Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hadassah

QUEEN ESTHER.

I repeated the stranger’s name, slowly, trying it on for size. The name didn’t seem to fit; like a baggy cloak, it hung over me and weighed heavily upon my shoulders.

Yet that’s who I had become. Over the past year, Hadassah, the girl who dreamed of princes and palaces, had become Esther, a virgin in the king’s house. And now, the queen.

Truth to tell, though Parysatis and I daydreamed about our handsome king and life at the palace, I never expected to even walk these halls, much less wear a crown. Some part of me felt that the throne still belonged to Vashti, and living in the harem had done nothing to eradicate that feeling. Even in the palace of the virgins, we could sense the former queen’s presence, and though she rarely left her quarters, we saw the evidence of her power by the way servants scurried at the rumor of her approach and the awe with which the eunuchs pronounced her name.

And . . . there were stories. We had all heard them, for the eunuchs in the house of the virgins loved to gossip. Hegai himself told us of Vashti’s horrific revenge upon the girl who won the king’s affection in Salamis. Hegai stuttered worse than usual during the retelling, and his face grew pale beneath its tan. Clearly he considered Vashti dangerous, and he ended his story by thanking Ahura Mazda that he worked in the house of the virgins and not the house of the concubines.

I did not believe the story. I could not accept that the beautiful woman I’d met could be capable of such bloody cruelty. Surely the story had become embellished during the passing months, and who could blame Vashti for being upset with the man who had spurned her? Not only had the king removed her from the throne, but he had married her eldest son to a girl he wanted in his own bed.

No, I did not believe the eunuch’s tale. Vashti might have been angry, but she had reason to be. And the king had behaved badly because the war ended badly. And who was I—or anyone else—to judge him?

Vashti was still the mother of the king’s three eldest sons. Unless I had a baby boy, Vashti’s son Darius would one day be king, and she would be the Queen Mother, one of the most powerful women in the empire.

Until then, I would wear the crown.

When the king declared he would make me queen, I felt an icy finger touch the base of my spine. For over a year, I had been an anonymous virgin, unknown by everyone but Hegai and the other girls. But now the king knew my name, and he seemed determined that everyone else should know it, too.

Fear blew down the back of my neck. As queen, I would be horribly alone, elevated and exposed.

During my brief time in the palace of the concubines I heard others talk about their night with the king. Some of the stories made me blush, but later I remembered those conversations and wondered if those women had lied. If not, their nights with the king had been nothing like mine. The king had not behaved like a mythical god; he had treated me with kindness and gentleness. Moreover, he had looked into my eyes with genuine interest, as if he cared about the girl who lived inside the smoothed and perfumed body.

The morning after, when Harbonah quietly asked how I had fared, I finally gave him a truthful answer: “We ate grapes, we drank wine, we talked for a long time. Then he took me to his bed and told me he would be as gentle as possible. I thanked him, and afterward we fell asleep. The next thing I knew, you were jabbing my arm.”

I gave Harbonah the facts about what we did, but I could not tell him about how I’d been changed. How at first I felt foolish and tongue-tied, a simple girl sitting on the same couch as the king of kings, but the man’s dark eyes were kind and snapped with laughter when I told him stories I’d heard from girls at the bazaar. He asked about my life outside the harem; I told him about growing up as an orphan and living with my cousins. I told him—after some hesitation—about being engaged to a family friend, and how we’d been stopped on the road by slave traders, who were taking captives by force. The king’s expression darkened at this, and I hoped he would put a stop to the practice. Though I had not been eager to marry Binyamin, I never wanted to see him hurt.

Then the king began to ask more personal questions. Again I felt awkward and shy, because how could I give a witty answer to such simple and direct queries? He asked what sort of flowers and foods I liked; I told him. He asked if I had brothers or sisters; I told him no. He asked if I had dreams . . . and my tongue failed me.

Guilt ran through my veins as Mordecai’s teachings echoed in my ears. I knew this was the moment when a good Jewish girl would say she dreamed of returning to Jerusalem and of one day welcoming the Messiah, but in truth I didn’t dream of those things. I dreamed of seeing the world outside Susa. I dreamed of standing on one of the Zagros Mountains, of riding across the plain and dipping my toes into the great sea. I wanted to sail on a boat. I wanted to care for my own horse and know that it loved me. I wanted to do all the things I had read about others doing, and I wanted to do all those things before life forced me to grow old.

Before I knew it, my pliant tongue spilled my secrets into the room. Like irretrievable feathers flying from a ripped pillowcase, they fluttered throughout the chamber and made the king smile . . . when I had hoped to please him in a far different way.

When I had emptied my head of my ridiculous notions, I pressed my hands to my lips and froze, horrified by my impudence. Surely this would be the moment the king sent me away or had me whipped for impertinence. I should have said that I dreamed of meeting the king, and of the honor of being his concubine. . . .

