Queen of Sheba

by Roberta Kells Dorr

  He sensed he was walking on dangerous ground. If the king should hear that he had dined alone with his Egyptian queen, it could mean death. He shuddered. He had been so overwhelmed with the honor and the persuasiveness of Tipti that he hadn’t taken time to think much of the consequences if he should be caught.

  Now he looked at the splendor around him. The hall of pillars was like a forest of stone. The huge stone blocks that made up the walls were carefully chiseled, and along both walls were arrayed golden incense burners and candelabra.

  More majestic and regal than any of his works was the king himself. Jeroboam had almost worshiped him at one time. The way he held his head, the confidence that was evident in his walk, his slow, amused smile, and most of all the noble forehead and intelligent eyes marked him as a king among kings.

  He saw the foreign dignitaries that had come with petitions and many others that had come with some puzzlement for Solomon to unravel. Their faces were a study in awe and admiration. They always went away marveling at the simplicity and yet the accuracy of his pronouncements. Even in Egypt his fame as a man of great wisdom had flourished.

  He saw the two scribes that sat on either side of the throne to catch each word and record it. One scribe might not get the exact word and so there were two, and now on each side of the marble steps there were others writing, recording as though his words were gold.

  As usual there was an animal nearby. Today it was a small monkey that had arrived with the most recent shipment of goods from Africa. When Solomon became tired of the petitions and the endless reports or questions, he would summon the little monkey to the arm of his throne and talk to him. “Solomon can understand the animals,” people were saying. Jeroboam didn’t doubt it.

  “I can practice being like him, but I will know inside that I am not like him and never will be. He was born to be a king, and I was born to be a building supervisor and no more. Gold runs in his very guts, luxury is his heritage, and the affairs of state come naturally to him.”

  He ran his hand down the solid marble pillars and looked again at the throne, noting every detail. The throne itself was a marvel of artistry, it was all of delicately carved ivory inlaid with gold. The marble steps and great carved lions guarding it were more than impressive. Then there were the banners unfurled behind the throne, the trumpeters, pages, elders, priests, and counselors, all blending together to make this the most outstanding court most travelers would ever see.

  All this splendor, pomp, and elaborate apparel would never be part of his share. It was represented by the one torn piece of the cloak that Ahijah carried away with him in his belt. However, he had the ten pieces—ten tribes would be his. His to rule and to make great. His to build into a far greater kingdom than that of David.

  He turned and pushed his way toward the door. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk with the king or, for that matter, have the king talk to him. He was still bothered by doubts. The whole idea of his being king seemed at times alien and strange. If it had just been Tipti’s idea, he would have discarded it as a jealous effort of one wife to get even with another. Tipti had never been able to accept the fact that Naamah’s son, Rehoboam, was going to inherit the throne. However, it wasn’t just Tipti’s idea. Now the revered priest of Shiloh, Ahijah, had sworn, and had affirmed by tearing his cloak into ten pieces, that he, Jeroboam, would rule after Solomon.

  He paused for a moment in the deep shadow of one of the great pillars and looked back at the king on his throne. He rubbed his hands together and smiled a slow speculative smile. He had been chosen just as David and Solomon had been chosen. At times he found himself impatient, impatient to get started. He didn’t want to wait. In fact, he wondered if it was really necessary to wait.

  “And what have you to smile about?” The words were spoken softly as though the person didn’t want anyone else to hear. Jeroboam spun around and found himself face to face with Rehoboam. He noticed that the prince had evidently stopped on his way to join his father.

  “Good things, many good things are coming my way,” Jeroboam answered.

  “How do you know? How are you so sure?”

  “That’s easy, both the stars and the priests have said it.”

  “Watch out that you don’t take such things too seriously.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It has reached the king’s ears that you dined with his queen. He was not pleased. You exalt yourself beyond measure. Don’t forget you are just a building supervisor who knows how to build houses, terraces, and temples. You are that and no more.”

