Silence fell like a pall in the room, and I felt as though my marriage had been dealt a death blow. Silence lingered until at last Solomon spoke.
“Years ago,” he said softly, causing me to turn to face him again, “my people were slaves in Egypt. And Yahweh turned the day to darkness, vanquishing Ra. He turned the Nile to blood, cutting off your life force. And He took the life of every firstborn in Egypt, even the firstborn of Pharaoh, to show that only He gives life. Men are not gods, Siti. Stone images are not gods. The true God is one not made with human hands, nor is He like us. We are made to be like Him.”
I stared at him, searching every facet of his face. His gaze did not hold the anger I felt. “So you disdain the gods of Egypt.”
He shook his head. “I just do not believe they are gods at all. They are merely objects made by men.” He extended his ringed hand to me, and I reluctantly walked closer and took it. Why did I allow him to move me? But there was comfort in his touch. “I wish you shared my faith.”
His honest desire startled me. “Yet you married me knowing I did not.”
He nodded. “I have married many women knowing they do not. I do not say this to each one of them. But I wish it true of you.” He touched my cheek, moving the long strands from the wig aside, gently brushing his thumb beneath my lashes.
I slanted my gaze away from him, though I could not deny the kick in my heart that his touch evoked. He would woo me. It was his way. And I did not know why I allowed it when my own honor was at stake.
“I care deeply for you, Siti,” he said against my ear. “But you must understand, I cannot risk the anger of my God by putting other gods before Him. The first commandment He gave to our ancestor Moses was, ‘You shall have no other gods before Me.’ If I allow a foreign god into my house, I will be breaking a far worse command than the ones you accuse me of breaking.” His words, spoken with that soothing tone of his, did manage to calm me.
But they did not convince me.
“I do not understand your god, Solomon. Bastet, I understand. She is graceful and remote, yet she is fiercely protective of those who follow her. Abdukar is a constant reminder of her greatness, and I do her a disservice by ignoring her needs.” How to make him see? “Does not your god require sacrifices? Well, Bastet has needs too. You slaughter animals to feed the hunger of your god, and when I bring a plate of food to Bastet or a cat dies and its mummy is placed in Bastet’s temple, I do the same.” I searched his gaze, but he was clearly not convinced.
He leaned away from me. “It is not the same.”
“How then is it different? Surely the wisest man in all the earth can answer me that.” I watched him wince at this latest barb and felt the familiar guilt prick my heart again. But if I did not stand up for Bastet, who would? Did I not owe her for giving me my heart’s desire? She had kept me from marrying Nakhti, had given me a husband who shared my love of poetry and dance and beauty and more. Could it be that my palace was so long in the making because of my neglect of her?
“You are right,” he said, his tone resigned. “The wisest man in all the earth should be able to answer your question. I have tried to, Siti. We have had this discussion many times.”
Had we? I recalled our first meeting when he questioned me about Bastet. He had been planting ideas in me to abandon her from the day I met him.
“But the one difference between Yahweh and the gods of Egypt, my love, comes down to a person’s choice. You were taught to believe Egypt’s gods were real, that each one performed certain tasks, that each one must be worshiped, cared for, or appeased.” He took my hand in his. “Whereas I was taught about Yahweh from my birth. I was told the tales of Yahweh’s power over the gods of Egypt and Canaan and how He called my ancestor Abraham out of Mesopotamia, away from the gods they worshiped, to follow Him alone. Nations think our forefathers invented a new religion, that their belief in only one God was something new. But it wasn’t, Siti. From the beginning, there was one Creator. Only time and distance from Him have allowed people to put other gods in His rightful place.”
He pulled me closer, and though I still inwardly balked at his words, I allowed him to wrap both arms about me. I leaned against his chest, listening.
“All nations feel as you do, my love. There is similarity in all the gods of other lands. Some worship the sun, others the moon. But all their gods are fashioned in created things or in the likeness of men. Our God is spirit. He is knowable and yet unknowable. He reveals Himself in what He has made, and yet no one can see His face and live. He is mercy and justice. His voice is thunder and whisper. His power is endless.” He paused and looked away from me, and I wondered if he would say more.
