Chapter Thirty-Seven
Harbonah

JUST WHEN I THOUGHT THE KING HAD DECIDED to be content with his queen, a new face appeared in the royal court, a face belonging not to a woman but to Haman, son of Hammedatha the Agagite.

I distrusted this Haman the moment I saw him, but I could not attribute my dislike to anything in his appearance. Of average height, he was swarthy and solid, while a soft paunch at his midsection testified to a life of luxury and sumptuous meals.

Dressed in clothing rich enough to rival the king’s, he walked as though he were a prince in disguise or one favored by the gods. His plump hands glittered with jeweled rings; his robe and tunic, both constructed of expensive fabrics, shimmered with every movement. His belt had been woven with gold threads, and his shoes jingled as he walked. A turban of scarlet silk, held at the center with a golden brooch, capped his round head.

Haman, I learned from eunuchs who worked at various posts in the palace, had settled in Susa some months earlier. After building an impressive home in the Valley of the Artists, he arrived at the King’s Gate bearing lavish gifts and demanded the right to personally deliver his tributes to the king. More than one Persian noble raised a brow as the upstart wandered into the royal court, and when pressed for information, Haman revealed that he had a wife, ten sons, and a fortune derived from trading and the gods’ blessing. “I have come to Susa,” he said, clutching the edge of his robe and casting a confident smile over the nobles, “to bless the king with my fortune and my friendship.”

Several of the nobles snickered at Haman’s arrogance, but others admired his boldness. Nothing about the man could be called understated. He spoke in a loud voice, even in close conversation, and commanded every chamber he entered. He exhibited a quick sense of humor, a sly smile that seemed to fascinate every woman in the room, and strong opinions, which he dispensed with confident authority.

Yet years in royal service had taught me that no one gives the king anything without expecting something in return, and what people usually want is position and the power that comes with it. Time proved me right—Haman had arrived in Susa with money alone, yet in only a few weeks he managed to elevate himself to a coveted position in the king’s court. He gained this high status only a few days after being introduced to the king, and most of the eunuchs, including me, worried that he might one day gain real influence.

I would have paid the newcomer little attention, but my master developed an acute fascination with the man. Haman had a way of answering the king’s questions with thoughtful ideas, then humbling himself and suggesting the solution had been lurking beneath the original question, and surely the king would have come up with the answer if only given another moment to consider the problem. Haman’s glib tongue always managed to utter exactly the right response . . . an ability that had eluded me but that the gods heaped upon Haman.

As the newcomer prospered at court, I began to wonder if I alone found him arrogant. Everyone from the other eunuchs to the noblemen’s wives seemed charmed by the man. Even serving girls twittered when he sauntered by. Once, when Haman stood in the garden opining on a random topic, I found a pair of snobbish noblemen eavesdropping behind a hedge. When the Agagite spoke, people listened.

Everyone in the royal court, it seemed, had been snagged in Haman’s web, but I did not trust him. I couldn’t deny that the man possessed many gifts, including a golden tongue, but as far as I could tell, he used it only to benefit himself.

The king’s fascination with Haman might have passed like his other infatuations, but Memucan, the oldest and wisest of the king’s seven vice-regents, fell sick and died within a few days. The old man’s family had no sooner finished burying him than my master announced that Haman, not Memucan’s son, would take the vacant position on the king’s inner council.

Something in me shriveled at the news. Instead of waning, as a vice-regent of Persia, Haman’s influence could only grow.

Within a matter of months, the Agagite had wormed his way into the king’s innermost circle—and I daresay he would have taken my position if it were possible to be a chamberlain without also being castrated and a slave. The man began to show up at the palace every morning and soon demanded entrance to the king’s residence as well as the throne room. Even more amazing, the king granted Haman permission to come and go at will.

I watched with increasing amazement as Haman’s authority grew. The king consulted Haman on almost every topic, listening to his advice and then parroting it back as if Haman’s ideas were his own. Haman advised the king on how to handle fallout from the debacle in Greece, on the administration of the satraps, and on handling a meddlesome royal brother, the governor of Babylon. Haman visited the harem to look over the concubines and suggest which of them might make the best entertainment for the king’s evening. The Agagite even changed the royal diet, suggesting that wines from the southern provinces were fuller and more robust than those the king had been drinking.

