So that day, with the eyes of hundreds still upon me, the motion of the litter lulling me into a meditative state, with the heat of the hour and above all the gravest risk I had ever faced—I closed my eyes and began to trust in the simple presence of the Almighty. And He took the occasion to flood my senses with an overpowering awareness of himself. I actually pictured myself as a toddler climbing into His vast and all-loving arms. Although I never lost sight of His other attributes—His righteousness and power, even His jealous anger—the side of Him that then poured into my awareness was the tender and loving YHWH of my earliest childhood.
I found myself praising Him in simple terms. “Dear G-d,” I prayed, “thank you for your mighty and righteous deeds, for who you are. Thank you for meeting me here, for bringing your presence to my aid. You are so holy, so faithful. . . .”
And I began to recognize, pouring from my spirit, some of the same words that had left my lips when I had met Xerxes for the first time. Somehow my delight and praise seemed to have found its truest recipient. I had come full circle, a journey that brought me back—to YHWH.
And G-d’s presence was indeed the most amazing distraction; in fact, it soon began to make the momentous occasion of the day almost pale in significance. And still I did not gain a sense of certainty that my quest would prove successful and my life spared. Instead, it continued to become clear that this—this intimacy with Him, this joy at His presence—was itself the true substance of life. That it actually dwarfed my life in importance, not to mention some fleeting moment of fleshly pain upon death.
So strongly grew this inward peace that when the litter settled upon the threshold of the Inner Court and I stepped upon solid ground again, I was almost entirely consumed with my spiritual life rather than the gravity of the moment. And I was glad for it, of course—for the distraction was at the very least a welcome respite from what lay ahead.
The doors of the court were crowded with supplicants and bureaucrats. I suppose most of them knew that the Queen was not scheduled to enter the King’s presence that day—as I had not entered it for quite some time. So shock and consternation grew suddenly very plain on the hundreds of faces around me. I kept my gaze fixed ahead and simply walked, just concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other. Even though the red carpet was clear of loiterers—kept so by the threatening stares and weapons of the Immortal guards—an even larger swath began to part open before me. The hall in which I had been crowned suddenly opened wide in all its majesty, culminating in the marble platform of the throne itself.
As I came closer, the surprise grew audible; it sounded like a long, shared gasp emanating from the assembled crowd. I also caught more of the knowing looks between ladies of the court, perhaps inwardly celebrating the fact that I might be soon to share Vashti’s fate. If she could be deposed for not coming when bidden, I could certainly be disposed of for entering unbidden! Oh, I knew how rare it was for the scepter to be lowered and intruders spared. I did not care. I was destined to take the next step and the one after that.
“Dear Father,” I prayed, “I embrace your plan, your destiny for this moment. I want no other outcome but the one you have ordained. Please do not let me take one step outside your will.”
Time seemed to stretch into infinity the nearer I approached. Those final strides seemed to last a lifetime. I know that my ears shut themselves down somehow—all sound died away except for the beating of my heart. I continued walking and kept my eyes away from the King’s, even though he was now but a few dozen cubits away. I was not yet ready for that moment of truth. I kept my head slightly lowered. Another sight from which I averted my gaze was the pair of Cushite soldiers flanking the throne, their gleaming swords held at the ready behind their backs. Yet I could sense them nervously shifting to their ready position—unsure of their next move, afraid to take action yet fearful of doing nothing.
But then I was there; my feet struck the first step of the platform as I woodenly forged ahead. I stopped. And then it was time: I looked up into the eyes of my husband, who at that moment was anything but my spouse but instead my King, my earthly sovereign and perhaps soon to be my judge and jury.
His lips were pursed and his eyes questioning; he was genuinely surprised at my entrance. He cocked his head and peered at me, like someone trying to query the other without using words. As though he was asking, What is it? Can’t you let me know your errand somehow, before I have to speak?
Another endless moment passed. I felt I could have left my body, gone home to the Palace and lived several years in the pause that stretched between us. I heard, behind me, a great hush fall over the entire hall as if they, too, had entered into this moment of suspended time.
I saw the King’s fingers flex and unflex around the scepter, appearing to decide on their own whether to grant me my life.
“Please, Lord,” I whispered, “give me wisdom. Give me your direction on what to do next.”
And then the strangest thing yet happened—I felt the corners of my lips begin to tug upward. My cheeks start to flex. My spirit begin to lift. It made no sense, yet the muscles of my face began to act in one accord, disobeying my every command. I smiled.
