The Queen of Sheba

by Jill Eileen Smith

  I glanced heavenward again. Show me the truth. It was a simple prayer not aimed at the moon. In my heart, I sensed that I meant it for Solomon’s God, but I was not sure where to look to pray. Toward the temple? Should I turn and face the place where Solomon had said his God had put His name?

  I moved farther into the garden until I could see a place in the wall that was not obscured by the trees. The tallest point of the temple glowed in the moonlight, and I knelt in the dirt, facing its direction. Bowing before a deity was not new to me. Even queens sought the priests’ guidance and prayed for the blessings of the gods. How could we rule without their knowledge? Yet now . . .

  Are You real? Will You guide me if I trust You? Do You hear the prayers of foreign rulers? I am not of Your people, nor can I be, for I must return to my own, yet I want to know You. I want my people to know You. I want the child I choose to follow after me to know You.

  I stopped, listening to the stirrings of my heart. No words were spoken. I heard no voice. Had Solomon’s God spoken to him in a voice that others could hear? But I sensed peace, affirmation. And suddenly I knew. This God—I could trust Him. I could believe the words of the law and stop trusting in objects in the sky that had no voice.

  But how would I know His voice? How would I hear Him speak to me to tell me how to rule? To tell me how to relinquish the great desire of my heart?

  I slowly stood, brushed the dirt from my robe. I don’t know how to follow You.

  The image of the scroll the scribe had read to me surfaced in my mind’s eye. I could ask Solomon for a copy of the law to take with me. He would not deny me. I would learn to follow his God by the words written.

  My heart felt light, and I twirled in the moonlight like a young girl. “I will trust You,” I said, my prayer taking flight. I knew it in a heartbeat, and with the knowing I realized that most of my questions were answered. I came from the Creator, my purpose was to rule Sheba by leading the people to follow His ways, and when I passed into the netherworld, I would see Him. I would not be abandoned to a place I could not understand. I would belong to the One who had made me.

  I walked back to my rooms and slipped into the darkened interior. The bed beckoned me, and I curled under the covers.

  But the morning brought more questions, and though the peace remained, the desire for more still lingered.

  I did not see Solomon that morning, which suited me, as I still pondered the new faith I had embraced the night before. Fadia met me after the morning repast, helped me don a simple gown, and applied a spot of kohl and ocher to my face.

  “Have you ever thought about the things our people believe?” I looked at Fadia through the bronze mirror as she twirled my hair in a set of ringlets that would rest beneath a thin veil and a golden crown.

  “Believe, my queen? I’m not sure what you mean.” Fadia took care to lay the veil exactly in the middle of my head.

  “Faith in the gods. Do you ever question the process of the priesthood, the festivals, whether the sun and moon are truly gods?” I turned to face her, saw her dark face blanch in the morning light. “Do not fear, Fadia. I do not ask you to speak treason.”

  “Forgive me, my queen. It is the gods I fear most, and I do not wish to speak a word against them.” She looked at her feet, and I wondered in that moment just how hard it would be to convince my people to trust a God they could not see.

  “But what if the sun and moon are merely objects made by a greater God, a Creator? Wouldn’t it be more right to fear Him than them?” I studied her posture. She held the crown in her hands but would not meet my gaze.

  “You speak of Solomon’s god. You have asked many things of him, questions you have raised all your life.” She met my gaze then and offered an understanding nod.

  “Yes. I have spoken to Solomon and had his scribe read the words of the law to me.” I looked beyond her a moment, not entirely sure I should trust her. But hadn’t I trusted her all my life? If not her, then who in my kingdom would welcome such news, such a change of heart from me? “I believe them, Fadia. I decided last night to trust the God of Solomon. I want to know Him, His teachings. I’m going to ask Solomon to make me a copy of the law to be read to our people.” I’d said more than I’d intended, but I watched her, holding my breath, hoping she would find my announcement pleasing.

  She slowly nodded. “I have heard much talk of Israel’s god from the servants. They say his temple is not to be rivaled, but that no image inhabits it.”

