Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294) (25 page)

I would send my little dog to stay with the harem children.

I would wear a simple linen gown and wait alone in my chamber, feeding my soul instead of my body. And when I felt Adonai's strength flowing through my veins, I would rise, dress, and do my duty.

I raised my voice and called for my servants. When they had all returned, I met Hatakh's gaze head on. “Give my cousin this message: Go and gather together all the Jews of Susa and fast for me. Do not eat or drink for three days, night or day. My maids and I will do the same. And then, though it is against the law, I will go to see the king. If I must die, I must die.”

And that, Hatakh reported when he returned, was enough to persuade Mordecai to go home and change his clothes.

After explaining my plan to fast for three days, a horrified Hatakh protested that going so long without food or water would deprive me of my beauty, the thing I would need most to win mercy from the king.

Beauty? I wanted to laugh. As a child I had yearned for it, as a new bride I had been grateful for it, and as a queen I had realized
its deficiencies. Solomon was right—beauty was fleeting, and now I wanted the king to love me for the woman I was beneath the cosmetics and perfumes. I wanted him to yearn for my company, my thoughts, and my soul. I did not want to be just another beauty from the harem.

After giving Hatakh a wan smile, I closed the doors to my chambers, locking myself and my maids inside. I didn't worry about the king sending for me—the last month had proved how completely I had been replaced in his thoughts and affections. Whether my rival was another woman or a vizier, what did it matter?

The king no longer loved me like he once did. And I could no longer make excuses for his inattention.

Thus began the darkest hours of my life. I walked through my rooms with the shutters drawn to block the sun. I did not want sunshine and brightness; I wanted no reminders of the beautiful plain beneath the palace mount. I did not want to look out upon the citizens of Susa, because I had to face a hard truth: over the years, I had insulated myself from reality. I had come to care for my sheltered self more than I cared for my own people.

By wearing torn burlap and ashes, my cousin had reminded me that we Jews were not like the rest of the world. We walked in it, traded in it, communicated in it, and did acts of kindness for it. To the casual observer, we might have looked like ordinary people, but we were not. About that, at least, Haman was right.

We were children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and we served an invisible God, who remained close to us no matter where we lived. But our hearts did not—should not—belong to this world.

Caught up in a flood of memory, I closed my eyes and heard Mordecai reading from Deuteronomy:
“What great
nation is there that has God as close to them
as Adonai our God is, whenever we call on him?
What great nation is there that has laws and rulings
as just as this entire Torah which I am setting
before you today?”

Though we had disobeyed HaShem's laws and rulings, and though He had scattered us throughout the world, preserving only a remnant in our beloved Jerusalem, still He had promised never to desert us. Never to abandon us. As long as we did not abandon Him.

I had done exactly what my people had done. I had grown up knowing about HaShem and His requirements of a holy people, but I had kept His precepts at arm's length, observing them in my head while my heart exulted in the world around me. I had refrained from work on the Sabbath while dreaming of a Persian boy; I had worn modest gowns while coveting the luxurious silks of the merchant's daughter. I had been reluctant to marry Binyamin, and I had secretly rejoiced to find myself living in the palace, where I could indulge every hidden yearning while affecting an air of quiet martyrdom when speaking to Mordecai.

Now my life hung in the balance, as did the lives of my people. And all I could do was pray.

I had no answers. I had no assurances. I had no children to guarantee my place in the harem. Even if the king chose to spare my life when I went to him, he could very well cast me away or sell me into slavery, and no one would protest.

But if I did not go to the king, thousands of Jews, possibly thousands of thousands, would not survive the year.

For two full days and nights my maids and I prayed for courage, for resolve, and for strength. I confessed my sins, my frailty, and my idol worship. Though I had never bowed before a graven image, I had worshipped my love the king, and for a while he had been my everything. And no one but Adonai should hold that place in my heart.

I wept and prayed, though prayer gave me no answers and no assurances.

What it gave me was the confidence that I would stand before my God and my king with a clear conscience.

W
HEN
YOU
ARE
A
SERVANT
—especially if you are a slave and have grown up in service—those who order you about and wait for you to provide food, clothing, and whatever else they may need, tend to forget that you have a mind and feelings of your own.

On the third morning of Queen Esther's fast, I stepped into the king's bedchamber and dragged a young concubine out of his bed. The girl was heavy-footed and sleepy, so it was with great difficulty that I managed to get her into a robe and send her back to the harem. I would let Hegai take care of the concubine; the king was my priority.

I crept around the room, cracking the shutters so that the morning light could gently wake my master. Haman had remained at the palace until late last night; he and the king had downed many cups of wine before Haman departed and the king sent for a woman. I went to bed after that. The king probably fell asleep before the girl arrived, but she had remained in his bed, undoubtedly to boast to her peers.