  With a threatening look and a toss of his head, Rehoboam moved out into the lighted aisle while Jeroboam, feeling badly shaken, ran down the steps and headed for the palace of the Egyptian queen. He had to see her. He had to warn her not to say anything about the dinner they had enjoyed together or about the prophecy of Ahijah. Men had been killed or banished for far less.

  Naamah had neither slept nor eaten until word came that the Egyptian queen would receive her. Then in a flurry of activity she summoned her serving girls, called for her most elegant robes, had her thin, graying hair crimped, curled, and finally braided and wound around under her crown. She leaned into the brass mirror and ordered kohl to edge her eyes and then color for her cheeks. In sudden disgust she decided it made her look old and haggard. It all had to come off. She would go as she was, only wearing her most elaborate crown.

  Though she hated the Egyptian queen, still she found herself constantly in awe of her, and Naamah was not used to being in awe of anyone. She was not only in awe of her but curious. She wondered how the Egyptian managed always to look so young and vital and how she made her palace something that was marveled at by all the most prominent people. She had never been inside the Egyptian’s palace, she had only heard of the wonders to be found there; furniture of finely, carved ebony, alabaster lamps, and a pool made fragrant with scent drawn from thousands of tuberoses.

  On feast days or new moon celebrations she had been very much aware of the Egyptian queen and her constant array of eunuchs, pages, maidens, and counselors. On these occasions Naamah as well as the other queens and concubines were always envious of her clothes. They were of sheer gossamer material that had never been seen before in Jerusalem. Her ornate wigs and crowns were impressive too, but it was her jewelry that they coveted most. Wide collars encrusted with jewels, ankle bracelets, toe rings, and girdles that matched or were even more ornate than the collars.

  For years Naamah had made a point of telling Solomon how disgraceful, how vulgar and tasteless his Egyptian queen was. She pointed out that her off-the-shoulder dress was indelicate, her haughty manner rude, and her lack of consideration for Israel’s religious customs impossible. “How very insensitive the Egyptian queen is,” she often said, “to flaunt her cat god and his shrine right at the very door of the new temple.”

  It infuriated her that Solomon did nothing. He just listened to all she told him and did nothing. Consequently with the news that Tipti was plotting to put Jeroboam on the throne of Israel, she had decided to handle the matter herself. She knew that if she told Solomon, he would do as he had done in the past: listen and do nothing. She wanted action.

  At the last minute she ordered her royal palanquin with the curtains embroidered with twin lions in gold thread. She would go in splendor befitting the queen of Israel.

  Her indignation carried her with great confidence to the door of Tipti’s palace. There she dismounted and with an arrogant flourish followed the footmen through the entryway.

  Just inside the door to the atrium she stopped and gasped as she looked around in amazement. Tipti was nowhere to be seen but her maidens were sitting very prettily on cushions at one end of a lily pool. They were laughing and talking but held instruments as though ready to play at their queen’s command.

  Naamah noticed with growing envy the quiet charm and leisurely atmosphere. Tall, statuesque girls with nothing on but jeweled girdles and turquoise and gold neck
laces stood with ostrich feathered fans near what seemed to be the queen’s chair. Black Nubian eunuchs with jeweled slippers and scarlet and gold trousers waited with trays of food. Two peacocks with furled tails paraded before the shrine of the cat god.

  Naamah suddenly wished she hadn’t come. The opulence and splendor were unnerving. Her own clothes, the best she had, looked suddenly garish. Even her crown was overdone. No wonder Solomon had liked coming here to this tranquil retreat. It was evident that this woman had never found it necessary to resort to love potions and threats to win a bit of his time. She couldn’t imagine this proud Egyptian queen making her way to the apothecary’s shop for mandrakes to stimulate love or potions to ease her own sleeplessness.

  “Come.” The invitation was from a very young girl with a black, stylized wig, gold neck collar, and jeweled girdle. Naamah didn’t respond. She was too shocked at the girl’s state of undress. Instead she kept her eyes on the fine jeweled sandals the girl wore.

  “Come,” the girl repeated, “the queen will see you in her formal receiving room.”

