It started with a knock on the door.
Xerxes bolted upright at the sound, his face flooded with a mixture of rage and apprehension. “Ignore it,” he whispered to me with a dismissive gesture toward the sound.
But the knocking continued; in fact, it grew louder with every passing second. I recoiled inside, for I did not want this glorious reunion tainted by the memory of seeing someone beheaded—which appeared to be this ignorant interloper’s upcoming fate. No one interrupted times between the royal couple; not even the Master of the Audiences, who could approach Xerxes when no one else could.
I saw Xerxes glance around for some sort of weapon or projectile to use. His eye settled on the sword lying to one side of the bed, where he had undressed. He walked over and brandished the weapon, then turned for the door.
“What?” he shouted with venom toward the unfortunate one on the other side of the door.
The door opened slowly. I winced, preparing for the worst. Then I hazarded a glance, and my eyes widened once, then again.
Jesse stood in the doorway, his face the whiteness of marble. He advanced more tentatively than any male I had ever seen in my life. He did not so much as look my way; he kept his eyes aimed straight at his feet in a terrified sign of submission.
“Your Majesty, I beg your forgiveness for this most importune intrusion. And I implore you to listen to my news before you decide on taking my life. It is my wish only to bring you grave tidings that your Majesty should know at the very soonest opportunity.”
The sword lowered. Xerxes glared at him expectantly.
“What is it now, eunuch?”
“Your Majesty, it is my deepest sorrow to inform you that Master of the Audiences Memucan has been murdered.”
I did not see Xerxes’ initial reaction, for my own eyes shut themselves in shock and sorrow. At the same time, understanding settled over me—as Memucan’s chief aide, Hathach was the logical choice to deliver this news.
Within a split second, a loud clatter filled the room. Xerxes had dropped his sword, and he stood motionless, incapable of further movement. He fell to his knees, and I rushed to his side. Xerxes neither embraced my coming nor shrugged me off; he was too overwhelmed to react at all. The next thing to emerge from his mouth sounded like singing, so melodic was his lament.
“Nooooooo . . .”
And that is when I caught him, about to pitch over sideways. He swayed in my arms for a moment, then finally regained his composure.
“Have the murderers been captured? Do we have any idea who did it?”
Jesse shook his head. I then thought I saw him glance toward me from the corners of his eyes. “No, your Majesty,” he answered. “No one has any idea.”
Xerxes swore under his breath and buried his face in my neck.
What we learned later was this: while we all were sleeping, several men slipped through the building’s darkest shadows and into Memucan’s quarters. In much the same manner as Vashti had been killed, the loyal advisor was stabbed repeatedly in the chest; then he rose in his bed only to have his screams stifled by strong hands and a tightly pulled strip of fabric. None of the other occupants of the house heard a thing.
Eventually, I knew that these men had ridden into Susa that very week with the returning troops, and I knew who their leader was. I also knew their murderous legacy stretching back decades, for the source of my knowledge was a twisted cross appearing on an errant cloak accidentally dropped during the grisly assignment. It was many weeks before I learned of this item, but I immediately knew how this terrible thing had occurred and who had ordered it.
Haman the Agagite did not even wait for Memucan to be buried before presenting himself to the King. He had, after all, just spent four years at the monarch’s side and distinguished himself in Xerxes’ military service. Haman was plausibly as close to a friend as Xerxes could ever have. He had worked hard to position himself as first among the Princes of the Faces.
But Haman’s next step had nothing to do with soldiering. Since Memucan had been the man who managed Xerxes’ schedule, and because approaching the King uninvited meant risking instant execution, Haman sent an initial letter instead. In the missive he offered his services as the new Master of the Audiences. He was now wealthy beyond measure, and he wanted to “give back” to the Empire.
Xerxes did have a few misgivings about Haman, since his chief specialty seemed to be robbing and pillaging innocent people, but he accepted his offer nevertheless. Haman had been the only Persian to distinguish himself on the battlefield. His ruthless tactics had served Xerxes well, and the King now felt that he owed the Agagite. So, bypassing a host of Palace functionaries who had jockeyed over the post for decades, as well as the fact that usually this position was held by a eunuch, he quickly named Haman the Agagite his new Master of the Audiences.
As I may have mentioned before, this made Haman essentially the second most powerful man in the Empire. The Master of the Audiences controlled the Immortals, the thousand-man bodyguard force that camped perpetually in the outer courtyards. He also had complete sway over the King’s schedule, able to lock out with complete impunity anyone whom he found unworthy of Xerxes’ time. He alone could interrupt and enter the King’s presence at any point—except for private meals with the Queen and the King’s evening trysts. That was infinitely more than could be done by average citizens, who would surely pay with their lives for an impromptu approach to the sovereign.
And all the promotion had cost Haman was direct supervision of his band of thugs. That task he duly relegated to his ten sons, each of whom was already more bloodthirsty than he had ever been.
Perhaps this next is so striking because Memucan had occupied his post for so long and with such grace and ease, but you never saw a man as thoroughly transformed by a new appointment as Haman. He seemed to grow a cubit from the moment Xerxes laid the medal of the appointment over his neck. In fact, when he rose from the brief commissioning ceremony, which was attended by all high-ranking Palace bureaucrats, he turned his face to the assembled crowd with an expression that can only be described as gloating. In any event, a discernible aura seemed to emanate from the man, and his posture changed demonstrably.