But my king listened . . . and laughed. And the sound of his laughter was so unexpectedly warm that I stared at him, my eyes widening at the sight of mirth on his face.

“You . . . are . . . so—” He forced the words out between spasms of laughter.

Foolish? Audacious? Silly? I braced myself for the consequences of my outspokenness.

“Lovable,” he finished, his smile softening. His gaze traveled over my face and searched my eyes, and then his hand found and held mine. “My little adventurer, could you be happy in a king’s bed?”

My mind shifted to everything the eunuchs had told us about royal protocol and the act of love. We were not to refute the king, not to argue, and only to speak if he asked us to respond—

But my mind couldn’t come up with any answer other than words both true and naive. “I don’t know, my king. But I am usually happy by nature.”

He laughed again and drew me into his arms. I went stiffly at first, then remembered Hegai’s advice to relax. The king’s kisses were the first my lips had ever received, his eyes the first ever to bore so closely into mine. I responded cautiously, then the part of me that yearned for adventure flared to life, and I met the king’s ardor with an inquisitive passion of my own.

Later, when we lay together and the king had buried his face in my shoulder, his beard tickling the skin at my neck, I remained quite still and tried to sort through the tumultuous emotions raging in my heart. Was this love? It certainly must be part of love, for such things were reserved for men and the women who belonged to them. I wanted to love my king, but I couldn’t seem to merge the king who ruled an empire with the dark-eyed man who looked at me with such desire that my heart leapt. . . .

I shared none of those thoughts with Harbonah. I simply followed him to another area within the harem, where I was introduced to Shaashgaz, the eunuch in charge of the concubines. Then, scarcely before my maids and I had grown accustomed to our new quarters, the king sent for me again . . . and announced that I would be his queen.

Immediately following our wedding banquet, the king had two of his officers escort me to the queen’s palace, a lavish suite that had belonged to Vashti. I entered the spacious chambers cautiously, as if the disgraced queen might be hiding behind a marble pillar, but Harbonah and another eunuch were the only people waiting in the luxurious space. Both men prostrated themselves as I approached.

“Greetings, my queen.”

I couldn’t stand to see my friend on the floor. “Please, Harbonah. Get up.”

He stood, but then he wagged his finger at me. “Do not ever do that again, not with anyone. When servants and subjects make obeisance to you, accept it graciously.”

“But I’m just—”

“You are queen, due to the king’s insight and generosity. If you belittle that position by telling servants to get up from the floor, you are lowering your royal station and making the king’s gift appear common. And I know you wouldn’t want to do that.”

Hearing the warning in his voice, I nodded, though I knew I would always find it difficult to watch people grovel at my feet. I sprang from more humble roots than many of the nobles who had bowed before me at the wedding feast, but Harbonah was correct—for some inexplicable reason, the king had elevated me, and I had to accept his will. No matter how uncomfortable I felt.

I forced a smile. “As always, I will try to follow your advice.”

“Then you will do well.” Harbonah smiled, then gestured to the unusually heavy eunuch at his side. “This, my queen, is Hatakh, who will be your chief attendant. He reports to no one but you—and the king, of course.”

Knowing that Hatakh and I would need to become friends, I turned my brightest smile on the eunuch. “So you have been chosen to tend to a woefully inexperienced girl. I hope you will be happy in my service.”

He pressed his hand to his chest and gazed at me as if dazzled. “My queen, it is my honor to serve you. I would move heaven and earth to fulfill your slightest wish.”

“I doubt I will wish for anything so extravagant.” I clasped my hands together and glanced around. “So this is the queen’s palace?”

“Your home now,” Harbonah answered. “But you’ll be pleased to know that all the royal palaces have similar quarters for the queen—the queen’s palace in Ecbatana is particularly beautiful.”

My heart fluttered with yet another sudden realization. “I will be traveling to Ecbatana?”

“Of course. The queen goes wherever the king goes, and the king travels frequently to maintain order in his empire.”

I would be able to travel! Somehow I restrained myself from flying to the open balcony that faced the mountains. One day, perhaps soon, I would journey over those rocky cliffs and experience whatever lay on the other side. I would visit cities and kingdoms I could barely pronounce, and in each of them I would be free to explore, with no one to restrain my wanderings. . . .

I closed my eyes as my heart sang with delight. Had the king known I would react with such enthusiasm? Was this why he singled me out from so many other beautiful girls?

“My queen?”

For a moment, I didn’t realize Hatakh was speaking. “Yes?”

“Would you like me to show you around? The rooms have been empty for four years, but two days ago the king asked us to refurbish them. I decorated your chambers myself, and I hope you will find the furnishings to your taste.”

