A Reluctant Queen (23 page)
“I don’t know, and since Teresh has killed himself, I will probably never know. It doesn’t matter. I know I have to watch Mardonius. Teresh was only dangerous because I did not know about him.”
“Treachery is an ugly thing, my lord,” Mordecai said somberly.
“True. But loyalty is golden, and I am fortunate to have in my service many good and loyal men.” For the first time that evening, Ahasuerus smiled. “Thank you, Mordecai, for acting so promptly. You probably saved my life.”
It was the first time that Mordecai had felt the power of the king’s extraordinary charm. You wanted to die for Ahasuerus when he smiled at you like that.
Mordecai answered gruffly, “I am happy I was able to serve you, my lord.”
“I owe you two debts now.”
“
Two
debts, my lord?”
“You brought me Esther.”
Mordecai bowed his head in acknowledgment. He thought of how the king’s voice had softened when he spoke to his wife. He thought of the kiss Ahasuerus had dropped on Esther’s hair. It looked as if he might care for her after all. Mordecai wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
In the hours since he had first told the king about the plot to kill him, Mordecai had discovered that there was more to the man than that perfect face. He had been livid, but he had behaved with intelligence and control. He had not ordered the summary execution of Smerdis, as he was fully entitled to do under Persian law. “
He is a good man
,” Esther had said. Apparently he was. But he was not a Jew.
Haman did not hear of the attempt on the king’s life until the next day, which was the day of the Mithra Festival. No judges sat in session on that feast, so Smerdis was kept under house arrest in his home while the rest of the court went on with the usual celebration.
Ahuramazda was the chief god of the Persians and under Darius he had been worshipped as virtually the only god. Ahasuerus, however, had never neglected Mithra, the ancient horse god whom his people had worshipped long before they ever heard of Ahuramazda, the god of the sky. Ahasuerus had held the Mithra Festival in the autumn of each of the years he had ruled in Babylon, so Haman had seen the ceremony before, but this was the first time it was being held in Susa.
There were two traditional parts to the Festival. First the Royal Cavalry staged a splendid parade before the king. Ahasuerus reviewed it from the south platform of the palace, sitting in his golden lions-paw throne, shaded by a gold-embroidered canopy. A dazzling autumn sun poured down, shining off the riders’ bronze helmets and sword sheaths. The horses’ gleaming coats bore dark patches of sweat as they trotted by in perfect formation, each regiment led by its captain.
After the last of the magnificent red-coated riders had passed, the second part of the Festival took place: the Presentation of Horses, in which seven yearling colts were offered to the king by Armenian tribesmen as part of their country’s tribute offering.
The Armenians, who had covered fourteen hundred miles of the Royal Road in forty days, filed across the courtyard, each of them leading a horse. The tribesmen walked proudly, not at all intimidated by either the throng of onlookers that packed the South Courtyard or by the prospect of meeting the Great King.
Haman stood behind and to the right of the throne, an honored position merited by his title of King’s Bowbearer. Next to him, on the left side of the throne, stood Coes, the King’s Lancebearer. Lined up behind Haman and Coes were a contingent of the Royal Bodyguard, without their Commander.
Haman’s eyes were on the spectacle in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere.
Why didn’t those guards come to me?
he thought as he watched the first Armenian mount the platform and prostrate himself before the king. The yearling he was presenting remained in the courtyard with a page holding its leather halter.
Ahasuerus said something to the man, who rose to his feet and looked with a mixture of gratification and wonder at his sovereign.
He is so perfect a king
, Haman thought.
Even these primitive tribesmen are in awe of him
.
A few feet away from him, Coes shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Haman shot him a quick look. He was wracked by jealousy that Ahasuerus had called upon Coes and not upon him.
Coes is a soldier
, Haman told himself.
That is why Ahasuerus sent for him
.
But it hurt. It hurt that the one who had seen Ahasuerus through this crisis had been Coes. Haman thought the king should have sent for him as well. It didn’t help that the one to have alerted Ahasuerus had been the Jew from the Treasury. And the queen had been there as well. But not Haman.
The gold on Ahasuerus’ crown gleamed as he leaned forward to say something to the second tribesman who was kneeling before him.
I am to sit beside him at the feast tonight
, Haman told himself.
He will get drunk on Mithra’s sacred haoma and he will laugh at my jokes and tell me funny stories and it will be like it was before
.
Before Ahasuerus had married that girl.
The Mithra feast was held in the main public room of the palace, the Service Court. The king and his chosen guests dined in the reception room while the rest of the guests were seated at tables that had been placed in the big, columned courtyard.
Haman did not keep his place beside Ahasuerus for long at the feast that evening. The king had been delighted with the Armenian horses, which were smaller and finer than the seventeen-hand-high Persian-bred Niseans. He was full of how he would experiment with breeding them to his own stock to see if he could add some of the Armenian fineness and speed to the Nisean size, and Xerxes soon took Haman’s place so he could discuss this vital topic with his brother. Watching them, Haman thought with amazement that one would never know from the king’s demeanor that he had just had a narrow escape from death.
