“I’ll not have him,” Bilqis said as she impatiently snatched the carved ivory comb from her attendant and began pulling it through her thick hair with short quick strokes.
“Your highness,” her Egyptian maid wailed, “you’ll spoil the effect.”
“You’re making me look like a silly bride and I am not a bride. I am the ruler of Sheba.” With both hands she grabbed up fistfuls of hair and pulled. “I may yet have this all shaved off like the queens of Egypt.”
Immediately there were wild shrieks of dismay as all of her ladies fluttered around her pleading that she not do such a thing to her beautiful hair. The Egyptian maid began to cry, and at this crucial moment there was the sound of a door slamming and hurried footsteps along the outer hall.
“What’s the trouble? I heard screaming.” An old woman dressed in black with a red turban holding her gray hair in place stood like an avenging eagle viewing the scene.
“Now she’s threatening to … to shave her head … cut her hair.” The Egyptian beautician had fallen to her knees and tears were coursing down her cheeks while the young maidens were huddled together speechless.
Bilqis turned and smiled at the old woman. “Najja, they are trying to make me beautiful, and I must be like a vulture or no one will obey me.” She let go of her hair and made her face as ugly as possible, all the time looking in the clouded brass mirror to see the effect.
The Egyptian turned to old Najja. “It’s impossible for her to shave her head. In Egypt the crown is not like this. It fits the head and hair is not necessary.”
“Of course the trouble is not the crown or the hair; it’s the bridegroom that’s waiting. Am I right?” Najja’s voice was soft and tender and its effect on Bilqis was to melt her stiff facade.
“Go, all of you. Go and leave me with Najja,” Bilqis said as she patted her hair back in place and held her mirror so it caught the image in the larger, highly polished brass tray now held by Najja.
“I haven’t finished the hair,” the Egyptian wailed, wringing her hands. “It’ll be a disgrace.”
“Don’t worry,” Bilqis said, as she impulsively handed her mirror to the Egyptian and turned to look in the larger mirror. “I’ll pull a lock on each side like this, arrange the gold ornaments on my forehead spilling down the sides, then the crown will fit nicely around the top.” All the time she was talking she was busy twisting, tying, and adjusting. “There, I am ready without all the fuss,” she said finally. “Now go. All of you. I must see Najja for a few moments.”
They backed from her presence, their eyes on the floor until they were a respectful distance, and then they turned and fled through the curtained doorway. They were still not used to a woman’s being both king and queen.
“Go Najja. Follow them and see that no one remains listening at the door.”
Najja pulled the heavy tapestry aside and nodded. Only the usual guards were there.
“Good, then we have a few minutes.”
“You know your uncle is growing impatient. He has been waiting in the formal reception room all morning,” Najja said.
“I’ll not marry my cousin. They can’t force me. I’m the ruler now.”
“But my dear …”
“I know. They have all argued and pled. They say I’ve been queen for three years and it’s time I think about a consort and an heir.”
“Well, it is the usual thing.”
“They have tried every argument imaginable. Some say I will anger the old earth gods, others warn that if I have no child, at my death the strongest man will take over. Already they are worrying about my death.” Bilqis pulled back the jewels that dripped from her headdress. “Najja, I need my earrings,” she said laughing.
“These?” Najja held a golden orb on each outstretched palm.
Bilqis nodded and went on explaining. “You should have seen our High Priest; he prophesied before all the wise men and counselors that if I didn’t marry, my line would be like a desert well left untended until the sand blew over it and it became as though it had never existed.”
“What he says is true. Do you find your cousin so repulsive then?”
“He’s a braggart, a proud peacock with no understanding. He wants the throne of Sheba, the gold of her rich mines, the caravans and revenues. He pictures himself sitting on my golden throne wearing my ruby crown. He is no different from all the other kings and ambassadors that have come pledging their love and affection. They don’t want me, they want my throne.”
“He’s handsome and he’s from your family.”
“If he were like my father it would be different, but he’s a fool.”
“Come, look through the peephole at him. See how fine he is.” Najja went to the wall and pulled back a hanging to reveal a well-placed viewing hole. Bilqis saw her cousin Rydan. He was pacing the floor. Back and forth he went while all the time his jeweled hands held a rolled parchment that he thumped impatiently against his other hand.
It was obvious his turban was of the finest material and his beard carefully trimmed, but his eyes were like hard bits of flint. His mouth was set in a firm, defiant line.
The ornate reception room with its old swords and shields of brave men long dead decorating the wall and gathering dust was now full of the men from her family and tribe. They were all well dressed, perfumed, and sophisticated. Rydan’s father, Hammed, was sitting bolt upright in the middle of a divan that stretched along the back wall. His large stomach filled the rich robe he wore and hid his belt completely. His eyes were wide open with that look of alertness that made one think he was very intelligent.
“See how eager they are to get their hands on my throne,” Bilqis said as she let the hanging drop. “It must not happen. Another man I could divorce or banish, but a cousin never. He could do as he pleased and I would be at his mercy.”
“But he is of your father’s blood.”
“He is not at all like my father. He is ambitious. I don’t trust him.”
