Chapter Thirty-Five
Harbonah

DID I BELIEVE THAT VASHTI successfully petitioned Ahura Mazda for the death of Esther’s child? Only Biztha and I knew why the former queen had committed her terrible crime, and afterward, even as I heard the rumors about Queen Esther’s tragic loss, I assured Biztha that I still did not believe in the power of Ahura Mazda.

But inwardly . . . I wondered.

Privately, I grieved for our queen. Despite her maturity, Esther still possessed the idealistic optimism of youth, so losing her baby left her devastated. During my time in the harem I had seen many young women lose their unborn children, but I had also seen them rally and become pregnant again.

Yet weeks later, Hatakh told me the queen had still not recovered, but frequently curled up on her bed and watered her pillow with tears.

I wanted to weep for her.

I wish my master had been more observant of his young bride. The king adored her above all the virgins who’d been brought to the palace, but he also adored his horses, his hunts, and his harem. After serving the man for so many years, I knew my master to be as fickle in his infatuations as in his hobbies.

Fortunately, he had chosen a worthy wife. Mordecai’s lovely ward might quietly grieve over her husband’s wandering eye, but she would be a dutiful and faithful consort. If only the king’s heart could be as steadfast as his queen’s.

Not long after the queen lost her baby, she summoned me to her chambers. After finding her in her garden, bowed low near a rosebush, I pretended to be surprised at the shadow of grief on her face.

“I am fine,” she said, her eyes damp with pain. “I have been ill, but I am better now.”

“I am glad to hear it, my queen.”

She pulled a small knife from the basket on her arm. “Harbonah,” she said, cutting a single rose blossom, “did anyone ever find young Pharnaces?”

My bowels tumbled at the question, and I struggled to keep a blank face. “No, my queen. I would have told you if we had.”

“I am sorry to hear that. I am . . . deeply saddened.” Her words were lighter than air, though I knew they had come from a heavy heart.

“Harbonah, you have served the king for how long?”

“Twenty years, my queen. I hope to serve him the rest of my life.”

“I hope you are together forever.” She offered me a sincere smile that momentarily brightened her face. “Since you know him so well, and since you are a man of discretion, I wondered if you could answer a question for me.”

“I will do my best.”

“This question must not be repeated, do you understand? Not even to another eunuch, because I know how eunuchs love to gossip.”

I smiled, acknowledging the truth in her statement. “I would die, my queen, before I would betray your confidence.”

“I would not ask you to sacrifice yourself for me, not ever. After all, neither of us chose this life, did we?” She forced a quick smile, then looked away. “When I was younger, my friend and I used to look up at the palace and dream of living in such a grand place. We imagined royal life as an endless succession of banquets, dress fittings, and travel. I thought I would love living in the palace . . . but now I find that the queen lives a life of unbearable loneliness. I was far happier in the little house with Miriam and Mordecai. I think of how Miriam used to welcome Mordecai home with a hug, and I am envious of what they shared.”

I waited, knowing she had not summoned me to talk about her life with her cousins. She looked down, her long lashes hiding her eyes, and hesitated. “I know the king has many children, including three sons from his former queen. But I also know that Persian men consider it their duty to father many sons. So what I need to know is this—do you think the king expects a child from me? How important is it that I present him with a son?”

Her voice softened as she spoke, and had dwindled to a mere whisper by the time she finished. Her face, which had been composed in regal lines, shifted to the sincere and frightened face of a teenaged girl.

I resisted an almost overwhelming impulse to run forward and enfold her in a comforting embrace. But because such an act would earn a death sentence, I stammered out an answer. “My king—your husband—adores you, my lady. And while I’m sure he would delight in a child from you, I do not think he married you to have more children. He married you because you were unlike anyone else. Of all the women in the harem, you were the one who caught his attention and held it. You were the only one to make him laugh.”

She listened, a fine line between her brows, and her forehead relaxed as I finished. “I made him laugh. If only I could accomplish that feat now.”

“My gentle lady—” I cleared my throat in order to stall and gather my thoughts—“you have been married only a few months. I think the king has enjoyed getting to know you as a woman, not a mother. If you were with child, your attention would naturally be divided between your baby and your husband the king. So why not enjoy these days when your thoughts can center on pleasing your husband?”

She closed her eyes, considering, and then nodded. “You are wise, Harbonah. I suppose one can find good in any situation, if one takes the time to look.”

I bowed my head. “The queen is wise.”

She smiled. “The queen has wise counselors. And since you are so astute, I wonder if you could help me with something else.”

I waited, though I could almost see anxiety hanging above her like a dark cloud.

“I want to love the king,” she said, moving to another rosebush, “but I find it difficult to understand him. He talks of trivial things, sometimes he asks about me, but he never tells me much about himself. And if I am to love him well, I must know him.” She cut another rose, dropped it into her basket, and whirled to face me. “You know him better than anyone, Harbonah. Tell me what moves him. Tell me what frightens him. Tell me what he needs—and why he needs to love so many women.”

Her blushing face was so open, so honest that I could see the hurt and pride warring inside. In asking these questions she was admitting that she was lost, a queen who did not have a firm grip on her husband’s heart.