I set out the chamber pot and poured fresh water into a basin,
then laid out a towel and a bottle of oil for his hair and beard. A servant brought a bowl of fresh fruit and bread; I set them on a tray near the window. Now all that remained was for the king to wake and begin his morning routine. As soon as he finished, I would be free to check on the queen.

My stomach twisted as I shooed flies away from the sliced fruit. I couldn't help thinking of Esther and her maids, who had not partaken of any food or liquid over the past two days. I had been so worried about them that I had found it difficult to eat, counting every hunger pang as commiseration for Esther's cause. My prayers would have reached no farther than the ceiling, for I was a man without gods, but at least the queen would face the king knowing she had my earnest support.

The king stirred in his bed, and I retreated into the shadows. Only when he sat up and looked about did I clear my throat, reminding him that I stood nearby if he needed anything.

“Eunuch—” his voice sounded tired—“do we have a banquet planned for this evening?”

“No, my king.” I stepped out from behind the sheer curtain. “You may dine privately if you like.”

“Make it so. I would like to enjoy a quiet night—no guests at all. I have begun to weary of people who hover like flies.”

I could only hope he was referring to his vizier.

My sleepy master scrubbed his scalp with his knuckles. “Do I have a full day?”

“Emissaries from Babylon are coming to speak to you about water rights,” I reminded him, “and three of your generals have petitioned for an audience. They want to discuss plans for establishing trade with a Grecian city.”

The king sighed and threw back the silk coverlet. “Let's begin, then. Sounds like we won't have a spare minute until dark.”

I smiled and gestured to the fruit on the stand.

I
WOKE
ON
THE
THIRD
MORNING
with a pounding drum at my temple and Miriam's voice in my head.
“You will love whomever you choose
to make precious to you,”
she had told me when I fretted about marrying Binyamin.
“By taking care of
your husband, praying for him, and putting his needs before
your own, you will love him. I promise.”

I opened my eyes, half expecting to discover her lined face in the darkness, but all I could see was a faint gray line around the window, a precursor of dawn.

I rose in the semidarkness, not waking my maids, and dipped a cloth in a basin of cool water. Wringing it out quietly, I held it to my throbbing head and closed my eyes.

Did I love the king? I had strong feelings for him, but I had not loved him as Miriam loved Mordecai. I had not prayed for him, nor had I consciously put his needs before my own. And how could I take care of him when he had dozens of slaves to meet his
needs? I had acquiesced and bowed and favored him because he was my king, but lately I had not done anything—not made even the smallest gesture—simply because I loved him.

If the king spared my life, I would try to love him better.

I dipped the cloth back into the cool water, then wrung it out and pressed it to my eyelids. My heart and mind had resigned themselves to the task ahead, but my body protested. I had starved it, dehydrated it, and worried it until I felt as insubstantial as air.

But I had never felt more convinced that I was about to do the right thing.

For five years I had lived as Queen Esther, but beneath the crown I had been, in turn, a naive girl, a love-struck fool, a barren woman, and an insecure wife.

Today, at last, I might be a queen.

I moved to the balcony and slid the wooden shutters aside, then stepped out to gaze at the blue-black dome of the predawn sky. The moon lingered over the northern horizon, silvering the mountains, and I smiled as I remembered how their beauty moved me on my first night in this chamber. I had been such a girl. I had believed that love required nothing but a man and a willing woman.

I drew a deep breath, relishing the silence, and felt an instant's disappointment when footsteps shuffled behind me. “My lady? Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you, Hulta.” No food, no juice, nothing this morning. None of the usual rituals, not even in my dressing room. Because today I would not clothe myself in hopes of catching the king's eye or stirring his heart. Today I would put on royalty.

I walked into the cedar-lined room where my garments were stored on shelves, and then I lifted the hinge of a giant trunk and sorted through a mountain of luxurious fabrics. I had worn a traditional gown the day the king announced my selection as queen and arranged a banquet in my honor. I would wear that dress, along
with my crown and the heavy gold chain given to those who had earned the king's favor.

I had the garments set out by the time my maids rose and began their work. Speaking in quiet whispers, they pulled out the copper tub for my bath and hurried away for hot water.

I sat silently as they scrubbed my body in preparation for what I had to do. After the bath, I slipped into my dressing gown and sat before my bronze mirror, watching silently as Hurfita painted my lips and elongated my eyes with kohl. Regoita braided my hair and wrapped it around my head. As she pinned the last piece into place, I was surprised to see a touch of gray at my temples. Who went gray at twenty-two?

“I can paint over that, my queen.” Regoita picked up the kohl pot. “With just a touch of my brush here and there—”

“No.” I caught her gaze and smiled. “Let it remain.”

I stared at my bronze reflection and remembered the dark day when the king's nephew had done what I was about to do. The memory shivered my skin, chilling me despite the warmth of my crowded dressing room.

