A Reluctant Queen (14 page)
She made no reply to his suggestive comment, but glanced with embarrassment at the little boys who stood behind the king’s chair, waiting to serve them. Then she looked at Ahasuerus, whose face was perfectly serene. As Esther watched his slim, strong hand use his knife to spear a chunk of pork, she realized that he had spoken as if they were alone because, to his mind, they were alone. Ahasuerus had lived in his high station for so long that he truly did not notice the human presence of those who served him.
Esther, however, was all too conscious of the listening boys, and she sought to introduce a less personal topic. “Will there be horse racing in Ecbatana? I understand there is a race track.”
Ahasuerus smiled. “There’s a splendid race track in Ecbatana. The best in all Persia, I would say. The footing is superb and it’s wide enough for ten horses to go abreast.”
Esther speared a piece of pork for herself. “Isn’t it difficult for horses to run in the thin mountain air?”
“Not for our Niseans,” he replied proudly. “Nisean horses are mountain-bred, Esther. The Royal Stud is located not far from Ecbatana. Mountain-bred horses have bigger hearts and lungs than horses that are bred in the plain.”
Happy to have found a topic of conversation that so engaged him, Esther asked, “Was there a race track in Babylon, my lord?”
“No.” He had finished the pork on his plate and now he pointed to a dish of stewed apricots. As the page put some on a new plate, Ahasuerus said, “The two things I missed most while I was in Babylon were the mountains and the horse racing.”
She smiled at him. “Will you ride in some races yourself this summer?”
Most of the pleasure left his face. “I don’t know.”
Esther put down her knife. “But why not, my lord? Is it not an appropriate thing for the king to do?”
“It’s not that.” He shrugged with seeming unconcern. “Try some of these apricots.” He gestured to the page to serve some fruit to Esther.
But she was not willing to let the subject drop. “My grandfather told me you used to win all the races when you were a boy.”
He stabbed at an apricot. “I rode in a few races last summer, but I had the distinct feeling that no one was trying to beat me.” He gave her a rueful look. “It took all the fun out of it.”
Esther regarded him thoughtfully. “Your opponents did not think it would be politic to beat the Great King?”
“Exactly.” His tone was dry.
“Then you must convince them that you want a real race.”
“I tried that.” He pushed the plate of apricots away. “They all assured me that they were trying to win, but I didn’t believe them. So I gave it up.”
Silence fell. Ahasuerus took a long swallow of his wine. Esther ate an apricot and thought. “What if you offered a special prize to the winner?”
“I tried that.” He made an impatient gesture. “Really, Esther, there is no need to concern yourself because I am not going to race my horses!”
For some reason, she
was
concerned. It didn’t seem fair to her that he should have to give up his favorite sport. “What kind of prize did you offer? Gold?”
He leaned back in his chair and said, “Yes.”
She shook her head. “A money prize wouldn’t work. You need to offer a prize that will show you honor the man who can best you.”
He rested his hands on the arms of his chair. “Like what?”
“Well . . . what if you let the winner take a victory lap around the racetrack in your state chariot? Drawn by your own horses?”
Silence. It went on for so long that Esther was afraid her suggestion had offended him. She opened her mouth to apologize, but before she could get the words out he began to smile. “They will kill themselves to win such an honor,” he said with satisfaction.
“So long as they don’t kill you trying to do it,” she retorted.
His teeth were very white in the lamplight. “Soleil and I will be too far out in front of them for them to do anything.”
She loved it when he looked happy. “I must confess I don’t quite understand, my lord. If you know you can win, why are you so upset when you do?”
He picked up his knife and gestured for another serving of apricots. “It’s no fun winning unless you know the others are trying to beat you.” He threw her a quick look. “Surely you can see that?”
She shook her head. “I think it must be a male characteristic, my lord. A woman’s world isn’t about winning and losing.”
“What is it about, then?”
She thought for a moment, then answered, “Surviving, I suppose.”
She picked up her knife and they ate for a while in silence. Finally he put his knife down and said, “I do not like to think that you see your life as simply a matter of survival. You are my wife. My queen. What is it you want that you cannot have?”
