PERSIAN PROVINCES—CIRCA 490 BC
Haman did in fact utilize the strange Indian symbol that had so captivated his imagination. Indeed, his men embraced it with a swiftness and a possessiveness that surprised even him. They began to etch the eerie twisted cross onto their battle gear, paint it onto their garb and even tattoo it onto their skin. And they found, over time, that the unity created by their common image bore out the effect Haman had sought. Their ferocity began to escalate. They fought more savagely. They found, in fact, that they started to seek out battle, to fight more than was needed just to keep themselves alive through piracy.
At one time they had merely been good enough fighters to scare their prey and protect their loot. No more. Now they began to roam in search of people to attack, whether loaded with bounty or not. Hebrews who fell into their clutches came in for especially bloody treatment. To those they showed no mercy. Whole families were put to the sword without exception, and Haman insisted, with particular emphasis, that even their livestock be destroyed.
Throughout the region, the name of Haman was spoken with whispers and shivers. Traveling through the area became a nightmare for all but the most well connected and well protected. The sight of a twisted cross scratched or splattered in scarlet paint—or was it blood?—upon a trailside boulder became the emblem of imminent peril.
One day Haman and his scouts came upon a column of well-armed and disciplined soldiers of an army they did not recognize. From his typical perch atop a limestone cliff, Haman himself watched them make their way. What he saw made his blood run cold. They clearly were not Egyptian. Their ranks were straight, even into the dozens of rows. Their capes and boots were completely clean and utterly alike—woven of what appeared to be gold. The raiment of an empire. He breathed in raggedly. He’d never heard of this powerful force.
Then he made another jarring observation: the sun was shining off their breastplates.
These soldiers were armored in metal. He had never seen that before. He turned to his chief warlord and whispered, “We will not attack these men. They are a breed these parts have never seen. I will try to befriend them.”
He jumped on his horse and sped away down the slope. Moments later, the column’s scout raised his fist and the riders behind him ground to a halt. Ahead of the soldiers waited a man on a beautiful horse, holding out a hand.
The sizable rider, whose helmet plumage and carriage bespoke high rank, cantered his splendid mount over to the newcomer. After looking him over for a cool minute, the soldier spoke.
“Would you be Haman, by any chance?”
Haman could not prevent himself from grinning like a boy at the question. “Yes, I am. And who would you be, revered soldier?”
“I am Satrap Xeril Artemis, of the Royal Empire of Persia.”
“Persia,” Haman repeated, more out of surprise than an attempt to clarify the word. His shoulders immediately stiffened at the knowledge. Did these men mean him harm? He had certainly plundered his share of Persian convoys, stolen his share of Persian goods.
The captain laughed. “Do not fret, my good man. We do not come to seek retribution for your crimes against the Persian state, although I hear they are many.”
“My heart rejoices, most kind satrap.”
“And I hope to bring it even more joy when you hear the errand upon which I have sought you. I wonder if you have any place to which we might retire and discuss matters privately?”
Haman’s eyebrows rose in droll agreement at the satrap’s suggestion. He smiled broadly and waved a quick gesture to his men. “I would be honored to host you and your men at our humble desert camp.”
The two parties rode side by side through the desert—polished Persian legions and ragtag Negev marauders eyeing one another warily for any sign of ambush or treachery. The sun was past its highest point when they reached Haman’s oasis camp.
Haman’s men dismounted and hurriedly exhumed several amphoras of prized Greek wine seized from a long-ago caravan. The two leaders retired to Haman’s tent as the libations began to flow and spirits to rise.
Sitting in the relative cool of the bandit’s tent, Satrap Artemis watched his host closely and began to silently reappraise the man. He had not missed a detail upon entering the robbers’ lair—its bristling weapons caches, opulent furnishings, the variety and volume of its plundered spoils. These men may have a ragtag appearance, he concluded, but they are skilled fighters. Despite his familiar and bustling manner, Haman’s narrow eyes bore a cold ruthlessness that also glittered on the faces of all his men. Remembering the impaled skeleton that had greeted their arrival, the satrap smiled inwardly and told himself, The reports on these Agagites are true—they’re tough as sun-dried leather! I would hate to be their enemy, but they may make perfect allies.
“So, satrap,” said Haman eventually, pouring a second goblet. “What brings you to our desolate straits?”
“We come to claim this land for the Empire of Persia and its almighty king, Darius. We have heard of how sorely your predations in these parts have disrupted the Egyptian economy. And since King Darius intends to subdue this entire region, we have actually come to ask for your help.”
“I will give you whatever aid my men and I can muster.”
“Good. My lord and I ask only for you to do what you do best. To rape and pillage. Since you have already done such a worthy task of causing the Pharaoh grief, we would like for you to turn your attentions to Egypt itself on the Emperor’s behalf.”
“Attack Egypt?”
“Well, maybe not attack the entire nation. Our armies will do plenty of that in time. But harass, maybe. Pester their northernmost outposts. Weaken their defenses. Distract their scouts. If you can burn a city or two, all the better.”
“Can I kill any Jews I find?”
The satrap shrugged. “I know of no prohibitions against harming Jews. But I suppose they would be treated like any other local civilians.”
Haman rubbed his hands together, his eyes gleaming. “Sir, consider me the newest and most willing raider in your Persian army. Call me your advance force, if you will.”
The Persian slapped a hand across Haman’s shoulder. “Excellent. And there will be more opportunities for raiding if all goes well. This could be a good chance for you to catch the eye of our leadership and advance in position and rank in the Empire.”
“Where could I raid after that, may I ask?”
“Well, I’m not promising anything. But if this goes well, I could give you permission to attack Babylon. The old capital has been a bit arrogant of late and stands in need of a good trouncing. Of course, it could not be traced back to the Empire. It would have to be blamed on ethnic tension or some other source.”
Haman’s greed swept through him like a tidal wave. He had never even considered ransacking Babylon, once the world’s strongest city.
In only a moment, a snap of the fingers, his prospects had broadened far beyond his wildest dreams.
And Haman did indeed attack Egyptian positions on his side of the Red Sea. His attacks were successful. As a result, six months later his Persian liaison gave him the go-ahead to attack Babylon. His men still would not be wearing the insignia of Persia, and they would have no official sanction from the Empire. They were undercover murderers, little more. Yet behind the scenes, the Empire would help Haman do his dirty work. A city gate left open. A sentry called in for the night. A defense force mysteriously away on maneuvers.
A subdued city of Babylon, a too-arrogant child whose hand had been slapped, now leaned increasingly on the stabilizing strength of the Persian Empire.
And that, my young friend, is how a band of Hebrew-hating Amalekites came to be in Babylon, far from their native territory, massacring not only my father Abihail’s family but many Jewish homes in the city and some of Babylon’s leading citizens.
The blood of my family won Haman great favor within the Empire. In fact, within days after the Babylon bloodbath, he was summoned to Persepolis, where the king appointed him satrap over his native Negev deserts.
And the stage was set for Haman’s ultimate assault on those he hated so much.