  “Their God has no image. He is a Spirit whose presence inhabits the temple. He hears the people’s prayers—even those of the foreigner.” The thought had grown with the rising sun, and I knew deep within me it was true. Will You help me choose a child to succeed me? I wanted to please Him, though I still could not deny the desire to have a child of my own.

  “So what will you do with the priests and the temples once we return? You know there will be those who oppose a new faith.” Fadia placed the crown on my head, and I knew she spoke truth.

  “I will introduce things slowly. I will choose a child and teach the law first to her, and in time I will have it read to our people. Surely a God as great as Solomon’s can convince the hearts of our people to believe in Him.” I looked at her. “Do you believe in Him?” It was such a personal question I almost regretted asking it. “Do not be afraid to disagree with me, Fadia. I know I probably should not be asking.” But I wanted to know.

  “I am learning things that amaze me,” she said. “I want to know him. I want to believe in him, but I think it will take time.”

  I nodded, knowing by her look that she feared offending the gods of our people, feared how our people might look upon her. And why not? We had always thought we knew the truth. But I had never seen the sun or moon perform a miracle or give me peace. I had never thought a bright round light could probe the hearts of men and women. Perhaps these thoughts alone had made me ready to hear Solomon speak.

  The only question neither my newfound faith in Solomon’s God nor Solomon’s wisdom could answer was what to do with this longing for my own child. But was Solomon right? Was it possible to have what I longed for—to find a way?

  Perhaps in our next meeting, I would ask him what solution he would give to my dilemma. If he was so wise, as I had surely seen, then how could I marry and remain in control of my kingdom? Or how could I have a child and not marry at all without offending his God?

  My mind whirled with possibilities, but I discarded them all. No answer would come to me, not even when I silently prayed. Perhaps a sacrifice was needed? But I sensed this was not like going to my priests to read omens. Solomon’s God had given him wisdom. Let him dispense some of that to me.

  And King Solomon gave to the queen of Sheba all that she desired, whatever she asked besides what was given her by the bounty of King Solomon. So she turned and went back to her own land with her servants.

  1 Kings 10:13

  8

  Two weeks passed before I saw Solomon alone again. Dignitaries from foreign lands—including Hiram, king of Tyre, an old friend of King David’s, I was told—seemed as drawn to Jerusalem as I. Solomon, always the obliging king, made sure his servants saw to their comfort. They ate at his elaborate table spread with stall-fed cattle, pasture-fed cattle, sheep, goats, deer, gazelles, roebucks, and all sorts of choice fowl, not to mention the vegetables, spiced olive oil, desserts, and wine in abundance. Every time I sat in the banquet hall, placed among the kings who were his visitors, I could not help but marvel. Hundreds upon hundreds of men and women filled this place. The hall itself was larger than my audience chamber back home.

  Also surprising to me was Solomon’s treatment of me as his equal, despite my title of queen. He recognized my rule, and not once did he suggest that I was merely on par with his queenly wives. It pleased me to know that I was respected here.

  I spoke to one of the visiting kings sitting to my right—from Ammon, if memory served me well. He was an old man, a vassal of Solomon’s, for K
ing David had conquered his land years ago.

  “King Shobi,” I said, glancing at him as the servant refilled our golden wine goblets, “tell me, how long have you known King Solomon?”

  Shobi turned and looked at me with a gentle smile. “I am not really a king, my queen.” His humility astounded me, for he wore the simple crown of a monarch. “My brother was once king of Ammon, but he lost the kingdom to Solomon’s father. My brother made some very foolish decisions.”

  I nodded, though I had not heard the tale. “So you have taken his place?” This man now had my interest, and I wondered what type of alliance he had with Solomon.

  “My kingdom is no longer a sovereign kingdom. We are Israel’s vassals, but the blow of that loss has softened since Solomon wed my daughter Naamah. She was his first wife and bore his heir, my grandson Rehoboam. So though we are less than we once were, we are acknowledged well in Solomon’s eyes. Naamah has embraced Israel and their God. Her mother was an Israelite.” He picked at the food on his plate. “But I’m sure that is more than you cared to know. Tell me, what causes a great queen such as yourself to travel so far to this place?”