  The receiving room was not large, but it gave one the impression of almost uncluttered opulence. A soft light came through alabaster openings in the wall and highlighted the polished marble floor and the decorated pillars set into the walls. The marble floor was mysteriously laid in various colors of marble making it appear carpeted. The odor of jasmine hung heavy on the air and seemed to come from two tall golden incense burners. A small table of carved ebony held pieces to one of the strange games played by Egyptians, and, finally, at the far end of the room were three chairs of carved ebony decorated in gold. The center chair was obviously a throne.

  As Naamah came farther into the room, she was even more impressed with the utter barrenness. It was so different from the cushioned, tasseled, and carpeted disorder of her own apartments. It was like the austere simplicity she had found so distasteful in most of the furnishings of Solomon’s new palace.

  “You may be seated,” the young girl said motioning to one of the chairs.

  Naamah had never before experienced sitting upright in a chair, and she found it very uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to do with her feet. Finally, with some effort, she folded her legs under her as though she were sitting at home on one of the cushioned divans. This was still terribly uncomfortable. The chair was hard and the seat too narrow. Once again Naamah felt a surge of anger that she, the queen, should be placed in this unpleasant situation.

  She was jolted from her frustration by the distant cacophony of trumpets, the roll of drums, and shouted commands that echoed down the long hall through which she had just come. With no more fanfare, a host of laughing maidens came and took their places both behind and on each side of the throne. Two Nubians came to stand guard while several scribes and young slaves bearing large feathery fans advanced to the throne.

  At last, framed in the doorway, was the Egyptian herself. Everyone fell on their faces with their hands outstretched along the floor, and Naamah felt renewed anger that there had been no such demonstration when she, the true queen, entered. She also found herself resenting the dazzling beauty of this woman.

  She reached into the hidden pocket in her sleeve, touched the magical rock she had gotten just that morning from the priest of Moloch, and secretly cursed the Egyptian. “May she turn ugly as a warted toad, may her nails fall off and her teeth rot,” she muttered pressing the stone between her thumb and middle finger.

  Tipti with head held high swept into the room, ignoring everyone, including Naamah. As Naamah had feared, she sat down on her throne with her feet on the floor and her legs going straight down from the seat of the chair in the most uncomfortable manner. Naamah, seeing that this was indeed the proper way to sit on such a thing, stiffened and unfolded her legs so they also hung over the edge of the chair.

  Tipti had her maidens arrange the fans, readjust the footrest, and then, finally, when everything was to her liking, looked at Naamah. Her small cherry mouth managed a forced smile, but her eyes were hard as olive pits.

  “So you’ve come to visit me at last,” she said.

  Naamah hesitated only a moment, then she decided to plunge in and state her business and leave as soon as possible. “I’ve come to warn you,” she said, “not to visit.”

  “Warn me?” the queen laughed. “What could you possibly have to warn me about?”

  “Jeroboam. You must stop this foolish planning to make Jeroboam king. He’s no king. He has no claim to the throne.”

  Tipti had taken in Naamah at a glance. The ill-fitting, dull clothes, the laughable way Naamah had tried to sit in the chair with her legs tucked under her, and yet her haughty—almost frightening—demeanor.

  “I have no son and so I’ve decided to do as another Egyptian princess did long ago. I’ll pick my own son.”

  “And so you’ve chosen Jeroboam.”

  “Exactly. Since this is my right, I’ve no need for advice from anyone.” She sent a scathing glance at Naamah.

  “Well, it’s a waste of time for you to make such plans. Your Jeroboam has no credentials. To have credentials he must have the blessing of a prophet. He must be chosen by the God of Israel just as David was chosen.”

  Tipti smirked and looked down as she idly fingered the tassel on one of the cushions, “Oh, but he does have credentials. The same credentials that have always given Israel her kings.”

  “What credentials? He has none. He’s the son of a humble man. A worker and that’s all.” Naamah was sitting up very straight; her face was flushed and her eyes bulged.

