CHAPTER
Thirty-seven

Haman stood in the king’s outer court, his heart pounding, excitement pouring through him. He hadn’t even bothered to pass by the king’s gate where Mordecai sat, for the sun had barely risen and the officials would not yet have arrived. He was early. He knew that. The king was probably still asleep in his bed, but he would wait. He had looked up at the grand stake in his courtyard and felt such calm this morning that he could hardly think that tonight its use would be far less calm for Mordecai.

Laughter bubbled from within him, but he held it back. He would relish the moment after he had secured the king’s permission. For now, he would simply relax in knowing that his nightmare was almost over. With Mordecai gone, he could easily wait a year for the rest of the Jews to be annihilated. Of course he could. He had patience. Hadn’t he proved that with all of the waiting he was forced to endure with Xerxes? The man was the slowest decision maker he had ever seen. A child would make a better king.

But he never said such things aloud. Those words would mean the end of his own life, and he would be the one impaled on a stake, not his enemy.

The door to the king’s inner court opened, and a guard summoned him into the room. So soon? He followed in silence, surprised to see the king sitting in royal splendor upon his throne, the scepter like a sword in his hand.

He assessed Xerxes’ expression. Was this a good time to ask for his request? Obviously the king had something on his mind. He would wait to hear him out. He approached and knelt.

The king extended the scepter. “What should I do to honor a man who truly pleases me?”

Haman reeled a moment with the abruptness of the question. Xerxes could be known to quickly speak his mind, but so early in the day . . . Whom else would the king want to honor more than him? Perhaps he intended to promote Haman to an even higher position, though the only thing left would be to make him co-regent.

He must want something less glamorous. I must speak carefully. Just because he was smarter than the king didn’t mean he could let on to things that the king would assume he did not know.

Haman hid a smile. “If the king wishes to honor someone, he should bring out one of the king’s own royal robes, as well as a horse that the king himself has ridden—one with a royal emblem on its head.” He watched the king and saw the light brighten in his eyes. “Let the robes and the horse be handed over to one of the king’s most noble officials. And let him see that the man whom the king wishes to honor is dressed in the king’s robes and led through the city square on the king’s horse. Have the official shout as they go, ‘This is what the king does for someone he wishes to honor!’”

Xerxes clapped his hands, startling Haman. “Excellent!”

Haman held his breath, waiting for the king to give the order to honor him just as he’d suggested.

But the king’s gaze never left his. “Quick!” he ordered. “Take the robes and my horse, and do just as you have said for Mordecai the Jew, who sits at the gate of the palace. Leave out nothing you have suggested!”

Haman felt the blood drain from his face, and his knees weakened. For a moment the room began to spin, but he caught himself. He must remain strong.

“Yes, my lord. I will do as you say.” He hurried from the king’s presence, his heart pounding so hard he felt as if it were running ahead of his thoughts. This could not be happening! This was not at all what was supposed to come of this meeting. He should be walking away with the assurance that Mordecai would be raised on the stake in his courtyard this very hour.

He slowed his steps as he neared the king’s rooms where an attendant would choose a robe for him to place on Mordecai. Had he truly heard the king correctly? Surely this walking nightmare was simply that. He would awaken and it would end.

“May I help you, my lord?” the attendant said.

He drew in a breath and gave the man his request.

“Here you are,” the attendant said, draping the robe over Haman’s arm. The weight of it nearly caused him to lose his balance. His mind whirled, and envy hit him like a fist to his gut. The glorious garment belonged on him. Not Mordecai. Never Mordecai!

He stumbled through the halls, dazed, his guards conspicuously missing. Was he not worth guarding any longer? Where had his servants disappeared to? Worthless eunuchs!

He continued through the palace to the stables. “I need one of the horses the king has ridden,” he told one of the groomsmen.

The man looked him up and down, apparently satisfied with Haman’s royal insignia etched into his robe, and went to find a black steed, sleek and strong. Perfect. For me. Not Mordecai.

He clenched his fists around the robe and felt his jaw throb from forcing back the curses he longed to spew. He attempted to draw a shallow breath, unable to breathe deeply. This was not real. The king had made some horrible mistake. That had to be it. Xerxes had lost his senses, and Haman happened to be near enough to take the brunt of his foolishness.

He shook himself and walked the horse the groomsman had brought toward the palace gate. Fine. He would appease the king again. Hadn’t he done so over and over? But his face heated as he reached the steps to the area where Mordecai worked. How could the king humiliate him like this? He handed the reins to a guard and sluggishly climbed each step, certain he would die of mortification when he reached the top and faced his enemy.

He stopped at Mordecai’s table. “Mordecai, son of Jair.”

Mordecai looked up, eyes narrowed, assessing him. “Yes?”

“The king wishes to honor you.” He held out the robe and beckoned Mordecai to stand.

