“This is not right.” I spoke softly, though I knew the priest could hear.
“It is completely right. It is my gift to you.” He took my hand and squeezed my cold fingers. He leaned close. “I want you, Nicaula. And this does not have to be the end. I can travel to visit your kingdom, and perhaps one day you can again visit mine.”
“You know that is not likely to ever happen.”
“We do not know the future.”
He took his ring again and affixed his seal to the parchment. All we needed was my signet ring to do the same and we would be man and wife. At least in the eyes of his God, for no one else but the priest and a few servants witnessed this.
He held one of my hands, then reached for the other and gently pulled my ring from my finger. Our gazes held as he dipped the ring in the clay and pressed the seal next to his.
He handed the ring to a servant, who quickly wiped all traces of the clay from it and handed it back to Solomon. He placed it once more on my finger. My heart pounded at his touch. He had given me so much, and in his giving he had wooed me and won me with nary a protest on my part. I had allowed him to seal our marriage. I had not curled my fingers tightly against his intent. I had watched every step and said nothing.
“So it is done,” the priest said, jarring me from my thoughts. “In the sight of Almighty God, may your union be blessed, and your children after you.”
He left us then, and the servants and guards fell into their usual places as Solomon escorted me down a long hall to his private chambers. My palm grew moist beneath his warm hand, and I felt a sense of disbelief mingle with a heightened awareness of him. His spikenard wafted to me, a pleasing aroma, and as we entered his rooms, leaving the guards and servants behind, he ushered me to his couch and sat at my side.
His kiss tasted sweet, like the finest dates I had enjoyed at his banquets. “You are most beautiful, Nicaula.” He kissed me again before I could respond, and his hands slowly removed my crown and my veil. “How delightful is your love, my sister, my bride! How much more pleasing is your love than wine, and the fragrance of your perfume more than any spice.” He pulled the jeweled combs from my dark hair. “Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride. Milk and honey are under your tongue. The fragrance of your garments is like the fragrance of Lebanon.”
I recognized the cadence of poetry in his words, songs sung and words spoken at weddings from Egypt to Israel.
“Dark am I, yet lovely,” I said, joining him with a few of the words I could recall. “Dark like the tents of Kedar, like the tent curtains of Solomon.”
“You are a garden locked up, my sister, my bride. You are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain. Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates with choice fruits, with henna and nard and saffron, with calamus and cinnamon, with every kind of incense tree, with myrrh and aloes and all the finest spices.” He lifted me in his arms, his words spent with kisses, and carried me to his bed, which was dripping in the scents of some of the very spices he had named. Spices that had come from my lands.
Spices that covered all the doubts I had left.
12
I awakened to Solomon’s bare arm stretched across me, the two of us tangled in the finest linen bedsheets I had ever known. “You must send me your finest artisans and bundles of flax. I simply must have a bed as soft as this.”
He leaned up on one elbow, smiling down at me. “I think I can grant this one small request.” He traced my face with his fingers and bent to kiss me again. “But can you grant me mine?”
It was my turn to shift and rise up to face him. “Anything,” I said too quickly. “I will give you whatever is within my power to do.”
By his look I suddenly realized how foolish my words were, for I had gone to great lengths to keep what I had. Now after one night with this king I was willing to risk everything? But of course, what was written and sealed could not be changed with a rash comment.
“Stay.” His face held such earnest desire that I wanted to give in to him. But Hadi would be waiting with the caravan near the armory, and we would leave Jerusalem behind in only a few hours’ time.
“I can’t.”
“You said anything.” His possessive touch was impossible to resist.
“I was not thinking straight.”
“Nevertheless, you gave your word.” He pulled me close, and I did not want to leave.
“For how long? My men are waiting and ready to leave.”
“They will wait willingly.” He looked at me as though he knew more than he ought to about my own retinue.
“What have you done?” I sensed I had somehow lost the power to do as I pleased. Had I missed something in the reading of the marriage ketubah?
He kissed me thoroughly, making me long for him again.
“Tell me.” I tried my best to be insistent. I could not let him break our agreement.
“I simply warned your general that you might need a few extra days.” He stroked my hair. “Were you really going to run off before the end of our wedding week?”
“You knew it was my plan.” My stomach growled as the sun peeked through the bed curtains.
He laughed at the sound. “You are hungry. Come.”
He led me to a table servants had spread with dates and cheeses of many varieties from cattle, goats, and sheep. We dipped bread in sauces made with dates and nuts, and he fed me as though I were a child. My heart yearned for him, longed to give him exactly what he asked—to stay not only for a few days but for weeks, months, years. I wished in that moment to never leave his side.
“For a few more days,” I said when he placed the last date on my tongue. “I will finish the wedding week, but then I cannot stay.” I couldn’t. I must make sure he did not persuade me again.
By the look in his eyes, I knew he had won a victory that I suspect he always intended to win, one that would give him what he had wanted all along. Me.
I only wish I could have let him keep me.