I eyed Haman with increasing alarm and wondered if he might purposefully be trying to sabotage the king’s relationship with the queen. I don’t think Haman knew anything about the queen’s history—as far as I could tell, only Hatakh and I knew of her relationship with Mordecai—but I sensed that Haman didn’t want the king confiding in anyone but himself.

I believed that I alone disliked the Agagite, until the afternoon I left the palace to run an errand for my master. I was walking down the grand staircase when I saw Mordecai at his station outside the accounting office. I was about to shout for Mordecai’s attention, but the rapid clip-clop of horse hooves warned me to halt where I stood.

I turned and saw Haman leaving the palace on a majestic white horse, undoubtedly a gift from the king. He held his reins loose and his chin high, and every man in the area stopped what they were doing to prostrate themselves as he passed by.

Then Haman rode by Mordecai’s post. The Agagite glanced pointedly at my friend, but Mordecai bowed neither his head nor his body. He simply stood at his desk, an expression of profound indifference on his face as Haman moved by.

Even a fool would have noticed the way Haman’s eyes narrowed, but the Agagite said nothing. He merely rode on, his chin higher than ever, as those who had prostrated themselves rose and dusted themselves off.

Amazed at my friend’s audacity, I walked over to Mordecai. “Well met, my friend.”

“Harbonah!” All smiles now, Mordecai clasped my arm and squeezed my shoulder. “How are you? And how is my cousin?”

“She is well, and so am I. But you, friend—you have given me cause for concern.”

Mordecai’s brow crinkled. “Have I mismanaged some report? Has my accounting proved faulty?”

I shook my head. “I know nothing about your work. But surely you know the rider who just passed is a confidant of the king’s. Haman has risen to a position of great influence in only a few short months. The king listens closely to everything the man says, so to publicly snub him as you have—”

Mordecai shook off my words as if they were dust. “I have heard about that son of Amalek. I would not bow to him if he were king.”

I lowered my voice. “Why such animosity? Do you know of some crime he has committed?”

The lines around Mordecai’s mouth deepened in a look of firm resolve. “I don’t have to know of a crime. I know him and I know his people.”

I crossed my arms and pressed a finger to my lips, more confused than ever. Apparently the accountant’s dislike of Haman sprang from tribal rivalries, not the personal aversion I felt toward the man.

“A son of Amalek?” I asked, lifting a brow. “I don’t understand.”

Mordecai sighed. “Amalek was a son of Esau, brother to Jacob, later known as Israel. But though Amalek was also a grandson of Isaac, son of Abraham, he did not worship the God of his fathers. Years later, when the children of Israel were at their weakest after leaving Egypt, the warriors of Amalek attacked them, striking at the aged ones, women, and children who straggled behind. Later, Adonai told our King Saul to strike Agag, the Amalekite king, and to leave no one in his city alive. Saul disobeyed, sparing Agag, and though that king was later put to death, the Agagites—a remnant of the Amalekites—survive today.”

I remained silent as I sorted through the confusing history of Mordecai’s people.

“Yet I do not refuse to bow purely for historical reasons,” the accountant added, his voice softening as he peered down the road at Haman’s retreating figure. “Look at the man. See how he sets himself above everyone else? He is filled with pride, and Adonai hates a proud look and a proud heart. A proud man will be set against all that is holy, for he is the god of his own world. Haman is evil, and you, Harbonah, would do well to guard the king’s heart. Protect your master if you can.”

I relaxed, grateful to discover that I wasn’t the only person in the palace who hadn’t been mesmerized by the newcomer. “I don’t like Haman, either, but the king must be handled tactfully.” I frowned. “I have always had a bad feeling about that interloper, but everyone around me praises him as if he were some kind of victorious warrior.”

“He is a warrior, but that sort does not fight with spears and arrows. He will fight with words and ideas, and he will overpower the unwary. Watch him carefully.”

“And you?” The corner of my mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Will you continue to watch him from your post? No bowing for you? Not even a bend of the knee?”

“Not even a twitch of the eye.” Mordecai tipped back his head and met my gaze, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Nebuchadnezzar took thousands of Jews captive and then commanded them to bow before his golden idol. Thousands of my people bowed, all but Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. By remaining erect, those three taught a pagan king that he didn’t rule the universe.” Mordecai’s teeth showed through his beard in an expression that was not a smile. “Maybe this old man can teach a stubborn Amalekite that he doesn’t rule the universe, either.”

