her mouth shut as the other maids climbed the stairs to join them.
Esther bent her head closer to Parisa’s ear. “Amestris would not help Haman with such a thing. It would affect Darius. She would not jeopardize her son’s future.”
The rumors couldn’t be true. Though as far as rumors went, Esther tended to trust Parisa more than the others. Why tell her such a thing? What could Amestris possibly see in Haman or his family? Especially his wife? Zeresh made Esther’s skin crawl. But then, so did Amestris.
Star of Persia: Esther's Story Page 19