Mordecai slowly stood, his brows drawn down, his lips in a grim line. “What is this about?”

Haman drew in a breath, forcing his exasperation at bay. “I told you. The king wishes to honor you. Let me put this robe on you. The king himself has worn it. Then you are to come with me to ride the king’s own horse. I will guide you through the city streets.”

Mordecai still hesitated, but at last he allowed Haman to dress him. Haman then led the man down the steps to the waiting horse, watched him climb atop the magnificent steed, and took the reins from the guard. His gut knotted worse than before, and for a moment he thought he would be sick. But he squared his shoulders, lifted his head, and walked the horse through the city square, shouting, “This is what the king does for someone he wishes to honor!”

Mordecai sat atop the king’s mount, holding tight to the saddle for fear his limbs would betray him and he would fall off the giant animal. Its sleek coat shone in the morning sun, and the proud tilt of the animal’s head told the world that he belonged in the king’s stables. Mordecai had no doubt that the beast would defeat any foe in battle, or at least be an asset to the king.

But it was Haman’s voice shouting as he led them like a small parade through the streets that held Mordecai in shock.

“This is what the king does for someone he wishes to honor!” Haman’s voice rang loudly at first, when they were nearest the palace. As they moved through the city, his tone softened, until he glanced at the guards surrounding them. Then he cleared his throat and shouted the words until his voice grew hoarse.

Mordecai saw people exit their houses and merchants step from their booths to watch. Haman’s face had darkened into a deep shade, nearly purple, when he first approached Mordecai that morning. How awful the man must feel to be put in this position.

Mordecai lifted his gaze heavenward. Adonai? What was happening that God would allow such a thing? And why was he being honored in the first place? Even if there was a good reason, why would the king appoint Haman to act like a servant leading him? Haman was the king’s highest official. He had the king’s ear.

It made no sense. But Mordecai enjoyed the attention and Haman’s humiliation just the same. When they came to the Jewish quarter of Susa, Haman nearly stumbled over the paved stones. His voice, nearly gone now, continued to call out the king’s words. Mordecai could see the shocked looks, the angry expressions, even hatred aimed at Haman, as they passed each home. Surely Haman felt it too.

God had humiliated his enemy before his very eyes. But this was simply one day. Tomorrow the edict would still stand and Haman would still pass by, demanding everyone bow to him. Nothing had changed, despite the magnificent horse beneath him and the fleeting sense of power he felt because of this moment.

It was only a moment, after all. Much more must happen before the Jews were free of this nemesis that was Haman . . . and all the evil he had created.

Haman stopped at the king’s gate, allowed Mordecai to dismount, took the robe from him, and returned the items to their proper places. His mind whirled with the events of this awful day. How could things have possibly gone so wrong? Had the gods decided to no longer find favor with him?

He attempted to stand up straight as guards walked him home, but the moment he entered his house, he hung his head, dejected.

Zeresh met him in the sitting room. “What happened?” Her tone said more than her question. Had she already heard but was simply waiting for him to tell her?

“Call for my friends and advisors.”

She handed him a goblet of wine and went to do as he asked.

He drank in silence, fuming, fearing. What could all of this possibly mean?

The sun had dipped lower in the sky by the time his friends and advisors had gathered. Zeresh took her place along the wall once more.

“I went to the king this morning,” Haman said, searching each man’s face. “I had planned to ask him to allow Mordecai to be impaled on the stake in the courtyard, as all of you suggested I do.” His brow furrowed as he briefly wondered if following their advice was the cause of all of this trouble. Had one of them warned the king of his request? But no. None of them had access to Xerxes as he did.

“When I entered the king’s chambers, he asked me what should be done for the man the king wants to honor. Of course, I could think of no one he would want to honor more than me, so I suggested he dress the man in a robe the king himself had worn, have him ride one of the king’s horses, and order one of the officials of the kingdom to go with the man throughout the kingdom and shout, ‘This is what the king does for someone he wishes to honor!’ I expected him to call an attendant to do just that for me, but in the next breath, the king ordered me to do as I had suggested for Mordecai! Mordecai! I had no choice but to obey, but the entire day was completely humiliating.” He drank from his cup and watched them.

“Since Mordecai—this man who has humiliated you—is of Jewish birth, you will never succeed in your plans against him,” Zeresh said. The others agreed.

“It will be fatal to continue opposing him,” one of the men said.

The news felt like a giant blow to his gut, and though he had already expected this answer, he had hoped for better. For a suggestion on how to reverse his fortunes.

As the men were still agreeing among themselves, the king’s eunuchs knocked on his door.

Haman’s attendant answered and approached him. “It is time to attend the queen’s banquet, my lord.”

Haman slowly rose, light-headed and caught by an intense inner fear. But there was nothing to be done. He could not refuse such a summons. He took one look back at his wife and friends, shook his head, and followed the eunuchs to the palace in silence.