I breathed in and out, telling myself to calm. Solomon’s voice came to me clearly now, speaking something in Hebrew to his guards. And then quiet fell upon the tent. No footfalls of servants, no whispered laughter. No music or drums in the distance to mask my fear.
A shadow fell across the opening to my partitioned room. I looked up from where I had been sitting and quickly stood, falling to my face before him. “My lord king, may you live forever,” I said, thinking it an odd thing to say to a husband, but knowing even my mother addressed my father thus in public places.
He stepped into the room, and the space seemed to wrap itself around him, around us. “Siti.” He bent low and touched my shoulder, reaching for my curled fingers. “Come.” He pulled me up.
I looked into his face, finding it hard to breathe. He touched my cheek with gentle fingers. “I like you much better without the wig.” His smile was of a man who is completely at ease with himself and his surroundings. A man who fears nothing.
I self-consciously touched the edges of my hair. “I never did like our wigs,” I admitted, half smiling.
He laughed. “Good! You will have no need of them in Jerusalem.”
The comment seemed to assume I would not mind the change as permanent, but I suddenly felt a stirring to cling to all things Egyptian. “And yet, we must not forget that I am Egyptian, my lord. Egyptians wear wigs.”
He looked at me curiously but offered me a conciliatory nod. “No one will forget that fact, my princess. And if the wig pleases you, I have no objection.” He took my hand, and I was shocked at how cold my fingers were next to his. “But not in my presence.”
He pulled me down beside him on a plush couch and extended an arm behind my back. It was then I noticed a platter of sweets and a sweating jug of wine sitting there for our use. He took a date and touched it to his lips, then held it out to me. “Are you pleased with our agreement, Siti? Will you be able to leave Egypt with me?”
I took the date between my fingers and looked at it, not sure what was expected of me. “I have agreed, my lord. I will do as I have said.” I looked at him, holding the date aloft.
He chuckled. “It’s a kiss between us. Taste it.” He smiled, and it felt as though he had touched me.
I placed the date against my lips.
“Now take a bite of it and feed me the rest.”
I did as he requested. We chewed in silence, but even before the last swallow, he was leaning close, his breath fanning my face. This time his lips hovered over mine, and I tasted the lingering sweetness of the date.
His fingers traced my cheek. A shiver worked through me. “You are beautiful, Siti, daughter of Pharaoh.” The words were soft, like the wind. “How beautiful you are, my sister, my bride.”
My heart quickened. “You speak Egyptian poetry?”
His lips hovered closer. “I write Egyptian poetry, my love.” He bent lower, his kiss gentle, tantalizing. But he pulled back too soon, leaving me bereft of the heady feeling. “We must not awaken love until it pleases.”
I touched his bearded cheek, so strange compared to the clean-shaven men I had known all my life. “You toy with me.” Was this not to be our wedding night?
He leaned back, his gaze intent, searching. “Nay, I do not.”
I followed his lead, leaning away from him. “Am I not your wife? What love is there to awaken?”
He traced the oval of my face, resting his palm against my cheek. “Siti, I do not yet know you. You do not know me. I can make love to you, but I cannot truly love you until I know you.”
I stared at him, dumbstruck. “I cannot go with you if we are not wed.”
He lifted his chin, his look confident. “We are wed, I assure you.”
“But . . .” Was I to be a wife but no wife at all?
He leaned closer to me again and took my hand in his. He turned it faceup and kissed it, one finger at a time, until I thought I would melt from the gentle pressure of his lips against my skin. He was holding back so utterly that I wanted to flail my arms at him and demand he hold me close and fulfill what I had heard in all the love poems I had fairly memorized since my youth.
But he released my hand and stood, pulling me up with him. His arms came around me slowly, as though I were a lotus blossom that might crush under too much weight.