The feast was not going the way Haman had planned. All during the dinner, which seemed interminable to Haman, he was forced to listen to the brothers discuss with clinical exactitude the various genetic points of every stallion and mare in the royal herd. It was the first time Haman had ever seen Xerxes at ease in his brother’s company.
It was not until the food was finished, and Mithra’s potent brew of fermented mare’s milk was served, that it occurred to him that Ahasuerus might be testing Xerxes to see if he had been involved in the assassination plot. Haman looked at Xerxes’ intent, unselfconscious face and knew that he had not been. Some men might have been capable of such dissimulation, but not Xerxes.
The absence of Smerdis and Teresh had been cause for a good deal of uneasy comment at the start of the feast, but the obvious light-heartedness of the king had soon changed all that. As the night wore on, and the mare’s milk went around, the laughter grew louder and the voices more slurred. It was a moral obligation to get drunk at the Mithra Festival, and Haman looked out over the crowd of diners that were crammed into the Service Court and thought sourly that every Persian present was certainly doing his best to comply with tradition.
He felt someone touch his arm; he turned his head and saw Ahasuerus reaching across his brother. He said, “Come and sit beside me. Xerxes, exchange seats with Haman for a while.”
At first Xerxes looked annoyed, then he shrugged and got up. He staggered and would have fallen to his knees if Haman had not caught him by the arm.
“I am fine,” Xerxes announced haughtily, and fell into the chair that Haman had drawn out for him. He put his face down on the table and promptly went to sleep.
Ahasuerus laughed. “Xerxes can’t hold his haoma.”
Haman said stiffly, “He appears to have consumed a great deal, my lord.” He regarded the drunken scene in front of him. “As has everyone else in the room.”
Ahasuerus leaned back in his golden chair. “It came at a good time, the Mithra Festival. I needed to get drunk tonight.”
“Indeed, my lord,” Haman answered with a disapproval he did not trouble to hide. “That is one way to deal with ugliness.”
Ahasuerus looked amused. “You don’t approve, do you? Don’t Palestinians ever get drunk, Haman?”
“Sometimes, my lord.”
“I don’t think you do. I think you are upright and sober at all hours and under all circumstances. Is that true?”
Haman replied with dignity, “I know
this
is true, my lord. We are always loyal to our friends.”
The king reached out and laid a hand upon Haman’s forearm. Haman stopped breathing.
“I know you are, Haman. And that is why you are going to be my new Grand Vizier.”
It was a moment before Haman understood. Then his &7 mouth dropped open.
Ahasuerus saw his astonishment. He patted Haman’s arm and returned his own hand to his cup. “I made a mistake when I left my father’s men in the important court offices. I am replacing them with men who are loyal to me.”
“I don’t know what to say, my lord.” This was true. Haman was stunned.
Ahasuerus smiled and handed his new Grand Vizier a cup of haoma. “Drink to your new honor.” It was a command.
Haman fought down his distaste and took a sip of the filthy liquid. He could not keep himself from shuddering.
Ahasuerus laughed, and when Haman had finally finished the cup, the king handed him another one, then another after that. By the time Haman finally got to bed, he was sure he was going to die.
W
hen Haman awoke the following morning, he wished that he
had
died. He had not believed it possible for a head to hurt as badly as his did. How did the Persians do it? How could they bear to put themselves through this agony? No amount of ephemeral good cheer was worth feeling like this.
He dragged himself out of bed, drank three cups of water, and refused anything to eat. His wife, who had never seen him in such a state, was sure that he was ill. “Stay home today, my lord,” she implored. “You are not well. Surely the king can do without you for one day.”
Haman peered at Zeresh’s face through slitted eyes. “I am not sick. And I am not going to give those Persians reason to think that I cannot drink just as well as they can.”
Zeresh’s mouth dropped open. “Drink what?”
Haman groaned. “Don’t talk so loudly. I will be back later.”
Walking carefully, he went to the door. When he reached it he turned slowly and said, “By the way, the king has named me his new Grand Vizier.” Grimly he walked out into the blinding sunlight.
Haman understood that this trial was not a necessity; as king, Ahasuerus was the Supreme Magistrate in the empire, and it was his right under law to judge those who were charged with crimes against the State or his own person. The king was allowing Smerdis a hearing by a judge because his conviction in open court would put to rest any rumors that the king had had him executed for political reasons. Haman agreed with the king’s decision.
Royal Persian judges were known for their incorruptibility. They were chosen from among the Persian nobility and held office until their death. They could only be removed for miscarriage of justice, and this did not happen frequently. The Persian kings took the administration of justice seriously and dealt severely with judges who were dishonest. No one was likely to forget the fate of the judge whom Darius had found guilty of accepting a bribe. After the offending judge had been executed, he was flayed and his skin cut into strips, which were then used to cover the seat from which he once delivered justice. Darius had made his point, and there had been no cases of bribed judges since.