A Reluctant Queen Read online

  So far she had received no answer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Haman was a creature of the city and found little to admire in the stark landscape of the Zagros Mountains. As he rode beside the king on the seventh day of the journey, he watched Ahasuerus inhale the cold clear air as if it were an intoxicating beverage. Haman shook his head in bewilderment.

  “Isn’t this marvelous?” Ahasuerus turned to him with enthusiasm.

  “I don’t know if I agree, my lord. All we have seen for days are mountain goats scrambling around the bare rocks and sometimes an occasional shepherd.”

  “But that is what is so wonderful,” the king replied. “These clean open spaces without the constant mass of people pressing in on you. And look at those flowers. How can you say that they’re not beautiful.” He gestured toward the rough ground on either side of the road where pink and purple and yellow wildflowers made a riotous display of color.

  It seemed extraordinary to Haman that anyone who was accustomed to the exquisite beauty of the palace in Susa could be excited by these small hillside flowers.

  He was starting to reply to the king when a horse pushed up between him and Ahasuerus, forcing him off the path. Annoyed, Haman looked to see who it was, and his annoyance turned to anger when he recognized the king’s uncle, Mardonius. Mardonius hated Haman and Haman returned the sentiment. Under Darius, Mardonius had been a man of consequence and, though Ahasuerus had not taken away his title, it was Haman who was part of the king’s inner circle, not his uncle, and Mardonius resented this bitterly.

  As Haman tried to find room for his horse on the path, Ahasuerus asked in a cool voice, “Is there something wrong with your eyesight, Uncle?”

  Mardonius scowled. “Of course not. Why do you ask?” He paused, adding grudgingly, “My lord.”

  “You almost ran down my Bowbearer.”

  Mardonius’ hot red-brown eyes briefly flicked over Haman’s face. “Oh,” he said. “The Palestinian.”

  Haman clenched his teeth.

  “He is waiting for your apology,” Ahasuerus said.

  Mardonius stared at the king as if he could not be serious. Haman was peripherally conscious of the plop, plop, plop of their horses’ footfalls and the creaking of harness and cartwheel from behind. He struggled to keep his own gaze level as he returned Mardonius’ glare.

  The silence went on for almost too long before Mardonius turned to Haman and said in a careless tone, “My apology. I didn’t see you.”

  Haman, who did not trust himself to reply, nodded.

  Xerxes had ridden up to take a place on the king’s other side and now he said in a conciliatory manner, “We wished to speak to you, Brother. May we ride with you for a while?”

  “Certainly.” Ahasuerus’ eyes met Haman’s briefly and Haman let his horse drop back. The wind was blowing in his direction, however, and their conversation was perfectly audible to him.

  Mardonius went right to the point. “Do you realize that they are laughing at us in the streets of Athens?”

  The king appeared undisturbed by this news. “Your Athenian friends in Susa were forcibly exiled from their own country and now they are looking for a Persian army to give them back the power they have lost.” Ahasuerus smoothed his horse’s long mane. “I am not inclined to go to war just to please your friends, Uncle.”

  Xerxes said passionately, “How can you not understand that Persian honor demands that we wipe out the stain of Marathon? Remember how, after the defeat at Marathon, Darius had his page say to him every day before dinner, Master, remember the Athenians. It is hard for me, for us”—he gestured to include Mardonius—“to understand your reluctance to undertake this war!”

  Haman stepped his horse a little closer, to make certain he could hear the king’s reply.

  “I have been considering the Greek situation for some time now, my brother,” Ahasuerus said.

  Mardonius’ head whipped around like a wolf that has scented prey. “You have?”

  Xerxes’ face had also brightened. “You were successful in Egypt, my lord. Everyone agrees you handled that campaign brilliantly. Why should you not be successful against the Athenians as well?”

  Mardonius scowled. Haman knew he couldn’t stand hearing Ahasuerus called brilliant, even if such flattery might work to his own advantage. “You were lucky in Egypt,” Mardonius snapped.