“Siti, I am a king with several wives. I have loved many women in my short term as king, but only two did I truly know before we wed. Your father told me that you did not want a political marriage, and I agreed. Although you are the one he has chosen to seal our bargain, I do not wish for our marriage to be only an alliance of political means.” He paused, touched my nose, then lifted my chin to better gaze into my eyes. “You wish to marry for love, do you not?”
His gaze held me so intently that I could only nod.
“Then that is what I want too.” He cupped my cheek again and gently kissed me, a tender kiss that held so much promise I wanted to weep. “Which is why we will wait until love awakens,” he said, releasing me.
He strode from my chambers then, leaving me alone and wanting.
8
A day and a night passed, and I found myself spending nearly every moment in Solomon’s presence. Apparently my resistant lover was not quite so interested in letting love lie fallow, for he sat with me at the morning meal, walked with me through the length and breadth of his camp, and spoke to me of Israel. When he spoke of Jerusalem and the temple he had been commissioned to build, his eyes shone like fire.
“So this god of yours is like our gods,” I said, watching him closely. “We build temples for each one and there are many, but you build one temple, for you only have one god.” He looked at me strangely for the longest moment, and I hurried on. “We had a pharaoh once who tried to make us believe in one god, Aten, claiming him the only god, but his efforts did not last. Even he has become more myth to us than history—that is, I am not even sure that pharaoh ever existed.” Perhaps Solomon’s god was like Aten?
My husband seemed to ponder my words as we stood on the bank of the Nile not far from the activity of Thebes’s main wharf. Solomon’s guards surrounded us, though they stayed far enough away that we had the sense we were alone.
“Our God does not need a temple in which to live, Siti.” He took my hand as he spoke, his voice earnest, his gaze fervent, as though he intended to make me believe the way he did in one impassioned argument. He motioned to the skies. “Our God made the heavens. He made the ground upon which we stand.” He looked out over the river’s vast expanse. “He made the waters you worship, the sun you call deity.” He leaned close, his breath against my ear. “He made us, my love.”
My breath felt shallow against his nearness. “Then why, if he does not need a place to live, do you build a temple for him?” I wanted to ask about the palace my father had requested for my use, but the timing did not seem right.
He kissed my fingers and walked us along the bank, up an incline, and back toward his encampment. Ra slowly drifted toward the west, and the blaze of gold he left upon the water surrounded us like a cloak.
“My father longed to build this temple, but our God would not allow him the privilege. So the task has come to me.” His words held a shadow of sadness, and I wondered if the feeling was for his father’s loss or his own.
“And you promised your father.” I understood such promises.
He nodded. “My God chose me to build it.” He faced me then. We stood almost at the edge of the first of his tents, and he clasped our hands, intertwining our fingers. “Our God does not need a place to live, Siti, but we need a place to find Him. He already established our laws and all the articles for sacrifice, the priesthood, and the Ark of the Covenant that houses our most sacred relics. The temple simply gives us a place to bring them all together and to learn to worship our God in the majestic way He deserves.”
I watched the lean curve of his mouth as he spoke, and I could not hold back a smile. “You are deeply devoted to your god, my lord.”
>
The intensity softened, and a smile tugged those intriguing lips. “I suppose that is true. He has spoken to me. How can one hear such a voice and not love Him?” He looked away as though despite all his wisdom, it was a question he could not grasp.
“He spoke to you?” My heart beat faster with this new revelation, and I realized in that moment that this new husband of mine wanted me to understand his heart before he took me to his bed. Suddenly I felt myself wanting to promise him anything. Even belief in his god.
He nodded even as his arms came around me. I rested my head against his chest, surprised at his outward display of affection. We were not even hidden within the privacy of his tent! But I listened to the rapid beating of his heart, and I knew this moment held something sacred between us. The voice of his god was powerful indeed, and its effect had not left him since.
“How long ago?” I whispered, longing to hear more. “When did you hear him speak?”
