Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294) (7 page)

W
ITHOUT
THE
KING
, Susa seemed like a body without an energizing spirit. The royal complex still glistened in the slanting rays of a sunset, but the aura of the palace had faded. Men still climbed the gleaming staircases to conduct business in the king's name, but they climbed without urgency and walked without trepidation. Mordecai often came home early, stating that his office had no visitors. The lines in his forehead relaxed, and he smiled more than usual.

Life without the king might be easier for Mordecai, but for me, Susa had become a dull no-man's-land. Without the influx of foreign visitors, Susa closed her shutters and drew inward. Many merchants left the bazaar or closed up their shops. The talented men and women who worked silver, brass, and gold in the Valley of the Artists moved away, in search of other wealthy settlements whose residents could afford the luxury of art. Even shepherds
moved their flocks farther south, where the grass hadn't been torn and trampled by wagons and cattle.

I remained at home, helping Miriam, working in her garden, milking the goat. Mordecai said nothing about my marriage, and I didn't mention the topic. Life with Binyamin would probably be even duller than life with Mordecai and Miriam, so I resolved to remain quiet and content. And bored.

As I entered my fifteenth year, I wondered if life—and the king—would ever return to Susa.

We heard rumors from the battlefield, of course, as riders from the royal post circulated reports to the governors of the satrapies. We heard about our great king beating the sea into submission at Hellespont; we heard about his amazing victories over Greek cities in the north. We heard that the thunderous approach of his army so frightened rulers that they threw open their city gates and welcomed him, declaring themselves his slaves to avoid facing his sword.

Merchants in the bazaar draped blue and gold banners over their canopies, proudly displaying the king's colors. Others emphasized their loyalty to the army, loudly proclaiming that they had donated so many baskets of fruit, so many yards of silk, or so many chickens.

One morning I left Miriam with the weaver and saw Parysatis walking near another booth. Instead of calling to her, I threaded my way through the crowd, intending to tap her shoulder and surprise her. But before I could catch up, I saw my friend glance over her shoulder and dart down an alley and then run between two brick buildings.

I stared after her, perplexed. She hadn't seen me, so this couldn't be a game. So why was she behaving like a furtive thief?

I followed to the opening of the alley and saw her at a distance. She walked quickly, her head down and a covered basket on her arm. Intrigued, I followed, but caution stilled my lips.

At the end of the alley, Parysatis turned, leaving my sight, so I
quickened my steps until I came to the end of the alley and stood in a patch of sunlight. A pile of rotting fruit stood in a corner, emitting an odor that nearly made me sick. Parysatis was kneeling beside it, talking to someone who remained hidden from view.

Concerned for my friend's safety, I stepped forward. “Parysatis!”

She turned, color flooding her face. “Hadassah! You shouldn't be here.”

“So why are
you
here?”

She stood and turned, shielding whomever crouched behind her. “I'm making a delivery, that's all. Come, let me walk you back to the bazaar.”

Terrified for her, I pulled away from Parysatis's outstretched arm and spied a man on the ground, her basket on his lap. The man's dark hair was matted and dirty, his hands covered in filth. I had seen beggars who looked like this, but my friend had never shown any interest in beggars.

“Who is this?” The question slipped from my lips before I could stop it, and the man's head lifted at the sound of my voice. For an instant I stared at the familiar face; then my heart thudded. “Babar! Are you hurt? Were you wounded in battle?”

I wanted to push Parysatis out of the way and kneel beside him, cleanse his wounds, do whatever was necessary to restore him to health, but something like a wry smile snaked across his lips. “Greetings, Hadassah. It is good to see you.”

I stared in disbelief. “You're not wounded?”

“He's not wounded; he's hungry.” Parysatis crossed her arms and turned to regard her brother. “He says he's not going back to the king.”

“Not going back? I still don't understand why he's here.”

“I don't care if I ever see the king again.” Babar's gaze strafed my face, and then he took a loaf from Parysatis's basket and tore at it with his teeth.

“Please, Hadassah.” Parysatis pulled at my arm. “Please, we must go. You cannot tell anyone that you have seen him; you must not speak of this.”

“But—” I waved at the distant city gates through which Babar had ridden away months before. “He is a friend of Mushka, and Mushka is the king's nephew. Why is Babar here? Who would ever want to leave the king?”

“After being around the mighty Xerxes, I can't understand why anyone would want to be near him.” Babar looked up at me, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the shadows cast by the heaps of garbage. “The king is a madman, and anyone who chooses to serve in his presence is a fool.”

I stepped back, repulsed by Babar's description of the king and horrified by the depths to which he had fallen. How could I have imagined myself married to this creature? To a man who did not honor and respect my king? To a
deserter
?

“He says the king is not to be trusted.” Parysatis tugged at my arm as her words flowed in a steady stream. “He fears for his life, Hadassah. The king executes anyone who displeases him, even if they have done nothing wrong. He has already killed three messengers who brought him bad news, so Babar was terrified he'd be next.”

“All soldiers risk their lives,” I replied, my voice cold in my ears. “Why should Babar be an exception?”

“He doesn't consider himself an exception—”

“All soldiers,” Babar interrupted, “risk their lives in battle, but I found my life at risk simply by being in the king's presence. He is unpredictable and capricious. He is dangerous, an adder with a swift and deadly bite.”

“He is not; he could not be.” I drew myself up to my full height, convinced that Babar lied to disguise his own cowardice. “My cousin works for him, and Mordecai is the steadiest, wisest man I
know. He would tell me if the king were anything but brave. You have fled from battle only because you are afraid.”

“Hadassah, please.” Tears streaked Parysatis's face; her distress—or her shame—was genuine.

