BY THE TIME THE FIRST CITIZEN OF SUSA ARRIVED on the inaugural day of the king’s banquet, fresh white cotton curtains canopied the garden, providing shade from the bright winter sun. Beneath the canopies, blue silk banners fluttered from silver rods, tied by purple cords of fine linen. The apadana’s towering columns gleamed with a fresh coat of oil, and the marble tile shone beneath our sandals. The intricate mosaic flooring of malachite, marble, onyx, and mother-of-pearl moved more than one guest to stop in his tracks and gape at the heretofore unimagined majesty of the king’s palace.
I mopped my damp forehead with a square of spotless linen and tucked it into a pocket of my tunic. We had worked through the night to make certain everything would be ready for the residents of Susa, and by some miracle we had finished our cleaning, baking, polishing, steaming, and roasting. If any element was missing—in truth, I clung to the hope that the king’s guests could not miss what they had never seen.
Never before in the history of the Medes and the Persians—perhaps in the history of the world—had a king thrown open the doors of his palace and invited everyone outside his walls to partake of his hospitality. As slaves escorted the male citizens of Susa, both lowly and great, to dining couches in the garden, female servants led the guests’ wives and daughters to similar accommodations in the queen’s palace. Knowing that women were fascinated by the living quarters of other women, I had suggested the king ask Queen Vashti to give the women a tour of her rooms after the feast. She had balked—no surprise there—but when I reminded her that Hatakh, the queen’s chamberlain, would handle all the details, she relented.
Still, the queen was not happy about the king’s grand gesture. She had given birth to my master’s third son only a few months before, and though she did not have to tend or nurse the infant, she often cited the birth as an excuse for not appearing at various royal functions. On this occasion, however, the king had insisted that she play her part.
I was standing near the western staircase and observing the guests’ arrival when I spotted Mordecai with his wife and charming ward. The accountant wore his usual austere tunic, adorned only with a light fringe at the bottom, but both women wore beautiful gowns. The girl’s, I noticed, had been cut in the latest fashion, close fitting through the body with long, flaring sleeves. Both Mordecai’s wife and ward wore silk scarves over their hair, a modest and traditional accessory.
I lifted my hand and caught the accountant’s gaze. “I am happy to see you, my friend. Welcome to the king’s house.”
Mordecai and his wife responded with the perfunctory nod I received from most people, but the girl fairly glowed at my words. And since I had a soft spot for that delightful creature, I acted on an impulse.
“Ladies—” I bowed to them—“may I escort you to the queen’s garden? She is waiting to delight and entertain you.”
Mordecai’s wife frowned, obviously uncomfortable with the situation, but the girl’s lips parted in a gasp of eagerness. Yes, this one yearned for a taste of the life she would never find among her fellow Judeans. If the others in the Jewish district were as hardworking, sober, and taciturn as Mordecai, I doubted they ever indulged in the sort of feasting they would enjoy at the queen’s banquet.
Mordecai’s hand caught his wife’s wrist before I could lead the women away. “Be wary.” He kept his voice low. “I will attempt to leave as soon as I can make a discreet exit. We need not stay late every night.”
The girl’s face crumpled with disappointment. “Cousin, this is a celebration!”
“What have we to celebrate here?” Mordecai’s mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “We will enjoy the king’s hospitality for a while and then we will go. We need not remain here all night.”
As the young woman’s lower lip edged forward in a pout, I lifted my hand to smother a smile. The Persians had made sure I would never father a child, but I had grown up serving royal children, so I recognized youthful displeasure when I saw it.
My friend Mordecai was likely to have an unhappy walk home.