At last he turned to face me. “We only understand Him by faith, Siti. I can explain many things about Him to you, but I cannot make you believe them. I’m sorry, my love. I’m afraid even the wisest man on earth does not truly grasp the nature of my God.”
I looked at our twined hands for the longest time, his words stirring me, warring against all that I knew. “So your answer remains no.” He would not allow me to build a shrine for Bastet. I looked into his dark eyes, saw the hint of sorrow there, and felt sorry that I had caused it.
“Not as long as you live in Jerusalem under my roof.” He squeezed my hand, then pulled me to stand. “Would you care to see the place where I think we should build your palace?”
“Right now?” The change of subject was the best I could expect of him, for I knew now that I could not force my way with him. Not until I resided in my own palace, away from his god, whose very mention made me shudder.
He laughed, seemingly unaware of my inner battle. “Yes, now.” He grabbed the robe he had so quickly discarded and called his servants. “Call for my driver and the royal chariot.”
Guards surrounded us as we walked toward the courtyard and mounted the gilded chariot, pulled by perfectly matched Egyptian stallions, for a ride I would never forget.
Grace Note
In those early years of marriage, I did not think of the consequences of my actions nearly as often as I did in later years. Solomon seemed so sure of himself, of his faith and devotion to his god—to the point that I wanted to prove him wrong. If he could break his god’s law so easily, why should I believe in his power?
So I had one of my Egyptian guards sneak Bastet’s image into King David’s palace, the one I lived in for thirteen years before my home was finally completed. I built a small, hidden shrine for her and faithfully worshiped her, lest any ill befall me. And then I did all in my power to encourage Solomon to love the wealth he had previously seen as gifts, and I often asked about the gods of his foreign wives. The more he explained those gods to me, the less he spoke of Yahweh.
I don’t think he went so far as to worship those gods then, but his arguments against Bastet, when he caught sight of my shrine one day, had mellowed. He did not force me to remove her shrine. I had my proof, for his faith had indeed waned.
I thought I had won a victory. Though I loved my husband, I did not like his arrogance. But when I was proved right, I did not feel joy.
11
JERUSALEM, 952 BC
The litter carried me through the East Gate and up the grand avenue that lined the way to Solomon’s gleaming new palace. It stood like a gem between his father’s older living quarters and the temple, which outshone both residences on the mount where it stood beyond Solomon’s walls.
Bathsheba still reigned as queen mother, and she resided in the home of her husband along with Naamah, Abishag, and many of Solomon’s other wives and concubines.
I stared through the slit in my curtained pavilion, awestruck at how much work my husband had accomplished in so short a time. But he had thrown himself into one extravagance after another until I feared it was my initial encouragement that had opened the door to his reckless testing of all things good or evil.
Had I pushed him too far? Asked too many questions?
My team of Edomite servants stopped in the cou
rtyard that was once King David’s home and lowered the litter, then helped me alight. I met Akila on the steps, and she walked one step behind me as I entered what used to be Solomon’s audience chambers, now used by lower judges and secretaries to handle Solomon’s enormous business affairs.
I continued past scribes and recorders and men with bent heads in heated discussions, toward the halls that led to Bathsheba’s chambers. I had often invited her to visit my own place of residence, but she had quietly and gently refused. I sensed the reason had to do with the many images to Bastet I had put in prominent places. Though she was kind to me, she had never accepted my foreign ways. To her credit, she never accepted the foreign ways of any of Solomon’s wives and concubines.
A guard greeted us with a polite nod, and moments later Tirzah bowed to me. “Come, Siti. How long it has been since your last visit.” She led me to a plush couch and quickly placed cool wine in a goblet of pure gold before me.
Bathsheba emerged from her chambers moments later, still in the process of knotting the belt of her robe. “Siti.” She smiled as she walked toward me.
I stood and took her outstretched hands, but I did not miss the dark circles beneath her eyes. “Did I wake you? I can come another time if you are not well.” Bathsheba had always seemed the essence of health to me. To see her looking so tired, haggard even, was deeply troubling.
