Star of Persia: Esther's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “We will speak no more of this,” she whispered as the others approached.

  “There you are,” Zareen said. “We wondered where you had wandered off to.”

  Esther turned slowly toward the stairs. “We were just admiring the gardens. But now it is time to get out of this sun and work in the cool of my rooms. I have a new idea for a colorful sash to weave. Are you up to joining me?”

  They all spoke at once of their delight, something she wondered at times if they truly meant. But they belonged to her. What else could they do but agree with her? Even Parisa for all of her boldness still called her “mistress.” She had no choice but to please her.

  Esther sighed. She missed Jola. With her she could be honest. But there was no way she could invite her friend to the palace. Besides, she wasn’t sure she could bear to see Gad again. Queen or not, she had still been rejected by a man she once thought had loved her. Much as she now felt with her own husband.

  Part Four

  When Haman saw that Mordecai would not bow down or show him respect, he was filled with rage. He had learned of Mordecai’s nationality, so he decided it was not enough to lay hands on Mordecai alone. Instead, he looked for a way to destroy all the Jews throughout the entire empire of Xerxes.

  Esther 3:5–6

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-one

  Xerxes followed the trumpeters and flag bearers, and his guards flanked him as he entered his audience chamber. A few scribes and servants stood at attention along the walls, but the columned hall stood silent except for the marching feet and the intermittent blaring trumpet. The fanfare was unnecessary when the room stood so empty, but he needed the reminder that he was indeed king. He had too many enemies, too many people he did not trust, and dared not allow even the nobles or courtiers in his presence without individual permission. Was he becoming paranoid since that threat on his life a few years ago? Or was it the continual concerns that his guards had in protecting him that made him overly cautious? Was he simply growing old?

  The thought depressed him. Forty-eight years was not so old, was it? He took the steps to his throne and sat, his thoughts taking him to places he did not wish to go. He had plenty of years ahead of him. He simply needed to be cautious lest the assassin’s blade find him before his time came to rest with his fathers.

  The servant in charge of his appointments approached and bowed. “My lord, Haman waits in the outer court and seeks an audience with you.”

  “Send him in.” Xerxes straightened, his spirits brightening. Haman was a good man. He would bring good news and perhaps distract Xerxes with a new project—something he might build right here in Susa. He’d been considering expanding his palace or adding an additional hall to accommodate greater crowds, but the work in Persepolis was not yet complete, and some of the outlying regions made him wonder if another war might be imminent. They had no reason to balk at his taxation. They were his vassals. They owed him allegiance.

  Footsteps pulled his thoughts from their melancholy. War had a way of depressing him, ever since Greece. Without his father to lead, he had never felt quite as adequate. But he could never admit such a thing.

  Haman approached, and Xerxes extended the golden scepter. Haman touched its tip and bowed.

  “Rise and speak.” Xerxes considered briefly having a second throne brought for the man, but thought better of it.

  “My lord, I have something of great import to discuss with you.” He glanced about and then held Xerxes’ gaze. “It is of a sensitive nature.”

  Xerxes lifted his chin and looked down at him through a slanted gaze. “I think we are safe enough here for you to speak.”

  Haman nodded. “Yes, of course, my lord.” He cleared his throat. Was the man nervous?

  “Speak,” Xerxes said.

  Haman clasped his hands. “There is a certain race of people scattered through all the provinces of your empire who keep themselves separate from everyone else. Their laws are different from those of any other people, and they refuse to obey the laws of the king. So it is not in the king’s interest to let them live.” He paused and lifted his hands in entreaty. “If it pleases the king, issue a decree that they be destroyed, and I will give ten thousand large sacks of silver to the government administrators to be deposited in the royal treasury.”

  Xerxes stared at this trusted advisor, trying to imagine what people he could be talking about. Were his fears of assassination coming from this group? How would they search out the true culprits? Destroying the entire people seemed rather harsh. He glanced beyond Haman, his mind whirling. He’d been living in fear since his personal guards had plotted to take his life. Even before that. Since he’d lost Vashti and suffered Memucan’s treachery. Was no one to be trusted?

  Esther’s face came to his mind, and the thought of her smile calmed him. He drew in a deep breath. Esther would agree with Haman. She would want these people who threatened the peace of the kingdom, his peace, his safety, destroyed. She would protect him. Of course she would. He could ask her, but such a thing was not done. He had his nobles and advisors, and Haman was second to him alone. If Haman thought them a threat, then they were surely a threat.

  He looked at Haman again and removed his signet ring from his right hand. “The money and the people are both yours to do with as you see fit.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Haman took the ring and bowed low. “You will not be disappointed once we rid the kingdom of this scourge.”

  “I am sure I will not.” He dismissed Haman and sank deeper into his thoughts, wondering when he had gone from seeking normal advice to becoming so utterly dependent on his advisors. What other king would have given his signet ring to another simply so he didn’t have to look into the matter himself? He was a warrior! If these people were a threat, he should assemble an army and go to battle against them even now.