“Is there anyone you do trust?”
Bilqis smiled and reached out to take the old nurse’s hands.
“You. I trust you. You were the first person I remember. I held your finger to take my first step and you always tasted my food to be sure I wouldn’t be poisoned. Then, the priests—I trust them also. They know very well that if a man were king he would insist on the priestly crown as well as the royal crown. All the old kings did.”
Najja began to wring her hands nervously. “Be careful my dear. You are all alone. No father, no mother, and the whole tribe is plotting a marriage to your cousin. How can you stand against them?”
Bilqis motioned for Najja to hold the mirror again. She wet a finger and polished one of the jewels in the crown. “It is a bit big for me, but I’ll wear it as my father would have wished. I’ll be my father’s son.” With both hands she steadied it on her head, and then gathering up her robes, she told Najja to go alert the house guards. “I’ll go surrounded by my own men and the priests. They’ll not disappoint me.”
Hours later she returned to the same room exhausted but with a glow of triumph about her. She had won a partial victory, and it was reflected in the new respect her maidens gave her. Their eyes looked at her with some of the awe usually reserved for images in the temple.
“My jewels, Nimba,” she said holding out her arms and letting her bracelets slide into the girl’s waiting hands. “My headpiece,” she said motioning to the Egyptian as she sat down on the large cushion in the middle of the room. She reached up and took the crown from her head and held it lightly in her arms as the Egyptian removed the gold filigree with the coins.
Later as she lay within the gathered curtains on her bed, Najja came to take any last request. “You still have the crown?” she questioned, as she saw it cradled in her arms.
“The crown will sleep with me tonight. It’s not fickle like a man.”
“You have a very bad impression of men, I’m afraid.”
“Not all men. But it was so obvious
what my uncle wanted and what my cousin lusted for—not me. I assure you it was not me. I know that for all his nice talk once he has the agreement signed and I’m his, everything will change. He’ll see that I have breasts and buttocks like any other woman and he’ll set out to dominate me. I’ve been given a little more time and I’m determined to think of something.”
“Then it’s simple. Pick a weak man.”
Bilqis sat up and hugged the crown more tightly. “I’ve heard that even the weakest sort of man becomes a strutting cock when he’s had his way,” she said. “Anyway, I’m not one to be taken by a weak man. I must give myself, and I can only give myself to one who’s strong.”
“Then it’s impossible.” Najja drew the fine linen sheet over her and backed away.
Bilqis lay in the darkness watching the evening breeze move the curtain that encircled her bed. She could hear the steady breathing of her maidens scattered on pallets in the adjoining room and the soft night noises coming from the garden that lay just outside her latticed window.
She knew this would not be the end. Her uncle was only appeased, not convinced. The priests had backed her but only by agreeing that she didn’t have to marry her cousin right away. However, they still insisted she must marry. To escape their plots and plans would take every bit of cunning she possessed. She lay awake going over each aspect of the situation several times and finally turned over and fell into a troubled sleep.
This was not the only problem Bilqis was to face. The next morning as she sat in the council chamber with her wise men, she heard news that deeply disturbed her. “My queen,” the young councilman said, bowing to the ground.
“Speak, we’ll hear what you have to say,” Bilqis said, touching his shoulder with her mace.
“Some moons ago a trader, a Jew from Jericho called Badget, or more often Hopoe, appeared before your highness.”
“Yes, I remember the fellow well. He hadn’t paid tribute and he tried to distract us by telling some strange story about his king building a fleet of ships on the Red Sea. I remember we laughed at the idea.”
“It is no laughing matter, my queen. I sent a group of men down to the coast to spy out the situation, and I have stationed men at the city gate watching for this Jew when he comes this way again. We need to question him further.”
“You have done all this without my orders?”
“My queen, you must pardon me. No one took this man seriously. I was afraid …”
“Yes, yes, we did laugh. What did you find?”
“I found it was true. This upstart king. This one who rules from the barren heights west of the King’s Highway has indeed built a fleet of ships. He has completely bypassed us.”
There was a deadly silence, then an uproar broke out. Each one of her counselors had an opinion or a question and they all spoke at once.
“An impossible plan.”
“It can’t be true.”
“They aren’t seamen!”
“There’s the monsoon. They can’t have counted on that.”
Bilqis had her chief councilman order their silence. “I can’t imagine,” she said, “that a king who knows nothing of the sea can manage such a thing unless he knows magic and has the Jinn working for him.”
“That’s the most frightening thing about all this,” Tamrin, the queen’s trader said. “This king has somehow tricked Hiram of Phoenicia into building the ships and has gotten the magicians to tell him where the treasures are. Monsoons are nothing to him. He simply orders the Jinn and they do his bidding through their magic.”
Again questions and answers flew back and forth until the chief councilman signaled for silence; the queen had a question.
“How do we know the Jinn work their magic for this king?” she asked in a skeptical tone.
“There are more and more strange reports,” Tamrin said. “For instance, when his father died, the palace was only a warren of old buildings and their temple was covered with badgerskins. Now, in this short time, without the sound of a hammer or tool of any kind, the king has erected the most beautiful temple in the world. It floats among the clouds and the gold of its walls blinds the eyes.”
