“I suppose he never grows bored,” I said, struck with the suddenly awkward feeling that I would be the only monarch to approach this king without an alliance of marriage to offer. I had no daughters to give to seal a trade agreement or to convince this king to stay far from Sheba’s shores.
“No, I suppose he does not,” Hadi said, before I bid him good night.
I pondered long on the matter as I lay in my tent that final night before we would enter Jerusalem’s walls. Pray Solomon would accept my offerings—my gifts of spices and jewels and gold—as enough, for I could think of nothing else to give. Surely our frankincense and myrrh alone would entice him, for they were the richest and rarest of spices, and I had made sure that Solomon would receive the best of the crop.
But as I arose the next morning to Fadia’s ministrations and my last ride on that insufferable beast—at least for many months—I worried. Would it be enough? And would King Solomon not only answer my questions and sign our trade agreement but also find me a worthy equal? I suddenly wanted that more than anything else that had brought me on this journey.
We passed through the Water Gate without trouble, and once my guards announced my presence at the armory, King Solomon’s attendants sent word to the palace. Solomon’s own guards led us to a grand building to the right of the palace where he received his guests. Opulent rooms spread before us, and I found myself whisked away to one draped in curtains of deep reds, with gold inlays lining everything from floor to ceiling. Wood carvings were also overlaid with gold, and I had to close my eyes against the glare of the light coming through the many windows and sparkling off the precious metal. Rich white carpets covered intricately tiled floors, while couches dyed in more of the deep reds had been placed in various sections of the large room. I entered, weary and wary, and was met by one of Solomon’s maids, who quickly offered me a seat and removed my dusty sandals.
“I need more than a foot washing,” I said, wishing now that the Gihon had been large enough to bathe in and that I’d found a way to do so. “My whole body is dusty from travel, and I need to change into better robes before I meet the king.”
The maid nodded but did not meet my gaze. “Begging your pardon, my queen. If you will allow me to wash your feet, then they will be clean for you to walk about the room while I have the servants draw you a bath. The king would have you settle yourself and take your rest until this evening. Then you will join him at a banquet in your honor.”
My honor? How quickly had word traveled that he would know of my coming to prepare for a banquet so soon? But I did not ask. I would find out presently.
I extended my foot for the maid to wash and nearly melted into the chair as she also rubbed the ache from my toes and heels and arches. She applied a salty scrub to my skin, which she told me came from the Dead Sea. Solomon spared no expense on his guests. But what did he expect in return?
The maid left after guiding me to the place where servants would fill a large bath with heated water. The room was already steaming from a fire set under heated wet stones near the high windows. I walked out, waiting until all was ready.
“Have you ever seen anything so amazing, simply for houseguests?” Fadia approached me, her hands empty—an unusual sight. But here she was only my attendant, not my servant in the way Solomon’s maids were. Where Fadia would have been the one to wash my feet, Solomon’s servants did the task for both of us.
“It is astounding, my lady,” Fadia said, taking the seat I offered her. “My rooms are larger than two of our houses back home.” She blushed as she said it, but I knew she meant no censure on our homeland.
“It’s all right, Fadia. I know that our kingdom is small in comparison. We may have land and wealth in what we can grow and the gold we can mine, but our people are not as wealthy as Solomon’s people.” I touched the threads on the tassel of a curtain. “We do not weave gold into our tapestries.” Only my robes had such design, not my furnishings. But I kept my awe to myself. What kind of man had I come to see?
Suddenly I wondered at the wisdom of my visit. I felt small in comparison to what I had already seen, and this was only the beginning. Would I measure up to Solomon’s women? Would I have the ability to converse on par with men my equal, or would the king look down on me simply because I was female?
These questions added to the many others I had entertained all my life. I could not help but consider that perhaps there were no solid answers.
And when the queen of Sheba had seen all the wisdom of Solomon, the house that he had built, the food of his table, the seating of his officials, and the attendance of his servants, their clothing, his cupbearers, and his burnt offerings that he offered at the house of the LORD, there was no more breath in her.
1 Kings 10:4–5
Interlude
It seems so long ago now, that first night I met Solomon. Time has a way of changing our perspective, and mine changed completely, not only that first evening during the lavish banquet in my honor, but in the months that followed. Despite his duties as king, Solomon seemed to pull time from the space around us and devote more of it to me than I thought possible.
I’m not sure when Jerusalem and all that I witnessed took my breath, but there were times when I truly found it hard to breathe deeply and release the anxious tension I felt during those days. I had so wanted to impress him with my gifts—so many gifts. I had watched in pride as Hadi presented the king with 120 talents of gold—a huge amount by any standard of my day—and jewels that outnumbered by far the amount in the crown he wore or in the rings and bracelets that ornamented his arms and hands. But it was the spices that caused me to straighten and hide a pleased smile, for even Solomon had never seen so many precious spices in such great quantity in all his days as king. I am told no one ever gave the king such a gift again.