  It was my turn to study my plate. So his daughter was Solomon’s wife, her son his heir. So many thoughts filled me at this news. Naamah must hold great power in his life, and yet in the time I had been here, I had heard nothing of her. I knew Solomon had many children and his heir apparent was in training at court among Solomon’s advisors, but that gossip had come to me in pieces from Fadia.

  I avoided Shobi’s question with one of my own. “Your wife was an Israelite?”

  He smiled and sipped from his cup. “You use the same tactics I’ve seen in Solomon, answering a question with a question. A wise way to avoid giving one the answers they seek.” He gave me a knowing look.

  “I was simply interested in your wife.” I willed my face not to flush, grateful that the ebony hues of my skin hid the blush of lighter-skinned peoples. “How did you meet her? Why would an Ammonite marry an Israelite?”

  He shrugged. “She was a slave in my father’s house. When my brother was deposed and I was set in his place, I freed her and married her. I learned to believe in Elohim because of her.”

  “So Solomon’s God accepts foreigners.” As I had felt. As I had hoped.

  He nodded. “Yes. If they repent and believe and accept His ways.”

  I sat in silence a moment, pondering his words. “Then I guess you have learned the answer as to why I would travel so far to see King Solomon,” I said, meeting his gaze. “I had heard of his wisdom and of his God. I wanted to know both.”

  The conversation continued around me after that, but I was lost in thought, considering this new truth. This God was the God not only of Israel but of all who would have Him. Israel might be His chosen race, but others could be grafted in, like a gardener might graft one branch into another. My people could carry on this faith in my land and be part of Israel, of their God, even away from Jerusalem.

  My heart felt lighter with the thought.

  I left my rooms the following dawn to walk among Solomon’s vast gardens. I would meet with Hadi in a few hours to plan our return trip to Sheba, and the thought saddened me, for I had yet to resolve the second greatest dilemma of my life—what to do with the desires of my heart. Would Elohim be happy with me going against the protocol of my people just because of my longing for love?

  I glanced heavenward, silently praying for wisdom, but at the same time realizing with certainty that I would return to Sheba, choose a child, adopt her, and go on as my life had always been. I would spend my life teaching my people of Solomon’s God, the true God. My God. That realization overshadowed everything, even the longing for love.

  “You enjoy walking in this place.”

  I startled at Solomon’s voice, for in all of the time I had spent in his visitors’ quarters, he had come to my door only once. I had never seen him walk these gardens.

  “And you do not.” I turned slowly to face him, head high, fearing that he would see my heart pounding in my chest. His presence had a way of setting my emotions to flight.

  He stepped closer. “That is not true. I love this place.” He waved his hand to encompass the gardens before reaching for mine. “It is just that I have my own gardens closer at hand, and unfortunately, time consumes me with obligations that do not include visits here.”

  “But you are here now.” I tilted my head, searching his gaze, feeling the strength of his hand on mine. Should I pull away? Why had he come?

  “Yes.” He smiled, though it held less confidence than I normally saw in him when he stood before his courtiers and counselors and servants and the hundreds of people who sought him daily. “I heard you are thinking of leaving.”

  I lifted a brow. “My servants must learn to keep their tongues from wagging.”

  “Were you not going to tell me?” His tone sounded almost petulant.

  “Of course. I was simply planning my course for our return. We cannot overstay our welcome.” I squeezed his hand, and he intertwined our fingers. I did not stop him.

  “You could never overstay your welcome.” He searched my face. “I have thought much on your desire, and I must admit, you pose a great dilemma.”

  “My desire?” I had not expected him to consider it again after our brief talk weeks before.

  “To marry.” His look held its own desire, and I felt a strange flutter in my middle.

  “I told you before, that is impossible.”

