importantly, you are an outsider. You have no political connections, no family who will be begging for favors, no grudges or feuds to settle. Hegai and I agree that Ahasuerus might think you will suit him very well.”
Terror, tasting like bile, rose in Esther’s throat. She had managed to survive in the harem with some equanimity because she had truly believed that her uncle had misinterpreted his dream, that she had no chance at all of being chosen by the king. Now, listening to Muran, the real possibility that she might indeed be asked to take up this burden struck her like an arrow to the heart.
How could she do this?
She said in a low voice, “I am afraid I will disappoint you.”
“Nonsense,” Muran replied briskly. “I will have you moved to a much larger chamber, and Hegai and I will begin training you intensively. I promise, by the time you meet the king, you will be ready.”
Esther had been totally unprepared for such an offer. She had become used to considering herself the least likely of the candidates and now, to have Muran tell her this—she was more than frightened. She was terrified.
Could Uncle Mordecai possibly be right? Could I have been the savior he saw in his dream?
She still didn’t believe it could be true. She was a woman, and she had seen with crystal clarity how little women counted in the Persian world. But . . . she was here in the harem and there was no way she could reject Muran’s offer. That would be suspicious and she had to be careful not to involve Mordecai.
She drew in a long breath and said with as much composure as she could muster, “Thank you, Mistress. You are very kind.”
Muran reached out to enfold Esther to her massive bosom. “There is nothing to fear, Esther. Hegai and I will always be there for you, to advise and to help.”
She pressed her face into the rolls of fat between Muran’s neck and shoulder and felt the Mistress patting her back. She shut her eyes.
What Muran says, what Muran wants to do . . . I’m here in the harem already. I suppose I have to agree to it. Besides, it is probably the only way to know if Uncle Mordecai was right. If the king chooses me, then I will know that I must follow the wishes of the Lord. But if he rejects me, then Uncle Mordecai will understand that he was wrong and then he will look for someone else to be our savior .
Her eyes still tightly closed, her face still buried in Muran’s shoulder, Esther said, “All right, Mistress. I will do as you say.”
C HAPTER S EVEN
H aman stood beside Ahasuerus on the large open-air platform that was situated at the southwestern corner of the palace. The king was riding out with a group of courtiers this morning. As usual, the men wore Median dress to ride in—jacket, trousers, and boots—and on their heads the cidaris, the high, flat-topped felt cap that denoted Persian nobility. They were all standing there because the king’s brother, Xerxes, was late.
It was a day that promised spring would soon arrive; the air was warm and a light breeze blew. The members of the Royal Kin, who were to accompany the king on his ride, stood at a respectful distance from Ahasuerus and Haman. They continued to wait for Xerxes.
Haman was worried, as he always was whenever the king was in the company of these men, most of whom were his enemies. His eyes went from face to face. All of them had at one time pledged their allegiance to Xerxes. Haman did not trust them, and he knew the king did not trust them either.
He urged the king, “Please be careful, my lord. Anything might happen when you are away from the palace and the people who care for you.”
Ahasuerus gave the friend who had come with him from Babylon an amused look. “It is certainly true that Xerxes does not like me, but I hardly think he will try to murder me in front of the entire Royal Bodyguard, Haman.”
Haman did not trust the Royal Bodyguard either, or at least its commander, who was a leftover from Darius’ reign.
Terror, tasting like bile, rose in Esther’s throat. She had managed to survive in the harem with some equanimity because she had truly believed that her uncle had misinterpreted his dream, that she had no chance at all of being chosen by the king. Now, listening to Muran, the real possibility that she might indeed be asked to take up this burden struck her like an arrow to the heart.
How could she do this?
She said in a low voice, “I am afraid I will disappoint you.”
“Nonsense,” Muran replied briskly. “I will have you moved to a much larger chamber, and Hegai and I will begin training you intensively. I promise, by the time you meet the king, you will be ready.”
Esther had been totally unprepared for such an offer. She had become used to considering herself the least likely of the candidates and now, to have Muran tell her this—she was more than frightened. She was terrified.
Could Uncle Mordecai possibly be right? Could I have been the savior he saw in his dream?
She still didn’t believe it could be true. She was a woman, and she had seen with crystal clarity how little women counted in the Persian world. But . . . she was here in the harem and there was no way she could reject Muran’s offer. That would be suspicious and she had to be careful not to involve Mordecai.
She drew in a long breath and said with as much composure as she could muster, “Thank you, Mistress. You are very kind.”
Muran reached out to enfold Esther to her massive bosom. “There is nothing to fear, Esther. Hegai and I will always be there for you, to advise and to help.”
She pressed her face into the rolls of fat between Muran’s neck and shoulder and felt the Mistress patting her back. She shut her eyes.
What Muran says, what Muran wants to do . . . I’m here in the harem already. I suppose I have to agree to it. Besides, it is probably the only way to know if Uncle Mordecai was right. If the king chooses me, then I will know that I must follow the wishes of the Lord. But if he rejects me, then Uncle Mordecai will understand that he was wrong and then he will look for someone else to be our savior .
Her eyes still tightly closed, her face still buried in Muran’s shoulder, Esther said, “All right, Mistress. I will do as you say.”
C HAPTER S EVEN
H aman stood beside Ahasuerus on the large open-air platform that was situated at the southwestern corner of the palace. The king was riding out with a group of courtiers this morning. As usual, the men wore Median dress to ride in—jacket, trousers, and boots—and on their heads the cidaris, the high, flat-topped felt cap that denoted Persian nobility. They were all standing there because the king’s brother, Xerxes, was late.
It was a day that promised spring would soon arrive; the air was warm and a light breeze blew. The members of the Royal Kin, who were to accompany the king on his ride, stood at a respectful distance from Ahasuerus and Haman. They continued to wait for Xerxes.
Haman was worried, as he always was whenever the king was in the company of these men, most of whom were his enemies. His eyes went from face to face. All of them had at one time pledged their allegiance to Xerxes. Haman did not trust them, and he knew the king did not trust them either.
He urged the king, “Please be careful, my lord. Anything might happen when you are away from the palace and the people who care for you.”
Ahasuerus gave the friend who had come with him from Babylon an amused look. “It is certainly true that Xerxes does not like me, but I hardly think he will try to murder me in front of the entire Royal Bodyguard, Haman.”
Haman did not trust the Royal Bodyguard either, or at least its commander, who was a leftover from Darius’ reign.
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