Still, it was his wisdom that stole the pride I’d felt in that heady moment. Where did a man get such knowledge? How could he possibly have understood what I was thinking before I spoke a word? And the way he looked at me . . . I think if anything could have stolen my pride or my breath, it was that look of honesty—or perhaps it was humility—and the genuine interest he held in every word that came off my tongue. I had his full attention every time I entered his presence.
Of all the things I experienced during my daring, unexpected trip, this was what I remembered most . . . and expected least.
5
A knock on the door in the rooms I now occupied drew my attention from the window. The view overlooking the Ophel hill showed the grandeur of Solomon’s city—the great temple he had recently finished building to the north, plus the many outbuildings and smaller palaces that housed some of his many wives. I was told that his Egyptian wife had a palace all her own outside the city walls, for he did not want to mix her gods with the one he worshiped, nor mar his father’s memory with her presence.
“Why would an Egyptian wife trouble your father’s memory?” I’d asked him one night after a sumptuous meal as we walked among his lavish gardens.
Solomon had paused long before answering, but at last he looked my way, held my gaze, and spoke without flinching. “Our laws tell kings not to return to Egypt, for we were once slaves there, and our God does not want us to rely on that nation ever again.”
I searched his face, shadowed in moonlight, aware of the guards that stood near as I pondered his answer. “I am confused,” I said, after he had taken my arm and began to walk with me among the many flowering plants and exotic bushes. “Why would you disobey the law of your god and go back to a place he had forbidden?”
Solomon shrugged, though I caught his glance lifting heavenward and did not miss the shadow that crossed his face. “Siti’s father wanted the alliance. He offered me a city even my father had been unable to conquer—a city that our God had promised to us.” He looked at me, the lines along his brow softening. “I am not a man of war, Nicaula. I have ordered the deaths of those who deserved it, but my father was the man of war. Our God gave me a
kingdom of peace so that I could build the temple to Him that my father wanted to build. War with Egypt was not an option, though the Pharaoh was weak and his kingdom much less powerful than Egypt’s might in times past.”
“So you married his daughter for a city.” I nodded, for I understood now. “As you have married many women for the alliance rather than face war, for what father would war against a kingdom that houses his own daughter?”
His smile came unexpectedly, his laughter the most pleasing of sounds. I laughed with him, for I understood how much a king or queen longs to do so without censure but rarely knows such freedom.
“How well you grasp things,” he said, leading me to sit on an intricately carved limestone bench near a copse of almond trees. “I am glad you came.” He took my hand in his, and I felt a flutter in my middle. Surely he did not expect to woo me as he had so many other women. But I could not deny the feeling his touch evoked.
“As am I,” I said when I could catch my voice.
The knock came again, startling me out of the memory. How long had I stood here reminiscing?
This knock was enough to bring the girl from her side chamber to undo the lock and open the door. Her gasp carried to me across the room, and I glanced at my night robe, suddenly ashamed of my state of undress at this hour. The sun was already past the break of dawn. Guest or not, I need not lie abed or lounge around all morning. What was the plan for this day? I must speak with Solomon’s scribe to hear the day’s excursions and dress accordingly.
But when the door opened wider and the maid stepped aside to allow Solomon into my private chamber, it was my turn to gasp. Had my memories of our walk, of the feelings he’d conjured within me, come to me now to prepare me for his entrance here in this moment? I had been in Jerusalem for two months, and he had never knocked on my door dressed in a simple day robe, without fanfare. He had never come to my room at all. We met in the audience chamber or the banquet hall or the gardens or the palace courtyard.
But there he stood smiling, walking toward me. This was most inappropriate. But what was I to do?
“I am sorry, Nicaula, to interrupt you so early like this. Trust me when I say that it is not my practice to intrude on the private quarters of my guests.” He stopped near the couch across from where I stood. A table of flatbreads and cheeses and dates laid spread behind me, with golden goblets of fresh goat’s milk I had yet to sample.
“I’m afraid you have caught me just out of bed. I have not yet eaten, for I was admiring your city from the window.” I motioned with my arm to the table. “I am happy to share if you have not eaten.” It was his food, after all, and more than I could eat in three days.
He glanced from the table to me and smiled. “This must seem most strange, and while I would enjoy your company and stay to break the fast with you, I only stopped by to ask you to dress in your finest clothing and please be ready to accompany me within the hour. I want to take you to the temple for the morning sacrifice—as far as the law will allow you to see it.”
The joy in his eyes as he spoke of this temple warmed me in a place deep within, and I wondered what it was about visiting such a place that so pleased him. Or was it the chance to show off his building skills that ignited his smile?
“When we get there, I will tell you about the time my God spoke to me.” He tilted his head as if assessing me. “Will you come?”
How could I possibly refuse?
I nodded. “I will hurry.”
He turned on his heel and left the room, while I called Fadia to dress me at once.