Each one of those seven days at Solomon’s side was as though I had stepped into a dream. We did not leave his rooms except to walk among the gardens at sunset, and I had not known how many ways he could show his love for me. Words came from his lips as though he had spent months crafting them, and at night he sang to me, wooing me with love far stronger than any of the heady spices that burned from incense holders in his rooms.
By week’s end he tried once more to get me to stay. “One more week,” he said in that same enchanting tone. When I refused too many times, his look grew petulant, then sad. He did not grow angry, though he did try as many ways to entice me as he had when he’d proven his devotion to me, to all that I was.
“I cannot. This time you cannot change my mind, Solomon. I will lose my kingdom.” The chance remained that it was already lost by my heedless actions.
“I will miss you,” he said at last, walking with me to the door of his chambers. We had dressed in royal garb, a king and queen ready to travel from his palace to his armory, where my large retinue waited.
“And I, you.” I took his hand and kissed his fingers to show I meant it.
I faced him then, before the door opened upon the world and we returned to separate lives. I blinked unexpected tears as I searched his handsome face. “Love is far different than I expected. You shared more of your heart with me than I had thought possible, than I thought you would. I am honored by your trust.”
“I have never married a woman my equal, nor trusted one to keep my words close to her heart.”
We had talked of many things during our week together, of hopes and dreams, of riddles even he struggled to understand. He had confided that sometimes he thought of life’s futility. At first his statement had surprised me, but then I realized that though he had heard his God speak once, it was not the same as walking with a friend day by day. In the quiet, when God was silent, doubts could plague any man.
“Your words are safe with me,” I promised, leaning close to kiss him one last time.
He held me as though he would not release me, but at last we parted and opened the door, walking in silence through the corridors toward his waiting carriage that would take us the rest of the way.
He took my hand and helped me up, then joined me of his own accord. His driver headed out slowly, and I thought Solomon would speak to me again, beg me one last time to stay. But he waved instead to the crowds, and I did the same. We were a king and a queen of separate nations, pleasing the people we served.
It was time I returned to my lands to do just that.
Postlude
The return home took four months, and during that time I discovered that I had not conceived Solomon’s child. The disappointment tugged at me, and tears often fell when I was alone in my tent. I shared my sadness with Fadia, for she alone besides Hadi knew that I had wed the king. But there would be no need to explain the marriage to my people, for there would be no child to carry on my name.
In the end, I think that this outcome was for the best. After I returned I decided it was time to seek a male heir because I knew a son would have pleased Solomon, so I adopted an orphaned boy I named Menelik. As I shared my new faith with my people—who were slow to accept any change, as I had expected—I also taught Menelik from the scrolls Solomon had given to me. When he grew older, I sent him to Jerusalem to learn from Solomon himself, to gain the king’s wisdom. He returned with more scrolls of proverbs the king had written to advise him. In them, Solomon called Menelik “my son.” I did not feel it necessary to correct him.
If I had to do it over again, I would still allow Solomon to marry me, even with all of the secrecy. It was the only time in my life I truly felt such sacrificial acceptance and love. Despite the wonder of a child, nothing can replace the fulfillment of love’s desire. As Solomon quoted to me, “There are three things that are too amazing for me, four that I do not understand: the way of an eagle in the sky, the way of a snake on a rock, the way of a ship on the high seas, and the way of a man with a young woman.”
Even the wisest man in the world stood in amazement of love.
Note to the Reader
In 1 Kings 10 we read of the queen of Sheba’s visit to King Solomon. Near the end of the passage we are also told, “King Solomon gave the queen of Sheba all she desired and asked for, besides what he had given her out of his royal bounty” (v. 13 NIV).
Over the years this verse has led some to speculate many a myth about a love child between the king and queen. Ethiopians believe their ancient King Menelik I was a direct descendent of Solomon and the queen of Sheba, despite the supposed problem that virgin queens ruled their lands. Judaism became a practiced religion in that region for centuries, even to this day, though most Jewish Ethiopians have since migrated to Israel. How did Ethiopia end up with such a Jewish Solomonic following? Better minds than mine debate this issue.
Another view is that Sheba was located in present-day Yemen, which is in southern Arabia. Proponents of this thinking do not believe Solomon and the queen of Sheba bore a child.
In Arabic culture the queen is known as Bilquis, and in Ethiopia as Makeda. In later times, Josephus referred to her Roman name as Nicaula, the main name I chose for this story, despite the fact that Roman culture did not yet exist during her reign. I did this for two reasons: (1) I like the name, and (2) it allowed me to merge these stories/myths into my own speculative view.
Also, if you look on a map of these areas, you will see that Yemen is directly across the Red Sea from Ethiopia. It seems reasonable to believe there could have been a way to cross between the two countries. It is from that premise that I decided to follow a third myth that the queen of Sheba could have been queen over the lands of southern Arabia and Ethiopia. (Some even claim she ruled all or part of Egypt, but I did not think her realm stretched that far.)