I bit my lip, curbing the smile that threatened to break out on my face. As soon as two days ago? Had the king chosen me after our first night together?

I followed Hatakh as he led me through a procession of rooms, each more beautiful than the last. We had entered through the great hall, where the queen received visitors, and passed through another lavish space with inlaid mosaic floors and towering marble columns. The walls, covered with glazed brick arranged in patterns to represent mounted horsemen, seemed to joust and jump in the fading light of sunset.

From the lavish public rooms, Hatakh led me through several smaller chambers for the use of my handmaids. The girls had already arrived, and they abruptly stopped giggling when I crossed the threshold.

Remembering Harbonah’s advice, I smiled and told them I would depend on them to help me be a good queen. “I know I could not have pleased the king without you,” I said, thinking of the hours they had slathered me with lotions and perfumes and hot wax, “so I will continue to depend on your help. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to come to me. The king has chosen to make me your queen, but I would like to remain your friend.”

The girls bowed as Hatakh led me away. We then entered the queen’s bedchamber.

I don’t know what the room looked like when Vashti lived in it, but I had never seen a more beautiful space. The walls, of a white marble veined with golden flecks, shimmered in the canted rays of the afternoon sun, and columns of pink stone rose from the floor to support a ceiling that had been painted in the gentle colors of a rose garden. Sheer curtains divided the room into sections—one for a dressing area, another for bathing, and another for the application of cosmetics. Curtains also surrounded the bed, but they had been pulled back to reveal the most luxurious linens I had ever seen.

“This is too much!” The words sprang from my tongue before I could think to restrain myself. “Truly, Hatakh, these fabrics ought to be used for something finer than bed coverings.”

The eunuch shook his head. “The king delights to share the wealth of his empire with those he loves, and he would not have his queen sleeping on sackcloth. This is yours, and if you desire anything else, you have but to ask. Whatever you need, whatever you want, I am here to serve you.”

I sank onto a small upholstered stool and felt the rich texture of tapestry beneath my hand. In all my girlish imagination, I had never imagined such riches in one chamber. Though I hadn’t thought of my friends from our Jewish community in months, I had a sudden impulse to find them and invite them to my bedchamber—they would have to see it to believe it.

“And now, my queen,” Hatakh said, stepping back and gesturing to a gilded doorway, “an audience awaits you in the garden.”

My heart leapt into my throat. I hadn’t prepared to see anyone. If these were counselors or even household staff, I knew less than they did about being a queen. Panic-stricken, I turned to Harbonah. “Who’s out there?”

His reserved expression relaxed. “The king’s children, my queen. Thirty-three of them.”

Children?

Summoning a smile, I rose and moved to the doorway Hatakh had indicated. A short walk through an elaborately decorated passageway led into a rectangular garden of clipped shrubs and fruit trees arranged around a long reflecting pool. Beyond a particularly thick shrub, I heard hushed whisperings.

I hurried forward, and the moment I turned the corner, a noisy chorus of “Welcome, Queen Esther” greeted me. As one, the children prostrated themselves on the flagstones, a half circle of squirming bodies and disobedient heads that kept rising in order to peek at me.

My heart overflowed with happiness. I had always wanted a sibling, and later I had dreamed of a house filled with children. How wonderful that marriage to the king had brought me a garden brimming with youngsters.

I sighed, then swiped a tear of joy from my lower lashes. “Rise, please,” I begged them, reaching out to the closest child. “I am so happy to meet all of you. Would you please come and tell me your names?”

They rushed forward, surrounding me, but another eunuch, clearly their tutor, restored order by clapping. He ordered them to approach me by rank and birth order, beginning with the crown prince and his brothers.

The children shuffled into a single line, headed by a handsome boy. I recognized the eyes immediately—they were replicas of the dark orbs that had shone only inches from mine the previous night. “I am Darius.” The boy stepped forward. “I am the son of the king and his true queen, Vashti.”

I caught my breath as a flesh-and-blood character from Hegai’s story looked up into my eyes. If the eunuch spoke the truth, this was the prince my king had married to his own lover, Artaynta. I glanced at Harbonah. How was I supposed to handle this child? Did I ask about his wife? Did I even acknowledge her existence, since she had fallen out of favor? Did she still live in the harem, or did she still . . . live?

“Thank you, Prince Darius,” the tutor called, providing me with a means of escape. “I will speak to you later about how to show proper respect for your father’s queen.”

My heart was still pounding when a second boy moved forward and bowed stiffly. “I am Hystaspes, second son born to the king and his queen Vashti.”

I nodded and forced a smile. Either Vashti had put her sons up to these awkward introductions, or they were formed of the same mettle as their mother.