The scent of roasting meat assaulted me the closer we drew to the temple. Solomon had ordered an ornate litter to carry me, while he rode ahead on a white mule. Though I had seen his storehouses of chariots in a neighboring city and his stables of horses at Megiddo a few weeks before—something that he seemed delighted to show me—he did not use either mode of transportation when approaching his god. I found this intriguing but not surprising. He had admitted, after all, that anything to do with Egypt was frowned upon or even forbidden by his god, so it made sense that the king would ride the royal mule uphill from his palace to this grand temple, where he would worship.
I peered out from the curtain of fine linen threaded with golden strands to see the golden and white stone structure standing taller than any place in Jerusalem. One could glimpse the pinnacle from any distance in any direction. The beauty of the gleaming stone and golden doors and bronze pillars and altar caused my heart to beat fast within me. The Canaanite slaves who bore me came to a stop outside the wall surrounding the temple. One of the servants reached for my hand, helped me alight, and waited until I nodded that all was well. I blinked at the sun, now well past dawn, and squinted to see Solomon some distance ahead, handing the reins of his mule to a servant. He turned and smiled when he saw me. We met and stopped a few paces from each other.
“I am afraid I cannot take you beyond the wall, but you can stand in the gate and see the courtyard. The temple itself can be accessed only by our priests now that it has been dedicated to the Lord and He has put His name there.” He bent to remove his sandals, an act that surprised me, and I quickly did the same. Barefoot, we walked to the low gate in the wall and stood.
Before me, an altar so high it needed stairs to reach the top blocked the full sight of the golden doors. A priest stood at the altar’s edge with a torch, and as my gaze lingered on him, he lit the wood beneath the animal’s parts. Smoke rose upward toward the north, blackening the sky.
I shivered, turning my gaze to take in the scene before me. A bronze basin stood on the backs of twelve bronze oxen to the left of the altar. Several bronze carts filled with water were alongside the grand gold and stone and cedar temple. But the most stunning to my eyes were the two bronze pillars, taller than three times that of any man, standing sentinel on either side of the temple’s golden entrance.
“I understand why only priests may enter your temple. It is the same in my country, though during the festivals men may enter to cohabit with the priestesses. Children born of their unions belong to the temple, though some of the temple’s children come from the poorest among us who cannot afford to feed the many mouths in their growing families.” To say so reminded me of my own empty house with nothing but servants and a disturbing lack of children’s laughter. “But why must we stay outside the courtyard? Surely if I were not here, at least you, the king, could enter?”
Solomon met my gaze, his dark eyes probing in that inquisitive way he had. “Our priests are not women,” he said softly, “though the daughters and wives of the priests may share in the offerings given to them. The poor cannot leave their children to grow up in the temple to become priests. One must be born of the line of Aaron to enter the priesthood.” He paused, and I sensed that he was deciding how much to tell me.
“Israelites may enter the court to place our hands on the sacrifices we bring, to lay our guilt on the animal that will bear our sin. We may come here to pray toward the inner sanctuary where the glory of God dwells, but we may not enter His presence. Even the priest may enter the holiest of holies only once a year lest he die.”
I heard the little gasp escape my lips before I could stop it. “Whatever for? Why would a priest die simply for entering a room?” Solomon had described the building to me on our trip to Megiddo, so I understood the layout behind those golden doors. I was simply not allowed to see it.
“Our God made specific rules for how He is to be worshiped. Some of Aaron’s own sons died for offering strange fire on God’s altar—not this altar, but the one Moses our ancestor built in the wilderness of Judah many years before I was born. This altar is a replica, though larger, of the altar in the tabernacle of that time. Part of the tabernacle still resides at Gibeon. But my father brought the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem years ago, and it rests now behind the veil in the holiest place. The high priest enters that place once a year on Yom Kippur, our Day of Atonement, the day when the nation repents of its sins.”
Solomon closed his eyes and I did the same, listening. How hauntingly beautiful the sound, though Solomon had to interpret the words, for my Hebrew was not as strong as it could be. The words, so simple yet so profound, caused an ache within me. Over and over they sang, “His love endures forever.” Did Solomon’s god love the foreigner too?
My knees grew weak as we stood there, I too overcome with emotion to say a word in response to the sight before me. Solomon seemed to suddenly sense my wavering, for he caught my elbow, steadying me.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, afraid to disturb the music. “It is so beautiful that it makes me want to weep, and I am not a woman accustomed to tears.”
“Our God has that effect on us all, Nicaula.” His grip tightened, and he moved us to a bench just outside the wall and sat beside me. “He is a consuming fire, and yet His mercy is new every morning. He is a great dread to those who hate Him, who refuse to obey His commands, but He shows great kindness to thousands and to generations upon generations of those who fear and love Him. We owe Him everything. We owe Him our worship. It is the spirit within you that recognizes this fact and makes your knees weak.”
I stared at him. I had never admitted weakness of any sort to any man, but this was Solomon, a man my equal, at least in the fact that we both ruled our own lands. He was one who understood my need to hold tight to my emotions, and yet here he sat telling me that even he felt prone to weakness, compelled to weep, in the presence of his god.
The Queen of Sheba Page 3