I exhaled a deep breath and hoped my friend would be proven right.

The edict became official within the week, and no one was more surprised to learn of it than me.

In the throne room, with Haman standing by his side—head bowed, hands clasped, and expression appropriately sober—the king proclaimed a new law. “Haman, son of Hammedatha the Agagite, is hereby gifted with the honor of being the king’s chief counselor,” my master said, speaking slowly for the sake of the scribes, who were furiously translating his proclamation into each of the empire’s many languages. “So as a measure of respect, whenever Haman approaches on foot, horseback, or some other conveyance, proper obeisance must be rendered. Throughout the empire, this shall be done to respect the man whom the king delights to honor. So shall it be, today and forever more.”

I struggled to maintain a blank face as the other nobles murmured among themselves. Most of them seemed to like Haman, but never had such an honor been granted to anyone who had not emerged either from a noble family or the royal army. The king had a circle of faithful counselors, dozens of devoted military generals, and ten thousand brave Immortals, but never in the history of the empire had a Persian king selected a relative outsider to be his vizier.

I loitered in the shadows as the assembly dismissed for the midday meal. I was about to go seek Hegai’s opinion of this latest development when I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I whirled around, expecting to find another slave, but Haman himself stood before me, his gleaming eyes dark and direct.

A cold panic started somewhere between my shoulder blades and shivered down my spine.

“Harbonah, isn’t it?” Haman asked, his tone smooth and pleasing. “The king’s chamberlain?”

I nodded, struck speechless. Not even my master called me by name.

“You and I have a great deal in common—” he lowered his tone—“as you are the king’s chief attendant and I his chief friend. Because I am his friend, I count it my great honor and duty to learn all I can about the issues and situations that influence the king.”

I nodded again, not trusting my voice. The hair on the back of my neck rose with premonition as my heart congealed into a small and terrified lump.

“Good, good.” The Agagite smiled and smoothed the pointed end of his beard. “It has come to my attention that certain rebels reside in the empire; indeed a few of them even work within the king’s court. You, for instance, were seen talking to such an upstart yesterday. Surely you know him—the man who stands at the King’s Gate to collect tribute. I hear he has worked in the treasury a long time.”

Panic welled in my throat. He meant Mordecai, of course, but how did he know these things? He had passed Mordecai’s post by the time I spoke to my friend yesterday . . . which meant Haman had spies in the King’s Gate and possibly on the streets of Susa.

Drawing on my years of experience as a slave, I decided to play dumb. “I did go out yesterday, sir, but I spoke to several people. And as one who has served the king for over twenty years, I know many people in the palace—”

“I’m referring to a most peculiar man.” Haman’s eyes narrowed. “He wears an untrimmed beard and dresses in a dark tunic with fringe at the hem of his robe. He lives alone in the eastern part of the city.”

Haman had more than spies on the street—he had moles he’d bribed to dig up information. If he knew how and where Mordecai lived, he had to know my friend’s name. He was searching now for confirmation.

So I could do no harm by replying.

“You must mean Mordecai.” I smiled the carefree smile of an imbecile. “He has served the king faithfully for many years.”

“He is a troublemaker.” Haman spoke in a flat voice, then lifted a warning finger. “I have heard that he might associate with a most peculiar and troublesome people—”

“Accountants?” Again I flashed a wide smile. “I have known many accountants in my life, and while some of them are not very talkative, most of them are good company.”

“Not accountants.” He spat the words at me. “He lives near others of his kind. You must know the people I speak of. They are close-knit, they worship an invisible god, they intermarry and will not give their daughters to anyone outside their clans—”

I responded with a wide-eyed stare.

Haman drew an exasperated breath, then tried again. “Perhaps you have heard the word Jew? The people who came here from Judea?”

“Ah.” I smiled even more broadly than before. “I have heard of them. They have never brought the king any trouble.”

“They should be wiped off the face of the earth.” Haman glowered at me, then tugged on the edges of his robe and rearranged his face into pleasant lines. “If you see your friend again, remind him of the king’s latest edict. He must obey or accept the consequences. And those consequences, as you know, can be severe. I pity the man who breaks the king’s laws.”

I nodded, then stood by a column until the crowd dispersed and I alone remained in the polished stillness. Then I shook off my alarm and hurried out of the throne room.