Solomon did not answer immediately, but after several heartbeats he drew in a slow breath and released his hold on me. “Two years ago, when I was sacrificing to Him at Gibeon. He offered to give me anything I wanted. It was mine for the asking.”
I gasped. I had never heard of a god granting such a wide-ranging request. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
I swallowed. “What did you ask of him?”
He paused, his gaze turned now to the west where Ra’s rays dipped quickly below the horizon. “Wisdom,” he said so softly I almost missed the word.
“Wisdom.” I marveled. Most men would have asked for long life or riches or rescue from their enemies. “He gave it to you then.” He was the wisest man in the entire known world, his fame spreading with each passing day. All the result of a request he made of his god?
“Yes.” He took my hand again and walked me through his camp to his tent, where torches and lamps lit the rooms almost as though it was day.
He called for a servant to fill wine cups and bring trays of food to refresh us, and we continued to talk long into the night. He told me of his childhood, how his parents met, how two of his brothers had threatened his life and died for the effort, and about his mother, whom I had admired from a distance.
And this time, when he escorted me to my chambers, he did not walk away. He spoke words from my favorite Egyptian poem against my ear and led me into the inner places of my room, our love awakened.
“Must we leave so soon?” I asked Solomon the following morning as I dangled a lazy foot over the side of the bed.
He stood opposite me, wrapping himself in his robe, something I was quite certain his servants normally did for him. But we were still alone, and he probably did not wish to come across one of the female slaves in naught but his skin.
“I have not had proper time to gather all the things I will need in your great city.”
I didn’t exactly pout, for though I sensed Solomon had shared much with me in the past few days, I had not returned the favor. I told him of my family, my favorite cats, my love of Egypt and beauty, but I did not allow him to see the spoiled side of me that Akila knew so well.
He leaned over me and planted a kiss on my forehead. I wrapped both arms about his neck and pulled him down to me, tempting him with a full kiss instead. He drew away, laughing.
This time I did allow a small pout. “You mock me.”
“Never,” he said, but his voice still carried a hint of mirth.
“I amuse you then.”
He smiled. “Perhaps.” He straightened and took a step back.
I scrambled from the bed and latched onto him, desperate to keep him near, for I knew once he left me, he would not be back so quickly as he had been these past few days.
His arms came around me. “Siti. We cannot stay. I have been in Egypt for two months. I have a kingdom to run, and though messengers have traveled daily between my kingdom and here, it has been long enough.” He kissed me but then easily disentangled my arms from about him. “Now get dressed and meet me in my visiting chambers. You will tell my servants exactly what you need them to gather, and they will do it.”
I lifted a brow but laughed all the same. “Then you do not wish to be away from me?” I snatched my robe from the ground and slipped into it, but he gently gripped my shoulders and held me at arm’s length.
“I do not wish you away from me. But dress as a princess, not a sleepy bride.” He touched my nose and turned away from me. “Be in my chambers before the sun moves above the palm trees.”
I ignored the fact that he did not address the sun as Ra, though I silently apologized to the sun god for my husband’s lack. I was not sure I could ever get used to his devotion to only one god. What did one do with all the rest then? What of Bastet?
Akila hurried to my side once Solomon left, and I spoke to her of my concerns. “I have yet to ask him of my desire to build a shrine to Bastet in my new palace.” I tilted my head, accepting her work of painting my eyes and cheeks and lips. “What if he says no?”
Akila frowned, leaned back to inspect her work, and declared me ready. “I don’t know, my lady,” she added as she tied a golden sash about my waist. “Was this not part of your agreement?”
I perked up at her reminder. “Of course. My father would have told him that I required this when he sealed the contract.”
Akila patted my shoulder. “There now. Then you have nothing to fear. Just remember to tell the servants to gather the shrine from your rooms before we leave.”
I walked with new purpose to Solomon’s chambers a few moments later, pleased when I saw him smile at my entrance. He motioned me to sit and summoned several Hebrews and a handful of Egyptian slaves to stand at attention and make a list of my requirements.
