© 2015 by Lynn Austin
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-2892-5
Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
Photography by Mike Habermann Photography, LLC
To my husband, Ken
and to my children:
Joshua, Vanessa, Benjamin, Maya, and Snir
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part II
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Part III
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Glossary
A Note to the Reader
About the Author
Books by Lynn Austin
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Back Cover
So this is what the Sovereign LORD says:
“See, I lay a stone in Zion, a tested stone,
a precious cornerstone for a sure foundation;
the one who trusts will never be dismayed.”
ISAIAH 28:16
THE CITADEL OF SUSA, PERSIA
THE FOURTEENTH OF ADAR 473 BC
Mordecai knew what it was to wrestle with death and win. From his room in the citadel in Susa, he had listened to news of the battles all day, his messengers racing in and out like bees to a hive. The angel of death had hovered close from the time the sun set on the Twelfth of Adar, throughout the night, and all day on the Thirteenth. According to the last report Mordecai received as the pale, early spring sun finally set on this murderous day, his fellow Jews had slain five hundred of their enemies in Susa. He had prayed for the children of Abraham scattered among the 127 provinces of the Persian Empire and wondered how they had fared. In particular, he wondered about The Land Beyond the River, where his fellow Jews held such a precarious foothold in Jerusalem. Within the vast Persian Empire, the Jews’ enemies outnumbered them and certainly outmanned them in terms of military experience. Mordecai’s people were tradesmen and farmers and scholars, not soldiers. Even so, he knew they would fight hard for their families and their lives. And clearly, God had fought with them.
The night grew darker. He should snuff out the sputtering oil lamps and go home now that the Thirteenth of Adar—and the danger—had ended. But he was too weary from the strain of several sleepless nights to manage the walk and the stairs. Mordecai unstrapped the sword that he’d worn all day in the event that their enemies prevailed and laid it on the floor. He sat down on the window seat overlooking the moat and slumped back against the pillows. The open window was a dark void, the moon and stars hidden behind a gray blanket of clouds. He inhaled the crisp spring air and closed his eyes for a moment to rest.
A knock on his door startled him awake. Instinctively, Mordecai reached for his weapon. He unsheathed it but remained seated. “Who is it?”
“Just me, my lord.” The door slowly opened, and one of the soldiers who had been stationed outside his door for the past day and a half appeared in the shadowy opening. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, my lord.”
“You may come in.” Mordecai’s shoulders relaxed as he laid down his weapon. “What hour is it?”
“The third watch, my lord.”
Mordecai rubbed his eyes. He had slept on the window seat longer than he’d intended. The night was more than half over.
“Your aide, Yaakov ben Hashub, has asked to speak with you. He says it’s important.”
At this hour of the night it must be. Apprehension helped Mordecai shake off his sleepiness and come fully awake. “Send him in.” It was an indication of the extreme duress they were all under that even Yaakov, who had been Mordecai’s right-hand man throughout this ordeal, needed permission to enter his chambers. Yaakov’s pale face and dark-rimmed eyes revealed his exhaustion after this long, bloody day. Surprisingly, he herded three small boys into the room as he entered.
“Forgive me for disturbing you, my lord, but . . . but it seems the fighting hasn’t ended after all.”
Dread made Mordecai’s skin crawl. “What do you mean? According to the king’s edict, the fighting was supposed to end at sunset. The Thirteenth of Adar is over.”
“The fighting isn’t in the streets—it’s here. In the citadel.”
“What?”
“Several members of your personal staff and their families were attacked in their homes an hour ago.”
Mordecai scrambled to his feet, his movements stiff. “No! That’s impossible. We’ve had guards stationed everywhere.”
“Yes, we did. But we sent the guards home too soon—all but the one outside your door. And we trusted the wrong people. Our enemies found breaches in our security and used them to attack your closest staff members.” Yaakov’s deep voice trembled with emotion. “Two men and their families were slaughtered before we could sound the alarm.”
“And your home, your family . . . ?”
“The warning reached me before the assassins did. My family is safe.”
“Which of my staff members were killed?” Mordecai asked, fearing the answer.
“Bani ben Zaccai and his family . . .”
“God of Abraham, have mercy,” Mordecai whispered.
“And your scribe, Hacaliah, and his wife.” Yaakov swallowed, battling his grief. “These are Hacaliah’s three sons. They survived, but they saw . . .” He didn’t finish.
Mordecai needed a
moment to regain control. He scrubbed his hands down his face, pulling his beard. He wished he could awaken all over again and discover that this had only been a dream.