  They are like flies buzzing around a purebred stallion, Haman thought. Why does he tolerate them? Why does he not just swish his tail and flick them away? Or better still, stamp them out with his hooves?

  “Luck is always welcome, but it is not wise to trust to luck alone,” Ahasuerus replied. “If you do that, you are liable to lose your ships, or your army, or both.”

  Mardonius went rigid. “Is that an attack on me?”

  “You were the Grand Marshal in the last war against Athens and you lost three hundred ships off Athos.”

  Haman allowed himself a small smile. He was about to see Mardonius get what he deserved.

  Mardonius protested, “We lost the ships in a storm! It was bad luck!”

  “It is well known that along that coast the wind from the Hellespont can become a gale, and that the Athos peninsula takes the full force of the wind. You cannot have lacked advisers with local knowledge, Uncle, yet you let your fleet be caught off a rocky shore in shark-infested waters.”

  “No one told me about the blasted wind!” Mardonius shouted.

  “Also, you did not take proper measures to safeguard your land camp,” Ahasuerus continued remorselessly. “The local tribes attacked and killed many more of your men. That was not bad luck, Uncle. That was bad leadership.”

  “I don’t have to stay here and listen to this slander,” Mardonius said through his teeth, and his horse exploded forward, sending up a spray of gravel into the faces of Ahasuerus’ and Xerxes’ mounts.

  A tense silence fell.

  “He is very proud,” Xerxes said, trying to excuse the inexcusable. “You wounded his pride, Brother. And Mardonius was not at Marathon. It truly was bad luck, not bad judgment, that lost us that battle.”

  “Where was the cavalry at Marathon, my brother?”

  Haman could see Xerxes’ body stiffen. “It had been sent round by sea to try to reach Athens, my lord,” he said steadily.

  “Leaving the infantry horseless on the beach at Marathon?”

  It obviously killed Xerxes to say it. “Yes, my lord.”

  “A mistake.”

  Xerxes looked grim.

  “And these are the same leaders who wish to lead a new advance against the Greeks.”

  “As you have said, my lord, we have learned from our mistakes.”

  “If I ask men to go to war for Persia, then it is my responsibility to ensure that they are properly led. I was not impressed with the leadership in the last war against Athens and I tell you now, Xerxes, that I will not entrust Persian troops to incompetent leaders.”

  “You cannot think to appoint Babylonians to lead Persians!” Xerxes cried.

  “I had Persian leaders in my Egyptian campaign, and I was well satisfied with how they performed.”

  “But . . . none of us went to Egypt with you,” Xerxes blurted.

  “No,” Ahasuerus agreed pleasantly. “You did not.”

  Haman watched Xerxes’ incredulous face as he stared at his brother. “You cannot replace all of the leaders who fought against Athens!” Xerxes said. “You will have a revolt on your hands if you do that, Brother.”

  “You are probably right,” the king agreed. “But I am responsible for my people, and I will not allow poor leadership to make any more widows and orphans than those we already have.”

  “So you will court a revolt?”

  “So I will not go to war against Athens,” said Ahasuerus.

  “Did you mean what you said about not taking up the Greek war?” Haman asked. He had resumed his place by the king’s side after Xerxes had ridden off after Mardonius.

  They were
crossing the last of the undulating ground of the plateau; ahead of them the road narrowed as it once more began its relentless climb into the mountains. They were still three days away from Ecbatana.

  “Yes, I mean it,” Ahasuerus replied. “For the present, at any rate. Too many of the incompetent leaders in the last war were my cousins. Xerxes is right when he says there would be a revolt if I tried to replace them all. Nor am I convinced that now is the time to spread the empire wider. The Egyptian revolt is quelled, but there is unrest in the north among the Scythians. I do not want to commit a large army to the Greeks only to find myself threatened on another front.”

  “There is unrest in Palestine also, my lord,” Haman said, happy to have found a chance to broach this subject. “Just before we left Susa I received word from my family that a priest in Jerusalem is inciting the Jews to go to war against the Edomites.”