She answered quickly, before she could change her mind. “Freedom.”
His eyebrows drew together. “I do not understand you.”
She, too, put down her knife and regarded him gravely. “I was not brought up in a family that keeps its women in harems, my lord.”
“Ah.” He gestured for the page to give him some of the sweet. “The freedom of Babylonian women came as quite a surprise to me when first I went there.”
Esther thought of all the elaborate precautions taken to secure the isolation of Persian women. “I can imagine that it did, my lord.”
“Did you know that Babylonian women are allowed to maintain control of their own dowries?” he asked in amazement.
“Yes, my lord, I did know that.”
His amazement increased. “They even have women scribes!”
Esther said, “I can read. I was taught when I was young.”
He did not look impressed. It was not considered either necessary or desirable for a Persian noble to learn to read; that was what they had scribes for. So he said with a mixture of amusement and condescension, “Were you indeed?”
Esther, who was enormously proud of her reading skill, did not appreciate either the amusement or the condescension. She gestured for the page to refill her cup with the clear water from the Choaspes River that had traveled in one of the ox carts from Susa. She sipped the water in silence.
“I did not mean to insult you,” Ahasuerus said, still with that infuriating intonation in his voice.
“I am glad your offense sprang from ignorance and not intent,” Esther said coldly.
Catastrophic silence. Esther stared at her cup.
I should apologize
, she thought.
He is the Great King. No one talks to him like that.
But he had belittled her ability to read, something she could do and he could not. He might have some kind of magical power over her, but she could read and he could not, and the apology would not come.
“Clear the table,” Ahasuerus said to the oldest page.
Husband and wife sat in silence while the little boys piled the platters of food onto trays. “Tell the guard at the door that I do not wish to be disturbed,” Ahasuerus said.
“Yes, my lord.” The pages prostrated themselves, lifted their trays, and fled.
During all this time Esther had sat staring at her hands and growing more and more afraid. As the last page left the room she dared to look up. “I am sorry.”
His face was serious, not angry. He said, “I do not want you to feel like a prisoner who must simply survive.”
The oil lamp that hung from the support at the top of the tent swung a little, as if the tension in the room had made it tremble. “Sometimes I forget who you are,” she whispered, “and I say things I should not say.”
“Esther.” There was a note of devastating tenderness in his voice when he said her name. “The only thing you must remember when we are alone together is that I am your husband.”
She looked at him uncertainly.
He held out his arms and said softly, “Come here.”
Esther lay awake in the big bed, her body pressed into the soft mattress by the weight of his arm. She stared up at the slightly swaying lamp. Outside she could hear the deep voices of men as the guard at the tent door changed. Somewhere a baby was crying. She turned her head slightly and looked at Ahasuerus.
He was sleeping on his stomach, his face toward her, one arm flung over his head, the other one across her waist. His light brown hair was spilled across the pillow and his long lashes lay against his flawless cheekbone.
The tent still smelled faintly from the spiced pork.
Esther looked back up at the lamp. When she was growing up she had once heard an adult mention something called
the temptation of the flesh
. This must be what she had meant, the way his slightest touch vibrated throughout her entire body, making her want to become part of his very being.
But the attraction she felt wasn’t merely physical. She enjoyed being with him. She liked him. She had liked him when first they met, and she liked him more every time they were together. He was always courteous and witty and interesting, but there was a sense of carefully harnessed power in the man. She reminded herself never to forget what had happened to Vashti.
Her mind went to the task Mordecai had given her. How could her uncle ever have thought that she could influence the king in any political matter? Here in this bed, with Ahasuerus’ bare arm across her waist, it seemed mad to her that her uncle could have conceived such an idea. The business of the Persian court was not the business of women, and that was that.
Yet Mordecai believed that it was the will of God that had made her Persia’s queen. In the deepest part of her own soul, Esther wondered if her uncle was indeed right. There was no other way she could find to account for the incredible events that had befallen her. She sent up the words that had become her most constant prayer:
Father in Heaven, now that I am here, what do You want me to do?
So far she had received no answer.
H
aman 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.”