  “Why, I would have thought someone would have told you.”

  “Told me what?” Naamah’s eyes became mere slits as she studied her adversary.

  “Told you that it has been predicted, by a priest from Shiloh, that Jeroboam will rule ten of the tribes and your son, Rehoboam, will be left with only one.”

  Naamah clutched her throat, rolled her eyes to the ceiling in disbelief, and then began to laugh hysterically. She grasped the arm of the chair and struggled to her feet. “What priest dared to tell you that?” she demanded with eyes flashing dangerously.

  Tipti ignored her show of anger and smiled sweetly. “Why, the venerated old priest named Ahijah. He even made a big show of it by taking his own robe and tearing it into eleven pieces. He gave Jeroboam ten and kept the one that represents Rehoboam’s share. He said the ten pieces of his cloak were for the ten tribes Jeroboam would rule.”

  “I don’t believe it. Let me see the pieces. There aren’t any.” Her tone of voice was now sure and confident, and Tipti ordered one of her maidens to go fetch the stack of pieces representing the ten tribes.

  No one spoke, but Tipti ducked her head and looked out from under her long lashes at Naamah and laughed. Naamah, feeling uncomfortable but sure of victory, tossed her head in the air and turned so the Egyptian couldn’t see her face. All the time she was rubbing the evil stone and thinking dark thoughts that would poison Tipti if the charm really worked.

  The young girl returned with a reed basket and handed it to the Egyptian.

  “See,” said Tipti pulling the pieces from the basket. “See, these are the ten tribes Jeroboam will rule. It has been prophesied.”

  “You lie.” Naamah shouted as she tried to grab the pieces from Tipti. “You lie, no priest would tear his own robe.”

  Tipti laughed a harsh, bitter laugh. “He did. He prophesied that Jeroboam would rule ten tribes.”

  “Never, never, never.” Naamah shouted as she tried to tear the pieces from the Egyptian’s hands. “He’ll never rule even one tribe. He’s not of the house of David. It’s impossible!”

  Tipti held the pieces high over her head and called for the guards to take Naamah to the door.

  With one lunge Naamah missed the pieces but grasped the elegant black wig of the princess and pulled. The wig came off in her hand and the Egyptian stood with her head bare and shaved as befitted a princess of Egypt. “You ugly little snake,” Tipti cr
ied as she charged after the quickly disappearing queen. “I’ll have you flogged for this, this insult to Egypt!”

  Naamah turned at the door. “A queen, a queen of Israel you will have flogged?” Her laughter, high and bitter, rang after her down the hall as she retreated to her waiting palanquin.

  Tipti turned just in time to see her maidens stifling a laugh. “Anyone who laughs will be punished,” she said. “Now go and bring me a new wig.” She pointed to one of the older maidens who went hurrying from the room. Tipti walked with all the dignity of a pharaoh back to her throne and sat down as though nothing had happened. “I’ll see that the queen from Rabbath Amman learns a lesson,” she said loudly enough for those nearby to hear her.

  On reaching the harem, Naamah went straight through her rooms to the small, intimate courtyard. She was furious. She had not thought the Egyptian would dare be so bold as to mention Jeroboam. To think that she had also claimed this upstart had credentials from the priest at Shiloh was the final indignity. She paced the floor wringing her hands and muttering beneath her breath curses and threats. “I’ll ruin that woman,” she said. “I’ll make the name of Jeroboam so distasteful the king will have him killed and will banish her.”

  Of course she would have to tell Solomon. This time he would listen. This was no game of jackals and hounds. It was deadly serious. She stopped and let the ecstasy of sure revenge sweep over her. Here at last within her grasp was the weapon that would finally unseat the Egyptian in Solomon’s heart. Moloch had given her the victory she had bought from him with the jewels.

  It wouldn’t be easy to get to see Solomon. He no longer would answer her summons no matter how urgent, and his guards had orders not to let her near him. It would take cunning, bribes, and a clever plan, but she must see him. She herself must deal the blow that would forever tear the Egyptian from his heart.