  A faint line appeared between Ahasuerus’ brows. “Are the Egyptians involved in this?”

  “No, my lord,” Haman reluctantly acknowledged. He knew if he could prove Egyptian involvement, the king would act. Unfortunately, Haman had no such proof to offer.

  He said, “This quarrel is about the land in south Judea that the Jews deserted. My people have pastured their flocks there for over a hundred years, and now this priest has decided that the Jews should take the land back. But it is not their land any longer, my lord. It is ours.”

  “Did this ‘desertion’ occur due to the Jews’ displacement under Nebuchadnezzar?”

  Haman knew that it did. When Nebuchadnezzar had forced half the Jewish population to march to Babylon, the stretch of south Judah he was talking about had been emptied.

  “Partly,” Haman agreed grudgingly.

  “Who is this priest?”

  “His name is Obadiah.”

  “I will make inquiries of the satrap,” Ahasuerus said. “I do not want a war in Palestine. Palestine is the gateway to Egypt.”

  “It is not the Edomites who want war, my lord,” Haman said quickly.

  “I understand, Haman. I will make inquiries.”

  And with that Haman was forced to be content.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ecbatana at last. After days of traveling through increasingly precipitous mountain passes, where Esther giddily peered down sheer clefts of rock inhabited only by mountain goats, she had begun to think Ecbatana must be an illusion. Surely no one could build a city in the midst of such terrain! But for centuries Ecbatana had been the capital of Media and one of the chief stops on a main trade route from Mesopotamia to the east. Now the summer resort of Persian kings, it was situated upon a wide and fertile plain that lay six thousand feet above the level of the sea.

  The sky was crystal clear on the afternoon the king’s caravan finally arrived in the outskirts of Ecbatana. Esther and Luara sat in the front of their traveling cart and looked curiously at the streets of the town as they passed slowly by. The houses were built from wood and sun-dried brick, as they were in Susa, with open porticos supported by wooden columns. As they progressed, however, Esther noticed that the houses became much larger and more widely spread apart. They were set, in fact, in what appeared to be a vast park filled with various kinds of evergreen trees and brilliantly colored mountain flowers.

  “These are the houses of the lords of the court,” Hathach said into Esther’s ear from his place behind her. “The palace is too small to accommodate more than the royal family and its attendants.”

  And indeed Esther could see that many of the horsemen in front were leaving the caravan and dispersing through the park, presumably to their own homes. “Where is the palace?” Esther asked, peering ahead.

  “You will see it shortly,” Hathach replied.

  They continued along the graveled road until finally Esther thought she saw the outline of a tall building in the distance.

  “Is that the palace ahead of us now, Hathach?”

  “Yes.”

  “But where is the wall?”

  “The Medes felt no need of a wall, my lady. The mountains are protection enough.”

  The cart drew closer and Luara cried out in delight, “But it’s lovely!”

  They cleared the last of the obscuring trees and Esther had her first full view of the palace. It was indeed much smaller than the palace at Susa, and its brick and wood exterior was painted all in white. Instead of windows, most of the rooms on the second floor had arched doorways, which opened onto white-railed wooden balconies.

  Hathach said, “I was here only once, with Darius, but I have heard from those who were here last summer with King Ahasuerus that the court is much more relaxed at Ecbatana than it is at Susa.”

  Esther thought of the stifling protocols of Susa and said fervently, “That sounds wonderful.”

  Ahasuerus had always loved Ecbatana. Ever since he had first come here as a child he associated its clear, crisp climate and open-air balconies with freedom. His mother had usually accompanied Darius to Ecbatana, while Atossa, Xerxes’ mother, had chosen to remain in Susa. Ecbatana had been the one place from all his childhood that had not been shadowed by Atossa’s jealous and dominating personality. All of his memories of Ecbatana were happy ones.