Yaakov cleared his throat. “This retaliation was personal, my lord. Against your administration. The assassins knew who to target, where they lived, how to circumvent security. They deliberately waited until after sunset, when we believed the fighting was over and returned home to get some sleep.”
“These attackers were already waiting inside the citadel?”
“It appears so, my lord. All of the outside gates and doors have been under guard for days.”
Mordecai moaned. “I’m responsible for this. How could I have been so shortsighted? We made so many meticulous plans to safeguard our people in all parts of the empire, and yet I failed my closest associates, right here in the citadel.”
“None of us expected it, my lord. But we believe that all of the murderers have been captured or killed. The ones taken alive will talk before morning. We’ll learn the extent of the conspiracy.”
“It has to be Haman’s sons and their allies, seeking revenge. I would stake my life on it.”
Mordecai paced some more, battling exhaustion and rage as he tried to decide what to do. “I’ll send word to Queen Esther and ask her to petition the king. The ten sons of Haman will all hang for this. In the meantime, we need an extra day to finish destroying our enemies. Esther must ask the king’s permission to track them down and kill them today, too. We’ll find them wherever they’re hiding. This isn’t finished.”
He crossed to his worktable and scrabbled around in the dim lamplight, searching for a pen, for parchment. “Have someone summon Hathach, the queen’s eunuch,” he told Yaakov. “He’ll need to deliver my message to Esther without delay. She’ll have to take the initiative again as soon as possible and approach the king unbidden with this request.”
“Wouldn’t it be quicker to petition him yourself, my lord?”
“Perhaps. But Xerxes will be more inclined to act if he understands that his wife’s life is threatened.”
Mordecai was so caught up with fury and regret, so angry with himself for letting down his guard, that he forgot about the three small boys until he heard a shaky sob, a sniffle. He looked up. They still wore their nightclothes, their dark hair sleep-tousled. The youngest child rubbed his eyes, his face damp with tears. All three wore the same blank-eyed look of desolation and horror that he remembered seeing on his young cousin Esther’s face the day she’d been orphaned, the day he had adopted her as his own. Mordecai hadn’t been responsible for the deaths of Esther’s parents, but he was responsible for these. The retaliation had been directed against him and his staff.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head as he carefully banked his roaring anger, letting the hot coals simmer for a moment so the warmth of compassion could replace it. When he was in control again, he lifted his head and stepped toward the children. He guessed the oldest to be around seven or eight years old, the younger boys four or five, young enough to still have their baby teeth. Mordecai crouched in front of them.
“What’s your name?” he asked the oldest one.
“Nehemiah ben Hacaliah,” he answered in a whisper. His eyes were dry, as if he was trying to be brave and not cry. His gaze met Mordecai’s for only a moment before darting frantically around the room as if more assassins might leap from behind the curtains or the closed doors.
“And these are your brothers?”
He nodded. “Ephraim and Hanani.” The last was an affectionate name, probably short for Hananiah. The youngest child’s narrow chest shuddered with quiet sobs. Judging by his red-rimmed eyes, he’d been crying for some time. He looked up at Mordecai, his dark eyes brimming.
“I want my mama,” he said.
Mordecai longed to hold the boy and comfort him, but the oldest brother, Nehemiah, appeared so wary that Mordecai feared he might attack anyone who tried to touch his siblings. Nehemiah grabbed Hanani’s hand and pulled him closer to his side.
“Were these children there when it happened?” Mordecai asked his aide. “In the same house?” Yaakov nodded.
“We hid when the bad men came,” Nehemiah said. “I told Ephraim and Hanani to be very quiet.”
“I’m glad you did, son. That was a very wise thing to do. You’re a brave young man.”
“No, Abba was the bravest. He fought back.”
Mordecai didn’t know what to say. Was it better to let the boy talk and tell what he’d seen and heard, or would it be kinder to encourage him to forget this terrible nightmare? As if he ever could forget. Mordecai cleared the lump from his throat. “I’m so very sorry for what happened,” he told the children. “Your father, Hacaliah, was a good man. He worked for me here in the citadel. I know I can never take his place, but I promise to take care of you from now on. You will lack nothing.”
Except parents to love and nurture them. What a stupid thing to say. Mordecai searched for better words, words of comfort or hope, watching helplessly as Nehemiah’s gaze continued to scan the room like a trapped bird desperate to escape. His slender body, braced to run, was so tense that Mordecai feared he would jump out of his skin if anyone tried to touch him, even to reassure him. The two younger children were the opposite, limp and boneless with fatigue and shock, as if they might collapse into a heap any moment. They needed sleep. Mordecai wondered if they would ever truly rest again.
