Xerxes laughed. “You speak madness, my friend. What reasonable person would pit himself against ten enemies, much less a thousand to his one? Especially where each
man is free and so has no leader?”
Demaratus smiled, but it was hard and a little sad. “I knew my answer would not endear me to you, but with all respect, my lord, you cannot understand our souls. You are
the only free man in all your empire—everyone else, even your own brothers, are your slaves. They must obey you or be killed. Your rule is founded on authority and
obedience.”
She could well imagine Xerxes’ glower. “That is what rule is founded on, Demaratus, not just mine.”
“In a tyranny, yes. And you, my lord, wield it with wisdom. But when you march against a people suckled on freedom since birth, you cannot expect them to bow to slavery
when once they were free to decide for themselves.”
Xerxes waved a hand. “Illusion. A man may think his decisions free, but everyone has a master.”
“And for the Spartans it is one unchanging law—one must never turn tail and run from a battle, no matter how many men one fights. One wins, or one dies trying. They fear
this law even more than your men fear you—and it makes them free. It makes them rise early in the morning to keep themselves strong, it makes them strive to be the best.
Not for riches or to avoid punishment, but for respect and honor. You have heard the saying, I am sure—a man is freer in Sparta than anywhere else in the world.”
Xerxes’ shoulders relaxed again. “Your helots might disagree.”
Demaratus chuckled. “Let us say, then, a free man is freer in Sparta than anywhere. And a slave, more a slave. We are an extreme people, born of an extreme land.”
Kasia leaned back and drew in a long, silent breath. That kind of freedom . . . he was right that no one in Persia could know it. Her husband spoke law and held the power of
life and death in his hands. She trusted him—but before she knew him? In her father’s house, the law of Persia was obeyed only out of fear of reprisal.
Yet such freedom made sense to her, made her soul take note. She knew what it was to serve a law that made one better, that one obeyed out of holy fear.
Love the Lord your God with all your soul, with all your mind, with all your strength.
Often enough she had rebelled against first her father and now her husband—which rarely worked to her advantage. But the Law . . . it taught her how to grasp freedom of the
soul through her love of Jehovah.
Xerxes said, “It is difficult to believe such a life could be sustained.”
The Spartan nodded. “Our small size is what allows it. Sparta is largely cut off from the rest of the world. Our coinage was made deliberately heavy and awkward so that it
would fade from use, and we trade with few. Where your nation survives by the expansion of empire, ours survives by isolation and unification. Even our women have daily
exercises to keep them in peak physical form—they are too precious to be risked in battle, but their participation in the ritual is crucial to our way of life. Spartans are
warriors. It is the condition of our soul. The Lacedaemonians will hold true to that, even against you.”
“I still find it difficult to believe an entire race would choose to fight when loss is certain—but we shall see.” His smile was audible in his voice. “Thank you for
speaking with me so forthrightly, Demaratus. I will think on what you said.”
Kasia sighed. As would she.
Twenty-Four
Susa, Persia
Esther paused at the end of the street to pull in a fortifying breath. The palace lay before her, only a minute’s walk away. Her cousin would be at the gate. Just beyond
this street. Around one corner.
She lifted her chin and repositioned the basket on her arm. Today marked her fifteenth year. It seemed fitting that she evaluate who she had become, where she stood in life.
But she had seen no crossroads, not if she continued on her current path.
So then, she must make one.
If Zechariah wanted a woman who went out into town more, then she would take her cousin a cake. If she must shine like a star to gain his notice, then she would douse
herself in gold dust.
She planted her foot on the street . . . and sighed.
Did she really expect Zechariah to tumble into love just because she walked to the palace? She may now be fifteen, but that was the dream of a child.
“Are you lost, beautiful one?”
Esther jumped and turned to where a man leaned against the post of his door. He swept a lazy gaze over her. Perhaps some would have called the glint in his eyes appreciation
—it sent a chill of warning up her spine.
She forced a swallow and a polite smile. “No, I am not lost. Only headed for the palace.”
After a glance at the walls looming ahead, he sent her a smile he probably meant to be charming. “Indecisive then. Visiting someone you would rather not see?”
“Not at all.”