If this idea that she ruled both southern Arabia and Ethiopia is true, then perhaps the myths about her and King Solomon carry some truth from both cultures. I tend to believe that her purposes for seeking Solomon were spiritual (to ask hard questions—perhaps the type we all ask about God and where we come from and why we are here), intellectual (to see if Solomon was as wise as his fame claimed), political (to seek a trade agreement, as some suggest), and personal (she was overwhelmed with what she saw, which leads me to believe she was seeking more than we may ever know).
In any case, the queen of Sheba is a mystery, spoken of in ancient cultures outside of Scripture but not well defined. So as with any of my biblical stories, I hope you will read her account in 1 Kings and other parts of Scripture, and study for yourself what she came to believe. Jesus spoke of her visit to Solomon, and I suspect that His mention gives her story greater credibility than anything else written.
As I hope the queen of Sheba found what she desired, I pray God will grant you wisdom and blessing in what you desire as well—and most especially as you seek to know Him.
In His Grace,
Jill Eileen Smith
Acknowledgments
When I look back on this year and the interruptions and difficulties that interfered with my desire to complete this book, I am all the more grateful for a team of professional friends who are there for me.
As I’ve said in past acknowledgments, I so appreciate everyone on the Revell team who works with me to make my attempts at storytelling so much better, and those who pave the way for my wonderful readers to know the books exist and can get copies into your hands.
That amazing team at Revell includes the following people I deal with directly and appreciate more than words can say. Lonnie Hull DuPont—thank you for letting me take these ebooks and run with them, and for believing in me. Jessica English—thank you for making my words shine! Michele Misiak—where would these books be without your marketing expertise? Thank you! Karen Steele—you wowed me from the moment you took the reins as my publicist. Thank you for all of the great interviews! Cheryl Van Andel—you are a true artist. Thank you for covers that make me feel so blessed!
Wendy Lawton—I’ve lost count of our years together, but I thank God for you through each one. Thanks for listening when I needed it. Thanks for cheering and for praying.
Jill Stengl—the last novella! Thank you for brainstorming with me over Skype and pre-reading to catch my flaws. My long-distance friend—you’re the best!
To my extended family and such gracious, kind friends—you enrich my life. Thank you to those who have prayed me through many a moment this year. And to my prayer team—thank you for being there.
To Randy, Jeff, Chris, Molly, and Keaton, Ryan and Carissa—I thank God for your presence in my life. You always have my love and prayers.
Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad—the Lord our God, the Lord is one. Thank You for showing me the true test of wisdom, and for the example of the queen of Sheba, who traveled great lengths to find truth. May we do the same.
1
1297 BC
Naomi lifted the hem of her robe as her feet fairly flew down Bethlehem’s streets toward the outskirts of town. Neta, second wife of her brother-in-law Melek, trailed two steps behind. The sun beat high overhead, its rays licking the sweat along her brow. Some of the townswomen who were not inside their homes resting at this hour hurried to catch up with her.
“What is it?” one of them shouted, breathless.
“Please, Naomi, slow down.” The voices included Neta’s, and Naomi realized the woman could not run nearly as fast as she, especially when something urgent beckoned. Memories of childhood races with her brothers surfaced, but she stopped the smile such thoughts always evoked. This was not a time to smile.
She slowed her steps and glanced behind her. “Boaz’s wife Adi is in trouble.” She turned and kept running, shouting as she went. “I’m going to see if I can help.”
The heat made breathing difficult but she pressed on. Surely Gilah and Liora and the midwife should have delivered Adi of the child by now. Surely Neta was wrong.
But the fear in her gut would not abate.
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She came to the edge of the village where Boaz’s house spread along the wall that bordered his vast fields—fields inherited from his highly respected father, Salmon, the spy who had helped capture Jericho.
As Naomi stopped before the great doors and rapped on the wood, memory surfaced again of Boaz’s parents, Salmon and Rahab. Neta drew up beside her, her breath coming fast.
Please, Adonai, blessed be Your name. Let Adi live. How Boaz doted on this wife who had remained barren for so long, had waited even when his sisters Gilah and Liora suggested he take a second wife. And now . . . surely the Creator would not give the woman life in her womb only to steal hers in return?
The door opened before Naomi could ponder that thought, and the two women were ushered into the cool interior of the limestone house. She wiped the sweat from her brow, not allowing the servant even a moment to wash their feet.
“Take me to her,” she commanded, forcing the rising panic to remain hidden. The servant led them down a long hallway to a room Naomi recognized as having once belonged to Rahab. The memories rushed through her again—so many days of helping care for Rahab during her failing health and so soon after Boaz had lost his father . . . Please, Adonai, don’t put Boaz through such grief again. Though she had been a young, inexperienced bride herself at the time, she came. Elimelech was Salmon’s cousin, after all, and family came first, no matter how awkward she felt or how useless she seemed. Anyone could carry water or grind flour or bake bread.
Perhaps she would find that was all she could do now for Adi or her child, but one look into the darkened room stopped her short. The acrid scent of blood and sweat assaulted her. Female servants stood immobile along the wall while Gilah and Liora helped a weak, fragile Adi to her bed. The midwife stood in a corner, holding an unmoving bundle.
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