  As soon as he reached his apartment he dismissed his attendants, pushed open the balcony doors, and went outside. Flinging back his head, he inhaled deeply. He could almost feel youth and vigor flowing into him with the fresh mountain air. In a few days, he thought, he would ride out to view the Royal Stud. He had bred Soleil to several of the best mares late last spring. The foals should be about a month old now, and he was eager to see them.

  He looked up. The sky was a deep cobalt blue, a color one never saw in either Babylon or Susa. A perfect day for racing, he thought. These last few days of the long, slow journey had seemed interminable, and now that he was here he felt full of pent-up energy. He wanted to do something, but everyone was busy unpacking and settling in. He bounced a little on his toes, too full of energy to remain still.

  The courtyard below was filled with servants unloading the carts that had carried the household goods. Voices shouted in Aramaic as chairs and tables were wrestled off the carts and piled on men’s backs to be brought into the palace. The scent of male sweat drifted to the king’s nostrils.

  They all knew he was on the balcony, of course, but they were following protocol and not looking at him. He bounced on his toes once again. He felt like whistling.

  Above the noise from the courtyard, he heard the sound of a door opening. Ahasuerus turned his head and saw that his wife had come out onto the balcony next to his. In the Ecbatana palace the king’s room was on the same side of the &7 building as the queen’s room, separated only by his bath. As Ahasuerus watched, Esther reached her arms over her head, rose up on her toes, and stretched upward toward the clear blue sky.

  She should not be out here without her veil, he thought. But no one was looking and he understood her delight in the fresh air. “Getting the stiffness out?” he said.

  Her heels came back to earth and her head whipped around. “My lord! I did not see you there. You startled me.”

  He rested his hands upon the railing closest to her. “So, do you like Ecbatana, Esther?”

  She moved to the railing directly opposite his. “Everything is wonderful. I have never seen such a sky!”

  His lungs expanded as he drew in more of the crisp, clear air. He felt a little drunk, although he had only water with his midday meal.

  Esther said, “It is so beautiful that it makes me dizzy.”

  He looked at the face that was some fifteen feet away from his. Seen in the merciless light of the afternoon sun, her skin looked even more warmly colored than usual, and the rosy tint of her cheeks had definitely spread to the bridge of her nose. He said, “Is that sunburn I see on your nose?”

  She looked like a child caught with her hand in the honey pot. “I have been sitting in the front of the cart, my lord. It was too suffocating to stay inside all the time.”
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  Persians did not find sunburn beautiful, and he was a &7 quintessential Persian. But on Esther, he found that the sunburn was charming. The adrenaline of finally being at Ecbatana was pumping through his blood. He gazed at his wife and his exuberance suddenly found a focus point.

  “I’m coming to see you,” he said.

  He went down the corridor to his wife’s room and pushed open the door. The only other people in the room were her eunuch and serving girl. Esther was standing on the balcony, looking at him through the open door. He said to the servants, “You may go.”

  The two turned, prostrated themselves, then backed slowly out of the room.

  He joined his wife on the balcony, lifting a hand to trace his forefinger along her sunburned nose. But Esther was looking at the door that had closed behind her servants. Her eyes lifted to his and she said a little indignantly, “What are you doing, my lord? What on earth will Hathach and Luara think?”

  He bent to say softly in her ear, “They will think that I am going to make love to my wife.”

  Her lips parted and she gazed at him, not speaking.

  He put his hand on her hip and gave her a gentle push. “Inside,” he said.

  She went before him into the bedroom. He opened the balcony doors wider so that the room would be filled with the clean mountain air. When he turned again it was to find her standing by the bed, watching him. Her eyes were huge and black.

  He crossed the room to stand before her. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Say my name,” he commanded.

  “Ahasuerus,” she whispered.

  He smiled.

  When Luara was allowed back into Esther’s room, she acted as if nothing unusual had happened. She quietly went about remaking the bed, and when she had finished she said to Esther, “Would you like me to do your hair for you, my lady?”

  Esther flushed. Ahasuerus had insisted that she unbraid her hair and Esther had only had time to tie it back after she had dressed herself.