Would he ever sleep again? Really sleep, without jerking awake in a panic? Xerxes had his doubts. For the third night in a row he gave up while the moon stood at its highest
point in the heavens and dragged himself to his table.
History. Nothing would tire a man like the chronicles. He had Zethar bring it over.
“Here you are, master.”
“Thank you.” He unsealed the scroll and nudged it so it would unroll to whatever spot it willed.
Six years ago, when he returned from the war. He read through it, barely seeing the cuneiform script.
Still he did not think he could sleep.
Five years ago. Esther’s first year with him, and when Kasia had Artarius. Mardonius’s army had just returned, emaciated and near-starving. His hands had been full with so
many things tied to that. Then—what was this? He frowned and reread. The assassination plot, the doorkeepers. They had verified the truth of it, had them put to death. But
no other notes finished the story. “Zethar, what honor was given Mordecai for this?”
Zethar glanced down, read the spot on the parchment that he indicated. “Nothing, master.”
“Nothing?”
His eunuch’s lips twitched up. “It was the same day you learned Kasia carried Artarius, master. You were . . . distracted.”
He grunted and glanced toward the window. Nearly dawn. “Is anyone in the court yet?”
Zethar jogged out, returned a moment later. “Haman just arrived, master.”
Perfect. “Call him in.”
When his friend entered, Xerxes smiled. Haman would have excellent advice on this matter. “What shall be done for the man I would delight to honor?”
Haman’s brows lifted in thought for a moment, then he grinned. “For such a man, a royal robe ought to be brought which the king himself has worn, and it ought to be put on
the man’s shoulders. Then he ought to sit upon one of the king’s own horses, a royal crest upon its head, and the reins should be given to one of the king’s most noble
princes, that he may lead this man through the city and proclaim before him, ‘Thus shall it be done to the man whom the king delights to honor!’”
Well, Haman certainly lacked no imagination. “Let it be done for Mordecai the Jew, exactly as you said. And you yourself should guide him, since I hold you in higher esteem
than any of my sons.”
Haman’s face froze. “The Jew.”
“I know you are not fond of his people, but I never rewarded him for saving my life five years ago. See to it immediately, Haman. I would start the day without this unpaid
deed over my head.” Feeling a bit of energy for the first time in days, Xerxes stood and turned toward his bedchamber.
While it was done, he would visit Kasia. Perhaps, if Jehovah saw him honoring one of his chosen, he would show some mercy.
*
Haman shook as he plodded to his home. His family and friends were still gathered, most dozing on their couches after the night of feasting. His servants returned even now
from the gallows they had built overnight.
He felt diseased. Three hours he had trudged through the city, each word of praise forced from his tongue tasting of wormwood.
How could the king make him do that? For the Jew, of all people? Walk the streets with that swine lording over him, mocking in his silence?
And the people—most had cheered, some had looked confused when they realized he was honoring a man whose death he had so recently ordained. Turmoil would ensue. Probably
reach the palace.
Then the king would realize what he had done. Inevitable, yes, but he had hoped the witch would die first, so that Haman could use it to point to the power of Ahura Mazda,
the inferiority of her God.
Now what was he to do? His original plan to kill her would not work now, with her confined to her bed under guard constantly.
Where was the god? Where was his might, his power? Why did he not fill him now, as he had in Sardis all those years ago?
“My husband, what is wrong?”
Haman shook his head and walked past Zeresh. “The king just honored Mordecai the Jew—by my hand.”
Zeresh sucked in a breath. “Why would he do that, when they are all to be killed in a few short months?”
He covered his head, wished he had the luxury to weep. “He does not know. I told him there were troublemakers, but I did not tell him who.”
“Haman.” His wife hissed, then took a step away from him. “You are crumbling before this Jew, and it will not stop until he towers over you. Worse, you will drag your
family down with you. What have you brought on our heads?”
Before he could answer, the king’s eunuchs entered. Bowed. “The queen requests your presence at her banquet now, my lord.”
Ahura Mazda, where are you?
*