“IF THOU ART A MASTER,” a wise man once said, “be sometimes blind. If thou art a servant, be sometimes deaf.”
Years of serving my king had proved this adage many times. My master often overlooked my faults, and I kept his secrets. Though I was as devoted as a eunuch could be, I was not above taking an hour or two to find pleasure for myself.
I stole one of those hours the afternoon of my queen’s second banquet. Haman had hurried from the palace immediately after returning from leading Mordecai through the streets of Susa, but he had to return for the queen’s feast. A company of guards would be dispatched to escort him to meet the king and queen, so I decided to be part of that company.
I donned a head covering and exchanged my white tunic for the simple kilt of a litter-bearer. I told the astonished slave that I would take his place on this errand. He was only too happy to relax in the barn while I picked up a pole at the back of the litter.
Our company arrived at Haman’s house well before the appointed time. While the guards lingered in the vast courtyard and speculated about the tall pike standing amid lush gardens and beautiful statuary, I sidled toward the doorway and hid myself behind a stone outcropping.
From where I stood, I could hear Haman’s angry voice, accompanied by the treble tones of a woman—presumably his wife.
“I shall never get over the humiliation,” Haman said, anguish in his voice. “The man I hate most in all the world, seated upon the king’s stallion! That should have been my seat! I should have been wearing the king’s robe.”
I expected his wife to comfort him, but Haman’s woman answered sharply, “If this Mordecai before whom you have begun to fall is a Jew, you will not get the better of him. On the contrary, your downfall before him is certain.”
I winced as a hard slap cracked through the silence. I caught the captain of the guard’s attention and gestured toward the house. “Hurry,” I mouthed. He nodded and pounded on the door.
A moment later, Haman stalked out and climbed into the litter, never even glancing at the slaves who had come to transport him. My tender hands developed blisters as I carried his substantial weight, but seeing his slumped posture and furrowed brow made the pain worthwhile. Yesterday the vizier had fizzed with glee at the thought of dining with the queen; tonight he rode to the palace like a man who had been condemned to dine in the dungeon. Before this morning he had run to and fro arranging for the destruction of the Jews, but now he was being carried toward an event my queen had arranged. He did not realize it, but he was no longer in control.
Yet I did not underestimate him. He was a changeling, able to rearrange his countenance and amend his approach as easily as he might change his cloak. Within a very short time he would be charming and witty, though the man beneath the facade would not change.
Following the queen’s explicit directions, we brought Haman to the palace by way of the grand staircase, the one Darius had designed to intimidate visitors with glory and grandeur. Haman barely seemed to notice the gleaming pillars, the glazed tiles and artistic mosaics, even the fountains that bubbled with colored waters. Not until we reached the arched entrance to the queen’s palace did he look up, climb out of the litter, and paste a pleasant expression on his face. Suitably composed, he left us behind and proceeded into the royal couple’s presence.
The guards and litter-bearers dispersed while I slipped into the queen’s garden and hid myself behind the diaphanous curtains hanging from the framework of the garden pavilion. Torches had been planted into the ground outside, giving light to the guards who would be stationed there and lighting the dining area with a soft glow. On the hexagonal platform, three couches—two gold and one silver—had been arranged in a triangular pattern. With one glance I saw that the king and queen would dine head to head, while Haman occupied a couch near their feet.
I couldn’t stop a smile. My queen had arranged everything perfectly.