When I mentioned they must bring Abdukar to me and gather my shrine to Bastet, I glanced Solomon’s way. He met my gaze, and for a moment I wondered, would he let me do this? As king and as my husband, he could refuse, despite any prior agreement. But the moment passed, and the servant asked if there was anything else. Solomon remained silent.
Pharaoh king of Egypt had gone up and captured Gezer and burned it with fire, and had killed the Canaanites who lived in the city, and had given it as dowry to his daughter, Solomon’s wife; so Solomon rebuilt Gezer.
1 Kings 9:16–17
But Pharaoh’s daughter went up from the city of David to her own house that Solomon had built for her.
1 Kings 9:24
9
JERUSALEM, 963 BC
I awoke with a start to the sound of soft purring in my ear. I opened one eye and closed it again, then pulled Abdukar closer into my arms lest he awaken Solomon, who still slumbered peacefully beside me. It was a rare occurrence to have the king at my side in these past two years since coming to Jerusalem. A rarity I did all in my power to keep.
Solomon stirred, and I lay still, trying to hold a wiggling cat to no avail. My cat, betraying little beast, favored my husband, and before I could stop him, he sidled up against Solomon’s back as though he belonged there.
Fully awake now, I rolled onto my side, studying these two “men” who filled my heart and my daily thoughts. Solomon had taken more wives since our arrival to what had once been King David’s palace. Building projects abounded throughout the city, the central focus being that of the temple, where stones from quarries and heavy timber of cedar and cypress from the king of Tyre were dragged up the side of the mount and set in place with as little marring as possible. And still the temple looked as though it had barely begun.
And my palace outside Jerusalem—for that is where Solomon insisted we would build it—had yet to have a single foundation stone laid. My brow furrowed too often of late, and I feared I was going to have unseemly lines across my forehead if I did not stop fretting. But living in the cramped quarters of King David’s palace was wearing on me, and I chafed at this forced need to wait while Solomon built other structures and married women from other foreign lands.
He stirred again, and I straigh
tened, smiling down at him when he rolled onto his back and pulled Abdukar into his arms. The cat settled on his chest, and Solomon’s other arm came around me, drawing me close.
“This little beast should have his own room,” he said, his voice still heavy with sleep.
“And so he shall when your wife has her own palace.” I kissed his cheek, lest he find my comment annoying.
A chuckle came from deep within him. “Ah, my little Egyptian minx.” He pulled me closer and kissed the top of my head. “You will have your palace. Did you never notice how long it took to build something while you lived in Egypt?” He rose on one elbow to look at me.
I shrugged, giving him a playful pat. “I was young in Egypt. I didn’t trouble myself about such things.”
“And you are young here,” he said, winding a strand of my hair around his finger. Abdukar took that moment to pounce on a piece that fell over the side of his hand. Solomon gently dragged the cat aside. “Kings in your land spend their whole lives building burial places. I promise it will not take your whole life to build you a home.” He kissed me and set my cat between us. “But now that I am awake, I must go.”
He rose quickly as he always did, and I with him. He faced me as he tied his robe. “Come to the temple mount with me today. Then, after I inspect the progress, we will choose a spot to start your palace.”
I squealed, as I’m sure he knew I would, and wrapped both arms tightly around his neck. “Truly?” I jumped up and down like a youth, but for once I did not care to be the polite Egyptian princess.
His laughter was like the sound of music to my ears. “Truly.” He set me aside then, and the moment he walked through my doors, I called for Akila. Ra had barely crested the ridge.
Before Ra stood halfway to the midpoint of the sky, I received a message from the king telling me that our plans had changed. I looked at Akila once the messenger left my rooms. “Why do I keep hoping?” I sank onto a chair, and Abdukar hopped onto my lap. “He is always reneging on his promises to me. What excuse will he give me this time?”
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