A third boy, a more compact copy of the first two, walked up. “I’m Artaxerxes.” He peered up at me through bangs that nearly covered his eyes. “I’m this many.” He held up five fingers and gave me a smile that nearly swept me off my feet. This darling child, at least, had a gentle heart.

“Wonderful to meet you, Artaxerxes.” I bent and braced my hands on my knees. “I hope we shall be very good friends.”

The boy grinned at me, then shuffled off to rejoin his brothers. I watched him go, realizing he had been a mere babe in arms at the time of the king’s first banquet. Unlike his brothers, he hadn’t been old enough to feel the sting of humiliation when the king moved Vashti and her children out of the queen’s palace.

I cut my calculations short and returned to my task. Thirty other children still waited to greet me, the sons and daughters of concubines. All of them charmed me, even those who were too young to walk, but I came away determined to fulfill three important resolutions: first, as the king’s wife, I would do everything in my power to influence Vashti’s sons. They would benefit from their father’s strength, but they did not need their mother’s thirst for blood. Such a combination in a king could result in the destruction of the empire.

Second, I would never forget that I was one of many women who shared the king’s bed.

And third, though the king had honored me and placed a crown upon my head, I could never take my position for granted. He had already deposed one queen; he could easily set aside another.

If I did not honor and obey him, I might find myself anonymous and forgotten in the harem.

During the early months of my marriage, I was as happy as any woman has a right to be. Though I no longer enjoyed the companionship of my friends in the house of the virgins, I drew closer to the seven handmaids who had been with me since my arrival at the palace. I gave them pet names to remind me of my Jewish upbringing, and each time I called for one of them, memories of Mordecai and Miriam flooded back to my heart.

The bossiest of the maids reminded me of Sunday, our workday after the Sabbath, so I named her Hulta. Rokita was as light and fair as the sky overhead, so I named her after the Hebrew word for firmament, created on the second day. Genunita specialized in cosmetics and lotions made from plants, so I named her after the Hebrew word for garden, created on the third day. Nehorita I named after the Hebrew word for luminous, for HaShem made the moon and the sun on the fourth day. On the fifth day of creation our world saw the first animals, so I named my fifth maid Ruhshita, for movement. Hurfita was as soft and sweet as a ewelamb, created on the sixth day. Finally, I named Regoita after the word for rest—our duty on the seventh day.

My days were mine to fill as I pleased, and in the early months of our marriage the king often invited me to join him in his throne room. I did so eagerly at first, happy to sit by his side and learn more about the man I called husband. The king spent most of his time hearing the petitions of visiting nobles, governors of the provinces, and emissaries to the various satraps. Occasionally he entertained nobles and members of various trade expeditions. Most of these hours were pleasant, both for me and my king.

But occasionally I saw and heard things that chilled my blood.

One morning a casual air filled the audience hall. Several of the nobles and vice-regents were mingling in the center of the great hall as the king spoke to one of his generals. They had lowered their voices to discuss the defense of a border at one of the outposts, and I had completely lost interest in the conversation.

But a stirring at the entrance to the throne room caught my attention. I looked up and saw a man approaching, a gutted deer slung over his shoulder. A pair of guards stepped forward to detain him, but the man pushed through, smiling and cocksure as he stalked forward.

As he passed the guards, his features came into full view and I gasped. Mushka. The youth who had so charmed me and Parysatis in our younger years had matured into a powerful man. He strode forward, blood and gore dripping from the animal on his shoulder, but nothing in his appearance appealed to me. He moved with a certain arrogance, and his attitude spoke of disrespect for his royal uncle.

Nevertheless, Mushka strode into the throne room as though certain of his king’s tolerance and forgiveness. Every eye in the hall widened at his approach, then heads shifted toward the throne, where the king was still conversing with his general. The two Immortals who stood before the throne stepped forward and drew their swords, but hesitated.

“Uncle!” Grinning, Mushka slung the bloody doe onto the floor. “Look what the hunter has won!”

My husband looked up, and in that instant I saw the king replace the doting uncle. What happened away from the throne room had little to do with what was allowed to happen within it, and no one, not even a favorite relative, could jauntily stroll into the royal audience hall and demand the king’s attention.

The king turned his face away, and in that gesture I read the man’s fate. The two Immortals closest to the throne stepped forward, swords in hand, and cut Mushka down before he could draw breath to protest.

I gasped and covered my eyes, unable to bear the sight of such violence. When I was finally able to look, members of the king’s guard were carrying the body away. A lone guard carried Mushka’s head by its hair, leaving bright spatters of blood over the mosaic tiles.

According to Persian law, no one, not even a king, could execute a man for a single offense, but any person approaching the king without permission was assumed to have murder on his mind. The guards, therefore, struck without hesitation.

After that, I did not visit the throne room unless the king expressly asked me to appear at court.