Xerxes frowned.
“Why do you smile, my Queen? Most people at an intrusive moment like this would look like they’d soon faint with fear—as well they should. What causes you to smile so oddly at this moment?”
My smile broadened, because even though his expression remained grim and surprised, I knew he was remembering the moment we had first met and the similar words he had spoken then.
“Because, your Majesty,” I answered in a soft voice, “even at this moment of highest danger, of which I am well aware, your presence fills me with joy. I am overwhelmed when I come close to the one I love.”
The shared memory flashed between us. His head nodded slowly with a suppressed chuckle—I could tell he was gladdened that we had both kept that distant moment hidden in our hearts.
And then that which I had not dared to hope for: King Xerxes lowered the scepter. The gasp that now arose from the spectators was neither soft nor wavering. In fact, the clamor of shared surprise—and I hope relief—nearly caused me to swing around in alarm.
There remained one more part of this ritual to perform. I had to accept his grace, his mercy. I leaned forward and touched the tip of the scepter and felt a wave of gratitude—toward him, but most of all toward G-d—wash over my senses.
I removed my fingers from the scepter’s jewels and leaned back again. But Xerxes took the occasion to lean closer to me. “What troubles you, my beautiful Queen? And what is your request? I will surely give it to you, my love, even if it is half the kingdom.”
“You will be glad to know, my lord, that I do not come for nearly that much.”
“Yet I hope it is an errand of great importance.”
“The highest, your Majesty.”
And I took a breath. I glanced from side to side and realized immediately that I had made the right decision about how to proceed next. This was not the right place, not the optimal setting for me to state my plight. There were too many prying eyes in here, too many distractions and competitors for his attention. I needed to speak on my territory, on the ground of my greatest strength. So, realizing the absurdity of what I was about to say, I closed my eyes for a split second, opened them again and said, “I offer only one simple request.” I took a deep breath. “But not at the moment. If it pleases the King, may the King and Haman the Master of the Audiences come today to a private banquet that I have prepared for you.”
Xerxes visibly stiffened at my strange reversal, yet he kept his eyes glued on my every move. Finally his stare broke and he turned to an aide beside him with a smile. “Quickly, find Haman and bring him here so we can do as Esther desires!” Then a quizzical look spread slowly across his face.
Before he could question me further, I hastily asked to be dismissed so that I might prepare for the evening. I left the room using every ounce of Palace protocol I could remember—curtsying perfectly, glancing with a smile at every court official, walking at just the proper gait—and thanked G-d when I passed the threshold and left the throne room behind. I don’t mind telling you my legs could barely hold me upright as I found my way back to the litter, which returned me to my quarters. I was enormously relieved, as you might guess, but I also knew it was not over yet.
My private Palace cooks did not disappoint. They prepared a lavish meal of spit-grilled pheasant, kebabs of beef and peahen, roasted potatoes, grilled asparagus tips and desserts from around the world. And, of course, wine—this night the finest Chaldean blends flowed freely into our cups. I had chosen one of my favorite spaces in the Palace: a high balcony overlooking the sprawling grounds of the citadel and the city beyond it. Far ahead, beyond an intricate latticework of streets and rooftops, the sun sank onto a thick horizon of sand and cloud and inflamed the western sky into a riot of reds, oranges and turquoise.
For the first part of the meal I sat and listened, striving to appear calm, trying to eat, attempting to slow the pounding of my heart as Haman, the source of all my worst nightmares, sat within one cubit of me. Close enough to smell sour wine upon his breath. To count his pulse in the vein of his neck and the pores bridging the tip of his nose. I watched the moist wrinkles of his lips as they opened and closed and twisted a hundred ways. All the while, the man never stopped talking.
It’s strange, I thought to myself. He looks like a human being. A loathsome specimen, to be sure, but a cunning re-creation of humanity nevertheless. I closed my eyes and pictured something closer to the truth: a long, stooped creature with a scimitar rising from one fist, its reptilian maw barely visible beneath the overhanging cowl of a loose black robe.
To regain control of my imagination, I willfully pictured another truth that caused me to wince outwardly, although neither man noticed. My mother’s death. I forced myself to remember the beloved mouth that had kissed me goodnight lifelessly kissing dust in some corner of the floor.
I looked across the table at her executioner, and I resolved that his evil edict must be thwarted, even if it cost me my life.