It was not until Xerxes publicly announced the new title that Mordecai and I fully realized what had just taken place. The King loudly intoned, “People of Persia and servants of the Crown, I give you this day my new Master of the Audiences, Haman the Agagite of the Negev. It is my will that each of you obey and treat him in every way exactly as you would regard your King.”
Upon hearing those words I felt my heart pound and my breath quicken. I swiftly turned toward the audience, where Mordecai occupied a prominent seat. Our eyes locked with an implacable expression of dread.
My first instinct was to run straight to Xerxes and tell him what a murderer he had just appointed. But the tiny voice of prudence warned me to consult first with Mordecai, and as usual my poppa convinced me to keep still for the time being. He wisely reasoned that unraveling the whole story to Xerxes would reveal my Jewishness and would throw me into a pitched battle with a Palace official whose power, at least as decreed, could be said to rival my own. Remember Memucan’s ability to have Vashti deposed, Mordecai somberly reminded me.
And then it struck me. The true field of war was not Greece, a thousand miles away. It was right here, in my own residence. I could not have stood in a more exposed and perilous spot if I had stood upon the prow of that doomed lead ship bound for Salamis.
For the next few days I went about my business, secretly consumed with a lingering sense of dread and alarm. I met Mordecai for another covert meeting outside the walls of our private quarters. He seemed both as troubled and as irresolute as I. “I have spent the last three nights in the Palace library poring over the archives. Esther, I finally found the proof. An old volume of the Chronicles of the King records a tidy sum of money paid to one Haman of the Negev for services rendered in the ‘pacification’ of Babylon. The time period is right. We already know his emblem is that of the twisted cross. He most certainly is the man responsible for the murder of our families.”
But then, seeing the helpless rage mixed with fear upon my face, he quickly added, “I am sure he knows nothing of our identity, so we are in no immediate danger. Please do not do anything rash. We may find a way to bring him to account for his crimes, but it will take time and a great deal of careful planning.”
“I could have him executed at once,” I fumed recklessly.
“I doubt it, my dear. Any other citizen, perhaps. But do not forget—he is the newly appointed second-in-command of the Empire. You might have a difficult time. No, I implore you, let me devise a way to reveal him for who he is. Do not worry that I will let the issue drop. You know how driven I’ve been to seek justice for what happened to us. Just be patient. Please?”
I exhaled. “All right, Mordecai. But I don’t know if I can treat him normally.”
“I know. I know.”
Mordecai’s understanding made his wise counsel acceptable to me. After a quick hug, we went our separate ways.
It was Mordecai who had the most difficulty treating Haman normally. I learned of this only much later, but the next day Mordecai was sitting in his usual seat near the King’s Gate when Haman entered the Palace grounds. Evidently he had taken seriously Xerxes’ order that everyone treat him as they would the King himself, for he had several of his largest men precede him with swords in their hands, yelling, “Everyone bow before His Excellency, the King’s Master of the Audiences, Haman the Agagite! Everyone stand and bow!”
At once, the hundreds of onlookers bowed forward at the waist, just as they would before the King himself. That is, they all bowed except for Mordecai. He sat as still as his posture would allow and gritted his teeth against the dust whipped up by Haman’s horses.
The thug closest to him walked over and brandished his blade high in the air. “Did you hear me right?” he shouted. “Bow at once for the King’s Master of the Audiences! Have you not heard? There is a new master in the kingdom!”
Mordecai did not even deign to look the man in the eye for several long seconds, so intense was his disgust. I know because he later told me that his mind raced with thoughts of death with honor—Kill me, you swine, for I long to go the way of my mother and father and sisters, not to mention Esther’s beloved family, and I welcome the chance to turn every one of these onlookers into a witness to your brutality. Come on—raise your blade, you coward.
Instead, the man swore repeatedly, then turned and rode on—clearly not authorized for killing that day.
Then Haman himself rode by in a chariot inlaid with rare and precious gems. His eyes never left Mordecai’s figure during his ride through the portal.
As quickly as he’d come, he was gone. After several long moments, the grit settled, and the hundreds of bowed torsos slowly straightened. Every eye was darkly fixed upon Mordecai, the one who had not budged.
A fellow scribe groaned from the back strain and turned to his stubborn colleague. “What is the matter with you, Mordecai? Why did you disobey the King’s direct order and refuse to pay homage?”
“It is none of your business.”
“Come on, Mordecai. You and I have known each other since you came to the Palace. You’ve always been a reasonable, accommodating man. You’ve bowed to the King and his high officials in the past. Why not bow to the new Master of the Audiences?”
When Mordecai finally spoke, he settled a heavily lidded gaze upon his questioner. “I bow to no man but the G-d of Heaven and my King, Xerxes,” he said slow and level.
“What is happening here?” asked a deep voice from over the companion’s shoulder. It was a royal guard who had stepped off his post to investigate the problem. “Why did you defy the King’s command?”
Mordecai said nothing and looked straight ahead like a man scanning the horizon for some approaching danger. A razor-sharp blade found its way beneath his chin, deeply indenting his neck but not quite puncturing it.
“Answer me, you luckless soul. I already have the grounds to haul you in.”
Mordecai’s back grew straighter, his gaze even more resolute.
“Sir,” interrupted the bystander, “the man refuses to bow to the King’s emissary on religious grounds.”
“What is your name, my man?”
“My name is Mordecai.”
“And what religion do you practice?”
Mordecai paused and made the decision that I always knew he would make when the occasion warranted. “I worship the one true G-d,” he replied. “YHWH. The Creator of heaven and earth. The G-d of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.”