“You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you. And if there’s anything you need—”
“We need a place to hide,” Nehemiah said.
Mordecai waited a long moment before saying, “Yaakov and one of my guards will take you someplace safe, where you can get some rest and—”
“Will the bad men try to kill us, too?” Nehemiah asked. He continued his eerie scanning of the room—window, door, second window, then back again. Never resting.
“The men will never come back. I promise you that the enemies who did this will be found and executed. You have my word. Until then, the guards will watch over you. They’ll stay with you for as long as you’d like.”
“But Abba knew the men who came to our house. He opened the door to let them in, but they tricked him.”
“You heard all of this?” Mordecai asked, and Nehemiah nodded. “Lord, have mercy . . .” he whispered beneath his breath. He turned to Yaakov. “Take them to my home. See that they have something to eat and a place to sleep.”
“Yes, my lord.” Yaakov turned toward the door, motioning to the boys to follow him, but Nehemiah didn’t move. His brothers didn’t either. The two younger ones inched closer to him, clutching him tightly, clearly terrified. Mordecai didn’t know what to do to calm them.
“Would you rather stay here with me? Have a look out the window and see how high up we are. And the soldiers outside my door won’t let anyone inside.”
Nehemiah nodded, eyeing Mordecai’s sword, lying unsheathed on the window seat. He led his brothers in a tight huddle as he went to inspect the view.
“Very well,” Mordecai decided. “The three of you may stay here, then. Yaakov, can you find one of my servants and ask him to bring some blankets and more cushions, and maybe something simple to eat? Then send a messenger to Hathach, Queen Esther’s servant.” Mordecai crossed to the window seat and closed the shutters. “Come,” he said, patting the cushion. “You can lie down here and rest.”
Nehemiah helped Hanani onto the seat and the two younger boys immediately lay down, curled into tight balls. Mordecai wasn’t surprised when Nehemiah remained sitting upright on the bench, his eyes open and watchful. His dangling legs didn’t even reach the floor.
Even with the shutters closed, the cold night air seeped into the room, so Mordecai removed his outer robe and covered the children with it. Alone while he waited for his servants, he allowed the dreadful news to fully sink in.
He had failed the men closest to him. Two of them had died because of his lack of foresight. So had their families. How na
ïve he had been to believe that his enemies would restrict their murderous revenge to a single day. How foolish to imagine that his people would be free from all threats after a mere night and day of fighting. Throughout their history, God’s people had always had enemies who tried to wipe them from the face of the earth, as Haman had just attempted to do. Would the children of Abraham ever find peace and rest?
Mordecai sighed. No. There would be no rest until the promised Messiah finally came to set them free.
Part I
The Lord determined to tear down the wall around the Daughter of Zion.
He stretched out a measuring line and did not withhold his hand from destroying.
He made ramparts and walls lament;
together they wasted away.
Her gates have sunk into the ground;
their bars he has broken and destroyed.
LAMENTATIONS 2:8–9A
Chapter
1
SUSA, PERSIA
DECEMBER, TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS LATER
Nehemiah descended the winding staircase to the palace kitchens, then paused in the arched doorway, savoring the warmth from the blazing hearth fires and enormous ovens. The aroma of roasting meat and baking bread greeted him. He enjoyed this part of his job, especially on early winter days like this one when it was difficult to heat the cavernous palace rooms upstairs. He watched the sweating, red-faced cooks and scullery lads bustle around, chopping vegetables, skinning a goat, and plucking waterfowl. These men would probably prefer to work in a cooler room.
No one glanced up as Nehemiah entered the huge work area, which was large enough to prepare food for the king and thousands of his guests. As the king’s trusted cupbearer, Nehemiah inspected the palace kitchens and storerooms daily, making sure that nothing and no one who might pose a threat to King Artaxerxes ever passed through the delivery doors and into the kitchen and up the stone stairs to his dining room.
The narrow windows stood open, and Nehemiah heard the rumble of wooden wheels outside and the heavy tread of oxen as a delivery wagon approached. The shipment of wine he expected had arrived. He crossed the smoky work area to unlock the wide delivery doors, opening them to a blast of chilly air that rushed inside along with a swirl of dried leaves. A cart piled high with clay storage jars and cushioned with straw pulled to a halt outside. Nehemiah unsheathed his sword as he prepared to probe the straw for stowaways. “Good morning, Shaul,” he said to the driver who had led the yoked team of oxen. The driver finished fastening the reins to a post and turned. It wasn’t Shaul. It was a stranger. Nehemiah tensed.