The man who would be seated on the throne was not the man who invited me into his bed. And no matter where I met him, my husband's nature was both malleable and mercurial. Only Adonai knew how he would respond to my premeditated offense.

Vashti had been deposed because she did not come when called. I might be executed because I came when
not
called. Both of us, the people would say, should have learned that not even a queen could safely ignore the king's wishes.

I motioned for Genunita, who held my royal tunic—a silk gown embroidered with the gold of Ophir and encrusted with precious stones and African pearls. Genunita helped me into the garment, then clicked her tongue as she tied the belt—I was noticeably thinner than I had been five years ago.

I did not want her sympathy. “I think,” I said, “that the belt might have stretched a bit.”

When Genunita had finished, Regoita stepped forward and placed the crown on my head. I turned to face my maids, and in their expressions I saw that I had succeeded—they gazed upon me with awe and a trace of wonder.

Hatakh, who had entered at the back of the room, nodded with solemn approval. “I have come,” he said simply, “to escort you to the throne room. Whenever you are ready, my queen.”

I looked at Hurfita and Ruhshita, who had been busy preparing for a banquet. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes, my queen.”

I gripped the back of a chair for support, lifted my chin, and met Hatakh's gaze. “Then let us go.”

A tremor of mingled fear and anticipation rippled through me as I left the queen's palace and walked with Hatakh, my maids, and several other eunuchs to the throne room. With no fanfare, we slipped into the great entry hall. Beyond it, in the inner chamber, I could see my husband sitting on his throne, his forehead creased with deep thought.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Hatakh whispered.

I wiped my damp palms on my gown, then reached for the solidity of his arm. “I'm a little wobbly, dear friend.”

“You should have eaten something,” he said, wringing his hands like a nervous mother. “Pinch your cheeks, you're far too pale. Hulta, straighten the hem of her gown. Regoita, secure the crown; I think it might be slipping.”

My maids hurried to obey, supposedly repairing my appearance, but I knew no real damage had been done on the walk from my chambers. Hatakh was only trying to postpone the inevitable.

If only he could command strength to my spine as easily as he commanded my maids.

“Leave me now.” The words sprang unbidden to my lips, urged there by my desperate wish to have the ordeal finished. I took a step forward, moving closer to the shimmering veil that marked the boundary of the inner chamber, the place no one could enter without a royal summons. Beyond the veil, I saw my husband on the throne and Harbonah standing behind the gilded seat. I could not see Haman.

I drew a deep breath and stepped forward, aware that my gold-encrusted sandals made a faintly metallic sound on the gleaming tiles. The guards stiffened, and Harbonah's head turned in my direction. The king looked up, a frown darkening his countenance.

My knees trembled, but I had committed myself. I continued on, moving forward so resolutely that the heavy dress seemed to move with an energy all its own. Encased in pearls, gold, and precious stones, my body felt numb. I tried to smile at the man I loved, but I am not sure what emotions flashed across my face. I only knew that my husband was unhappy at the disturbance. Soon he would prove himself every inch a king and condemn me to a messy and violent death. . . .

But his face cleared, as if he had suddenly recognized me, and he reached for his golden scepter, extending it to me over a space that felt like a thousand paces away.

Still on my feet, I reached out and touched the corporeal symbol of my king's authority and power.

Relief, combined with physical weakness, merged in a wave so strong that the room went black for an instant. But I would not faint. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to remain upright, then lifted my eyelids and smiled at my husband.

“What troubles you, Queen Esther?” the king asked, clearly recognizing that I would not risk my life on a whim. Genuine
concern shone in his eyes, along with something that looked like respect. “What brings you to me? Whatever your request, up to half the kingdom, it will be given to you.”

I took comfort from the fact that the king had spoken of me as his queen. And his extravagant offer bode well for my petition.

But I could not lay out my case before these nobles. I knew my husband's nature and I knew my enemy. If I explained my situation now, Haman would have time to conspire against me. He would have opportunity to renew his efforts and persuade the king to honor his edict, and my people and I would be doomed.

So I could not afford to be open with my request. My husband had looked on me with generosity, but his was a changeable nature. Tomorrow he might not look on me with such favor, but I would have to face that risk.

I bowed my head in a gracious gesture. “If it is all right with the king,” I answered in a strong voice I barely recognized as my own, “let the king and Haman come today to the banquet I have prepared for him.”

The king did not even take the time to consider, but immediately glanced at Harbonah. “Bring Haman quickly, so what Esther has asked can be done.”

I closed my eyes, well aware of the irony. Once before, a king asked a queen to attend a banquet and she refused, with disastrous results. But a queen had just asked a king to attend a banquet, and he had accepted.

My beloved husband smiled at me. “I will be with you soon.”