“And the palace?” Bilqis prodded.
“The palace rises like the temples of Egypt. Incense floats on the air so that one who enters the city gates finds he is greeted with the aroma of jasmine even in winter.”
“And his wives? Does this king have wives?”
“His palace is bulging with wives and children.”
“So the Jinn work their magic for this king and his wives?”
“His wives work a different magic. His queen is from Rabbath Amman. She brought him assured control of the King’s Highway going from the Red Sea up the Jordan Valley to Damascus. His other queen is the sister of Pharaoh Shishak. She brought him the coastal city of Gezer and with it the trade route that goes from Egypt to Damascus. The rest of his seven hundred wives have other talents.”
“And his favorite? Surely he has a favorite?”
“Ah yes. He had a favorite. I hear she was a simple country maiden from the north. He wrote songs praising her and grieved uncontrollably for her when she died. They say he has married all these women, even added three hundred concubines looking for another like her.”
“Well,” Bilqis said squaring her shoulders and standing, “what do you suggest we do?”
“It is obvious, my queen. We must fight.”
At that all the counselors rose and began shouting and encouraging each other with the exciting prospects of planning a major battle.
“We must call the commanders and the captains.”
“Assess our weapons.”
“Gather our friends from neighboring countries.”
“Send messengers.”
“Buy supplies.”
Bilqis waited until the turmoil died down and then she spoke in a quiet, commanding voice. “We don’t need to fight. There are other ways.”
“What other ways, my queen?” one old counselor dared to ask.
“If he can work magic with the Jinn, so can we,” Bilqis said confidently. “We’ll let the Jinn and their magic do the fighting for us. Undoubtedly our priests can summon stronger Jinn and magic than his can. They can stir up the winds or have his ships wrecked on the rocks. They’ll finish his wonderful idea of a new trade route.” Seeing that her counselors were all busy mulling over what she had said and not wanting to argue her point, she nodded to her attendants and swept from the room.
The next morning Bilqis was wakened in the predawn darkness by one of her maidens. It was the day on which the last dim outline of the dying moon god, Ilumquh, could be seen in the morning sky. Today, as always at such times, there would be special sacrifices at the temple.
She stepped into the waiting palanquin and rode down the avenue of light to the great oval place of meeting. It was her custom to be present with her maidens for the morning ceremonies of incense and chanting. As she was carried through a thicket of oleanders to the marble steps that led up to the temple’s entryway, she was conscious of the bubbling, trickling noise made by the water running through the irrigation ditches. “God willing,” she thought, “the new moon will come again. But if anything should happen to the dam, this whole area would become desert. This is what we must fear.”
That didn’t mean that this monthly ceremony wasn’t important because when Ilumquh left the sky and it was dark, then all the evil spirits and Jinn had an opportunity to work their mischief. Bilqis had always feared that the Jinn would someday destroy the dam, and at the dark of the moon this was most likely to take place. The dam must be guarded carefully at this dangerous time, and then by sacrifice, incense, and special offerings the moon god would be encouraged to return and they would all be safe.
Already inside the oval place of meeting, the chalk-faced black-robed priestesses, dedicated to the god Ilumquh, were chanting and weeping. Old women, toothless and haggard, sat in the shadowy comers under the sheltering pillars that c
ircled the inner temple, drumming ominous rhythms on the deep-bellied drums of fate. Castanets rattled frantically as the wailing mounted and a band of temple priestesses came through the far door. Their faces were painted into grimaces of pain and they walked with a jerking, dipping motion that made their loose hair and mourning rags shudder with suppressed anguish.
The air reeked with the odor of burned hair and hot blood mingled with stale incense. It was the odor of Ilumquh, a god who could be gentle as moonbeams but fierce as a raging bull when aroused. There had been times in the past when only a human sacrifice calmed his destructive nature. But that had been before the dam had been built. They with their wits had outsmarted Ilumquh, and there were no more droughts.
In the center of the open courtyard, priests could be seen dimly through the rancid smoke stoking the altar fire. From time to time one would come with a golden vessel and pour clotted blood on the altar’s horns. This was a signal for the priests to prostrate themselves or circle the altar chanting traditional songs of Ilumquh’s death.
Ilumquh’s earthly form was that of the bull, and there were carved alabaster bull’s heads on the four sides of the massive altar. At the height of the ceremony the golden bull that lived in the small temple beside the pillared hall was brought out into the open court. It was hoped he would protect them with his own special magic while Ilumquh was gone from the night sky.
No marriages took place at this time, no seed was planted, and no business transacted. The moonless night that followed was a night in which the dreaded Jinn worked their worst charms. Witches and ghouls were abroad and evil deeds prospered.
Bilqis sat in the special enclosure reserved for royalty while the people stood in the open courtyard watching the faint wraith of a crescent that the sick moon had become. As it drifted over the edge of the temple wall, a great wailing and beating of breasts, even pulling of hair and loud chanting, erupted. Ilumquh had sickened and was dead.
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