  “I have thought about it from many angles.” He stroked his beard and walked with me along the garden path. “If you marry, you must marry someone of your rank, which means you must marry a king. But if you did so, you would be joining your kingdom with his, and he would become the ruler of all. You would end up a queen like my wives are queens, not the leader of your people.”

  “Exactly why I cannot marry, unless I choose to marry an underling.” I had thought of that, but those closest to me already had at least one wife. It was not as simple as I was making it sound.

  “You cannot marry beneath you.”

  “And I cannot marry my equal.”

  He stopped, facing me. “You could if that man was willing to marry you and then let you go.”

  I stared at him. “What purpose would there be then in marriage? We would live in separate lands and never see each other.” I wanted love. Not long-distance connection.

  “Marriage could give you a child to take with you. The child would become your heir.” He grasped my other hand, holding me hostage with his gentle grip and probing look.

  “The child would also belong to his father. I could lose him to the other kingdom.” I couldn’t bear the thought. “It would be better to adopt a child from my people, as I did years ago.”

  “So you already have a child.”

  “She died when she was five.” I looked at my feet.

  Silence followed that remark. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I did not know.”

  “I did not tell you.”

  He coaxed my gaze upward. “You have been unable to choose another child since.”

  I nodded, hating the sting of tears. He brushed them away with his thumb.

  “I had her brought to the palace as an infant. She had the best of care, but when she took sick, there was nothing anyone could do. My advisors want me to choose another—in fact, it is all they talk about these days—but I have not been able to do so.” I pulled one hand from his and tucked a loose strand of hair under the sheer veil beneath my crown. “I was actually praying to your God for wisdom. I had hoped to ask you what I should do, but I see I did not even need to.”

  He smiled, taking my hand again. “Come sit with me.” He turned me and guided me to a bench not far from where we stood. Birds twittered above us, and the scent of lilacs permeated the air. I sat, adjusting my skirt, and he joined me. We were close. Too close for the attraction I felt for him. This was not wise. I would not give myself to him, and I could not marry
him. But the sheer power of his presence held me in my seat.

  “I want to tell you something.” He paused, waiting for my full attention.

  “I’m listening.”

  He nodded. “I have loved many women.”

  I did not flinch, for hadn’t I known it from the start? “You have married often.”

  “Yes. I married Naamah in my youth before the throne was secure in my hand. I married Abishag to keep my brothers from trying to take her and lay claim to my throne. I married Siti to gain the city of Gezer from her father. The others have been gifts from foreign kings seeking to keep peace with me, to make alliances.”

  “How many wives do you have now?” Did he love them in the way I imagined love? But how could he? How could any king—any man, for that matter—truly love a woman when he shared himself with others?

  He glanced beyond me. “I have not counted of late. Perhaps seven hundred, I’m told.” He looked back at me. “I have loved a few of them in the way my father loved my mother. The others I love in different ways.”

  “But you call all of it love? How can your heart be so divided? Surely a woman wants undivided love.” It was a bold thing to say to him, but I was not his vassal or his wife. I was simply a guest who could leave when she pleased. I could say what I wanted—a privilege of royalty I appreciated, especially since other privileges were by custom denied me.

  “A woman probably does indeed want a husband who is all her own. It was our God’s design from the beginning.” His look was shadowed, and I wondered what thoughts went through his intelligent mind.

  “Yet you do not keep your God’s design?” Sometimes I found Solomon completely wise and astoundingly bright, but this attitude toward his God confused me. Did he think himself above the very laws he’d had read to me?

  “Kings are sometimes forced to make decisions that are not their first choice. Surely you know this.” He touched my arm. “I was given a kingdom of peace. Marriage seems the wisest way to keep that peace. Besides, our God gave the laws to kings not to marry many wives lest they turn the king’s heart away from Him. Our God spoke audibly to me in a dream and offered me whatever I wished. He granted that wish and so much more. I will not betray Him by turning away from Him, when He has granted me all of this.” He lifted his arm in a wide arc to encompass his kingdom.