  Instead, he had given the job to Haman for the simple reason that he was too weary of fighting. Esther’s face came to mind again, and he considered going to her. Yes, that is what he would do. Better yet, he would call her to his rooms for a private banquet and allow her to wipe the fear from his mind and remind him that he was still wanted.

  On the thirteenth day of Nisan, a year after Haman had begun to have the priest cast the Pur, he finally stood outside Xerxes’ audience chamber, holding the king’s signet ring. Better yet, he carried the king’s approval to do whatever he wished with the people he wanted to destroy. Xerxes had not even asked what people Haman was talking about.

  Haman scratched his head as he pondered the king’s disinterest in the details. He’d noticed it often of late, as though the king had little interest in the goings-on in his own kingdom. Had he given up control to Haman more thoroughly than even Haman realized? A sense of giddy delight filled him at that possibility. But one glance at the guards lining the halls and he tamped down his enthusiasm. He had work to do and no time to waste. He hadn’t waited an entire year for the perfect day in order to let it slip away unused.

  “Summon the king’s scribes and tell them to meet me in my offices,” he said to the servants standing near. He would work with them day and night if necessary in order to get enough clay pressed with the message in every script and language of every people in all the provinces Xerxes ruled.

  He moved through the halls to his offices, which were nearly as big as the king’s meeting rooms. Scribes soon sat at tables piled with clay tablets and triangular rods that would be pressed into the clay to form symbols into words. All eyes looked to him.

  “Write this decree in every language of every people throughout the entire Persian kingdom. ‘Be it known that all Jews—young and old, including women and children—must be killed, slaughtered, and annihilated on a single day. This day is to happen on the thirteenth of Adar next year. The property of the Jews will be given to those who kill them.’” Haman rested his gaze on each man to make sure they fully understood.

  “A copy of this decree is to be issued as law in every province an
d proclaimed to all peoples, so that they will be ready to do their duty on the appointed day.” He paced the front of the room, unable to contain his nervous energy, then faced the scribes once more. “This decree is to be sent to the king’s highest officers, the governors of the respective provinces, and the nobles of each province. Write this in the name of King Xerxes.” He held up the signet ring. “Each document is to be sealed with this ring, so as you finish one, bring it to me. It will be dispatched immediately.”

  He turned to a guard. “Gather swift messengers to be ready to ride to every province in the kingdom. This decree must go out before the sun sets tonight.”

  “Yes, my lord,” several guards said in unison. They left, and he smiled at the sound of their running feet in the halls outside of his rooms.

  Scribes bent over tablets and furiously pressed out every word. Haman sat at a table with the king’s ring, and as servants presented the tablets to him, he placed the seal at the top of each decree. He had just created a law of the Medes and Persians that could not be revoked. Not only would the Jews finally be destroyed, but there was nothing anyone, not even the king, could do to stop it now.

  After the last clay tablet bore the king’s seal, Haman went to his house. Sounds of confusion trickled to him from the king’s gate, and he imagined Mordecai reading the decree. A slow smile spread over his face. More voices rose, and sounds of anguish filled the air as the copies placed throughout Susa were read in the fading light of the setting sun.

  Zeresh welcomed Haman with a knowing smile and poured him a tall goblet of the choicest wine in the kingdom. The wine he’d been saving for this very moment. He sank onto his couch, put his feet up, drank, and laughed.

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-two

  Mordecai stared at the tablet hanging from a nail outside the king’s gate.

  Be it known that all Jews—young and old, including women and children—must be killed, slaughtered, and annihilated on a single day. This day is to happen on the thirteenth of Adar next year. The property of the Jews will be given to those who kill them.

  Xerxes’ seal, the imprint of his signet ring, stood out above the words. The law of the Medes and Persians could not be revoked with that seal.

  He read the words again and again. Killed, slaughtered, and annihilated . . . all Jews . . . women and children.

  Why would his son-in-law do such a thing?

  A guttural cry rose from deep within him, and he doubled over and fell to his knees. Right there in front of the king’s gate, he rocked and wailed. All the Jews?

  More voices joined him as men drew near to read the decree, and soon the entire area near the gate was filled with Jewish men weeping.

  “Adonai, where are You? Why have You abandoned us?”

  “How will we deal with this? Where can we go?”

  The questions rose and fell around him as men cried out, then seemed to realize there was no answer, no getting away from this terrible decree of death.

  Mordecai tore his clothes and sat in despair as the sun descended, until at last he gathered his strength to stand. He pulled the tablet from the wall and headed home. He stumbled, drunk with grief and pain, as the realization hit him that this was his fault.

  He straightened, his mind clearing, but the pain in his heart deepened as he stopped and looked back toward the palace. Haman was behind this. The man hated him and his unwillingness to bow to an Agagite. But to hate so much that he would destroy an entire people because of one man’s actions?

  He forced his feet forward again, hurrying now. Had his sons seen this? Should they do something to escape Persia before the day in question? But where could they go that wasn’t under Persian control? Even Jerusalem was not held by Israel alone. Persia controlled the area, and it was only by the good grace of the kings that the exiles had been allowed to return and rebuild. Would his people in Jerusalem suffer the same fate as those throughout the kingdom?