I hesitated, wavering between two loyalties. I had never exposed the secrets of my master’s soul to anyone, not even Vashti, but never before had anyone wanted to care for him as much as I did. And I wanted to help Hadassah; I wanted Queen Esther to be the salve for my king’s deepest wounds. I sensed that she could help him, if only he would allow her to peer behind the mask he wore.

Still . . . he was my master and my king. And his wounds were not mine to share.

But perhaps they rightfully belonged to his wife.

“I . . . admire you,” I began, “and I know the king does, too. Yes, you made him laugh, but it was the sincerity and compassion behind your laughter that touched his heart. He chose you because you remind him of the king he wants to be—wise, generous, compassionate, and courageous.”

Her lip trembled as her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away as if embarrassed for me to see her emotion. “He . . . has never said anything like that to me.”

“He wouldn’t. I’m not sure he understands the man beneath the crown. Since I love my master I cannot speak ill of him, but you should know three things: first, he struggles to live up to his father’s example. Second, the defeat at Greece haunts him still. And third, in bedding other women, for the space of an hour he sees himself as a conqueror.”

I covered my mouth and turned away as my blood ran thick with guilt. If the king had heard me confess these things, he would have pronounced me guilty of treason and sent me to the executioner. I couldn’t help feeling that I had transgressed against him and he would read my sin on my face.

But then Esther the queen broke every rule of protocol and placed her hand on my trembling arm. “Thank you, Harbonah. I will hold your words in my heart and consider them carefully. And I will never, ever speak of these things again.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled in relief.

“Thank you for coming,” the queen said, removing her hand. She stepped back, reassuming her royal demeanor. “I appreciate your heartfelt advice.”

I left her, grateful that I had been able to offer some measure of comfort. Aside from the king and her seven maids, to whom she had grown close, the queen was quite alone in the palace. Her position isolated her from her rivals in the harem, and she had no children to occupy her time.

I hoped she would not remain alone forever.

While working to serve my king and ensure my queen’s happiness, I watched Mordecai’s gentle ward grow into a beautiful woman. Over the course of the next five years, her oval face softened and became even more refined. She no longer exuded youthful enthusiasm, but radiated a refined, almost visible aura. The other eunuchs frequently questioned her handmaids to learn what lotions produced her haunting loveliness, but I knew the effect did not derive from any potion or oil. The delicacy and strength in her oval face were the result of loneliness, unspoken sorrow, and unfulfilled love.

I don’t know how many times our queen found herself with child during those years, but I do know that for weeks she would beam with inexpressible joy and then, without explanation, her joy would be swallowed up by sorrow. Though Queen Esther appeared to be in perfect health, the royal physician visited her chambers regularly and her loyal handmaids could not be persuaded to speak of whatever ailed their mistress.

Every time I suspected Esther of being pregnant, I told the harem guards to keep a watchful eye on the king’s children. Though Biztha and I did not speak again of what Vashti had done to Pharnaces, I wanted to be sure she did not attempt to sacrifice any of the other royal sons. I did not believe in Ahura Mazda’s power, but I had no trouble believing in the former queen’s ambition.

I did not worry so much about Esther. The queen’s maids were the most tight-lipped crew ever to dwell in the palace, immune to bribery, flattery, and threats. They did not gossip, they did not slander, and they did not hobnob with the other servants, so most of the eunuchs knew practically nothing about their queen. Once Hegai made a wager with Hatakh, betting a cloak of fine wool that he could discover from which nation the queen had descended, but he finally had to pay, for no one who knew Esther wanted to break her confidence.

Our queen, so unlike all the king’s other women, exuded mystery, which only added to her allure. The women of the court imitated her simple style of dress, her habit of shyly ducking her chin, and her modest posture when seated on the throne. Completely unlike Vashti, Esther’s rare appearance in the king’s audience hall introduced a pleasant atmosphere to a situation that had always been fraught with tension. The king remained unpredictable and impulsive, but he appeared to mellow in the queen’s company.

My king and queen might have been supremely happy if not for the ghosts that haunted them. Esther mourned the children she could not seem to carry, and the king mourned the loss of his reputation as an invincible warrior. If they had been willing to confess these matters to each other, and if they had been honest, they might have comforted each other and eased their respective burdens.

But the king would never confess that he feared not measuring up to his father—in order to remain on the throne, he had to believe he deserved it. Esther might have been willing to open her heart about her grief over her unborn children, but I think she feared hearing that he didn’t need a child from her because he had more than enough children from other women. If he had said those words—even if they were meant to comfort—she would hear that he didn’t care about the thing she valued more than anything else.

Though neither of them spoke of the matters uppermost in their hearts, their hidden burdens built a wall between them. Perhaps the king sensed the queen’s unhappiness; perhaps she sensed the king’s dissatisfaction. In any case, they began to drift apart.

As the king and queen saw less and less of each other, the king sent for women from the harem, and Hegai was quick to supply. These females—dark, tall, short, fair, round, or willowy—would entertain the king for a night, but none of them captured his heart the way Esther had.

He missed her. She had made him laugh. She had gazed at him as though he could do anything he set his mind to. She had given herself completely, with no thought for her own advancement. She was unlike any of the other women, and he yearned for the heart of his queen.

If only he would realize it.