“I'll go.” I turned to leave. “And I won't say anything, but not for your sake, Babar. I will remain silent because I do not want to shame Parysatis, whose brother is a coward.”

My friend burst into tears as I slipped my arm around her shoulders and led her from the place.

“He's wrong, you know,” I told her as we walked back to the bazaar. “The king is a great man, and your brother is the fool. Everyone adores our king, and how could so many people be wrong?”

“I know you must be right,” she replied, swiping her face with her sleeve. “And I know Babar has done wrong. But what can he do? He can't go back to the war and he can't go home. Father would kill him for running away, and the king would execute him for desertion.”

“Babar has made his decision, so now he must live with it,” I said, squeezing her shoulder. I felt great compassion for my best friend, but as we walked through the alley, I wondered how I could have ever imagined myself in love with a man who could be so rash and reckless.

“Do you think the king will return soon?” I asked Mordecai one night after the evening meal. “Will he hold another banquet to celebrate his victories? Surely he will, don't you think?”

Mordecai looked at me, weariness and wariness mingling in his eyes. “It's not my place to read the future, child,” he said, dropping one hand to my shoulder. “And your destiny has nothing to do with that pagan palace on the hill. We must think about your future, and that means your betrothal.”

I fell silent, knowing what would surely come next. Mordecai and Miriam had successfully postponed the necessity of my marriage for several years, but time was slipping away from us. If a betrothal wasn't soon arranged, people would begin to wonder if something was wrong with me.

Maybe they wondered already.

Miriam cleared the table, then sat directly across from me. “You know we only want the best for you, Hadassah. You have been the light of our lives—” her eyes filled with tears—“and we will hate to see you go. But the time must come when a woman leaves her home and makes a new home for her husband and children.”

I squirmed under her sentimental gaze and looked away, though tears stung my own eyes. She was right, and I had been foolish to hope that I could eventually persuade Mordecai to allow me to marry Babar. Mordecai knew best, and without him and Miriam, only Adonai knew what might have become of me. But they had taken me in, and blessed me with so much love. . . .

Someone rattled the gate outside. I pushed myself up from the table, about to see who was there, but Mordecai held out a restraining hand. “Sit,” he said, a thick note in his voice. “Let me go.”

He wanted to answer the door?

I watched him leave, then looked at Miriam. “Are you expecting someone?”

She said nothing, but sank back onto the bench, keeping her gaze trained on the doorway.

A moment later, Mordecai returned with three men. I recognized Elihu, our rabbi, Kidon, and Binyamin. One glance at the latter told me all I needed to know.

“Miriam, Hadassah,” Mordecai began, looking at each of us in turn, “you know these men.”

Miriam and I bowed our heads and smiled while Mordecai
escorted his guests into the room and gestured for them to sit on the cushioned benches by the fire pit.

“Kidon,” Mordecai continued, looking at me, “would like to arrange a betrothal between you and his eldest son, Binyamin. He has brought the
shitre erusin
, written by the rabbi, to make sure everything is as it should be.”

I looked at the rolled parchment in Kidon's hand—the bride contract. While I had been enjoying the life in the aura reflected from the royal family, Mordecai and Kidon had been planning my future.

Mine and Binyamin's.

For the first time, I looked directly at the young man who would be my husband. Binyamin was my age, a bit taller than me, and pleasant-looking. His eyes held neither snap nor twinkle, but neither did they flash in anger—at least they never had in my presence, and I had known him since childhood. He had the look of a man who would pass quietly through life, doing his duty, maintaining the traditions, and obeying the Law. He was not the man I would have chosen, but neither was he the sort I would automatically refuse.

I swallowed hard and forced a smile.

“Hadassah.” Binyamin stood and slid a small wooden box from beneath his arm. “I have brought this for you as the
mohar
. Our fathers have agreed that it is suitable.”

Despite my disinclination toward marriage, I leaned forward to see what was in the box. Apparently encouraged by my interest, Binyamin blushed and lifted the lid.

Inside was a gold necklace, fashioned with care, and a pendant holding a blood-red ruby. The piece was lovely, exquisitely crafted, and obviously of great value. Even Parysatis would have been impressed.

“You are most generous.” I hesitated, knowing that accepting
the gift meant I accepted his offer. “Did you make the necklace yourself?”

“I did.” Binyamin smiled, waking the dimple in his cheek. “I wanted to make you something no one else had.”

“And so you have.” I glanced at Miriam, hoping she would suggest a way to postpone this decision, but her watery eyes held nothing but loving approval. She wanted me to marry this boy. So did Mordecai. So did Kidon, and so did the rabbi.

What could I say against so many?

I closed my eyes, silently saying farewell to my dreams and fantasies. Despite my close friendship with Parysatis, I was not a Persian girl. I was not able to wheedle favors out of my father, nor could I continue to dream about noblemen and palaces and beauty befitting a queen. Mordecai would cast me off before he would allow me to deny my people and marry a Persian.

So if I wanted children and to maintain peace in my family, Binyamin should be my husband.

When I opened my eyes, my thoughts had crystallized into hard reality. I forced another smile, then accepted the box and the young man who offered it. “Thank you.”

My future husband stood before me, waiting in silence, until his father nudged him. Then Binyamin remembered himself and handed the bride contract to Mordecai. “I want you to know I have done everything possible to protect her,” he said. “If something happens to me, she will never be left without property. I have promised not to make her leave Susa, if she does not want to go, or to exchange a good house for a bad house. Within the year, after I have prepared a home for us, I will come to take her as my bride according to the Law of Moses and Isra'el. I promise to please, honor, nourish, and care for her, as is the manner of the men of Isra'el.”