  He entered his dark house, missing Levia all over again. Yet at the same time, he was glad she had not lived to see this day. She would have encouraged him to bow rather than to act so foolishly as to anger a mortal enemy. Why had he been so proud? He should have thought of Esther. What had possessed him to think he could reveal his heritage and not expose hers? Just because she was queen did not mean she was immune to this decree.

  And yet, hadn’t the Jews always faced enemies? If the Lord had not helped them throughout the generations, they would be no more.

  Would God help them again, here? In a land where they had been sent for disobeying His laws? In a land where they had stayed instead of returning to the place He had prepared for them?

  He fell again to his knees, weeping, nearly dropping the clay. He sat up. He must save the decree to show his sons. To show Esther.

  Esther. She must be told. Shut up in the palace, she very likely did not know what her husband had done. But she was the only one with access to him. The only one who might be able to talk sense into him.

  He leaned back on his heels and swiped at his wet cheeks. He must go to her. But he could not simply walk into the palace and ask to see her. Things had changed in recent years, probably because of Xerxes’ paranoia. Even an audience with the queen had to be set up days or weeks ahead, though he was her father.

  But word would surely reach her soon with all of Susa in an uproar. He would don sackcloth and pour ashes over his head and sit outside of the palace gate. Someone would surely tell her. And she would listen. She must. If she didn’t, he did not know what else he could do.

  The following morning, Mordecai put on burlap and ashes and walked into the city with a loud and bitter wail. He passed through the Jewish section, only to be met by men and women sitting or even lying in their courtyards weeping, wearing sackcloth, and grieving as he was.

  “So you have heard?” Jola’s father asked as Mordecai passed his house.

  Mordecai stopped and showed the man the clay tablet. “It is all I think about.” He swallowed hard. He could not tell even this trusted friend the truth of what he suspected. Or the blame he cast on himself.

  “I heard talk that Haman has promised the king ten thousand pieces of silver once we are killed. No doubt he plans to take whatever he can from those who do his deed for him.” Jola’s father cast a glance toward his house. Weeping could be heard from inside.

  Mordecai shook his head. He should have known. Jola’s father worked inside the palace and probably had heard this sooner than he had.

  “What can be done? Surely as the queen’s father you can do something.” The man held his gaze, imploring.

  Mordecai feared he would crumble and weep in front of him. “I don’t know. I doubt Esther knows of this yet. I am on my way to see if I can get the message to her now.”

  Jola’s father simply nodded and turned back to his house.

  Mordecai passed by merchants and walked down one of the king’s major thoroughfares toward the palace. His cries grew louder with every step. Ten thousand pieces of silver! No wonder Xerxes had agreed to such a plan. Did the king even know what was behind this plot?

  He stopped at the gate of the palace, where guards stood watch. No one in mourning could enter the palace, so he sank to the earth near the gate and continued to weep.

  A contingent of guards marched toward the palace, their swords visible at their sides, the sun glancing off their helmets. Behind them, Haman strutted, a satisfied expression on his face. More guards followed behind and some walked beside him. That was new. Perhaps that smug smile wasn’t quite so confident. Did he think his life was in danger because of the decree?

  But who could touch the king’s favorite? Certainly not the condemned Jews, or they would pay for it with their lives before the time set by the decree.

  Mordecai watched as Haman glanced in his direction. For the briefest moment their gazes met. Mordecai stopped weeping long enough to show his utter contempt for the man. Let him gloat. Whether Mordecai and his people lived or died, Haman woul
d not go unpunished. God would personally deal with him. Surely He would.

  Haman marched on, his smile never dimming, and soon passed out of sight into the palace.

  All of the Jews. The thought brought bile to the back of Mordecai’s throat. Please, Adonai. He began his bitter cry once more, silently praying that someone would notice him and tell Esther.

  “My queen,” Zareen said, entering Esther’s rooms out of breath. “There is news.” She fell at Esther’s feet.

  “Tell me quickly.” Had something happened to Xerxes? If he were sick—or worse, had died—what would become of her?

  “Mordecai sits at the gate to the palace in sackcloth and ashes and is weeping bitterly.” Zareen knelt, hands clasped in her lap.

  Esther drew in a sharp breath and stared at her, now grateful that they were at eye level, for she needed a moment to accept the girl’s statement. “What could possibly be wrong?” She jumped up as nervous energy overtook her, hurried to the window, then turned quickly away. It afforded no view of the palace gate where Mordecai presumably sat.

  “Send him clothes at once. He can change, and then they will allow him into the palace. I will meet him in the king’s antechamber.” She hurried to her dressing room and Parisa followed. “Help me to dress. Nothing overdone. My father will not care what I look like.”

  “Others in the palace might, mistress.” Parisa gave her a look that reminded her of the many people she might happen upon during the long walk to the antechamber.

  “Perhaps we will have my father come to my gardens instead. Yes, that will be better. Tell one of the eunuchs to catch up to Zareen and give her the new instructions.”

  “What do you mean he refused the clothes?” Esther looked from Zareen to the eunuch who had accompanied her.