“No, no, my dear girl. I was merely resting.” She motioned me back to the couch and sat near me in her favorite chair. “I fear I am not quite as young as I used to be.”
I studied her. “But you are well?” In the black land where I came from, we prepared for death all of our days. But here in this place where so much frantic building activity commenced, where Solomon continually acquired exotic wealth—not only horses but apes and peacocks, silver, ivory, and gold of Ophir, which surpassed any gold I had ever seen—death seemed far from anyone’s thoughts. Solomon had already built a tomb for his father, and his mother would one day reside there, but he seemed to take no thought to building his own tomb. Not like the pharaohs in my land did. Perhaps he thought he would never die.
“I am well,” Bathsheba said, drawing my mind back to her. “I grow more weary of late, but I am only tired. No illness has come upon me.” She accepted a cup of cold water from her maid and drank. “So tell me, Siti, how have you been?”
I glanced at the liquid in the golden goblet—one of Solomon’s gifts, no doubt—and sought the right words. “I am well, thank you.” I glanced at her. “But I have come because . . .”
She waited and her smile warmed me.
“I must confess to you that I fear I have caused Solomon to lose sight of the things he once thought important.” I released a slow breath. “This is harder to say than I thought.”
“You blame yourself for Solomon’s frantic living.” It wasn’t a question, and I knew by her look she understood.
“I fear . . . that is, in the beginning, I tested him. I was angry with him for not allowing me the freedom to worship my goddess in this place.” I waved a hand over the room. “Even in the privacy of my rooms. So I challenged him, and then I made it my goal to see if he was really as immune to the laws he was breaking as he claimed.”
Her gaze remained steady, but I wondered what thoughts moved behind her troubled eyes.
“I didn’t expect him to go so far—” My voice caught, and I could not finish my thought.
“You did not expect him to test the gifts God has given to him.” Her voice held a hint of sorrow, and when I met her gaze, I saw much knowing in her smile. “My dear Siti, you are not to blame for my son’s choices. He has always been inquisitive, even as a child. But when our God granted him wisdom, I knew he would test its limits. He would not be who he is if he hadn’t. But I fear he pushed his wisdom so far that he forgot the one who granted the gift.”
“Has he stopped worshiping your god then?” I felt as though the air had somehow left my lungs at the thought.
“No.” She took another sip from the goblet, then set it on a low table beside her. “No. I don’t think he would go that far. But he has gone too far in some areas. His excess has surpassed anything I could have imagined.” She sighed, and it seemed as though the weightiness of her comment landed like a grand obelisk between us.
“What can I do?” I had not seen Solomon in months, and I wasn’t sure I could just walk into his new palace, his new audience chamber, as I had years before and coax him to spend time with me. “Does he visit Naamah or Abishag any longer?” Shame heated my face, though I knew from my experience in a king’s harem since my birth that this was the way of things. At least I could live my life in peace, surrounded by familiar things and people from my homeland. Though I missed the one thing I had longed for more than the familiar. I missed the love I once thought Solomon would give me. And Bastet had yet to grant me a child.
“When he visits me,” Bathsheba said softly, as though she too rarely saw her son, “he visits some of his wives as well. I do not think he stays long.” Her smile was sad. “I am sorry you are forced to share his time. I was privileged to have much of my husband’s affection, but our beginning came from far different circumstances. Sometimes suffering brings people together in a way prosperity never can.”
I saw the slightest glimpse into her past by the shadowed look that passed over her face. Solomon had told me some of his parents’ history, and court gossip had filled in other details, but Bathsheba had never shared much with me. Perhaps because I was a foreigner. But perhaps more because I did not ask.
“I do not wish to see the king punished by his god because of something I caused.” The thought had troubled me for weeks, months even, though this was the first time I had voiced my fear. “What might your god do to him for the foreign gods we have brought to your land? What might your god do to him for disobeying the laws given to kings?” I paused, clasped both hands more tightly around the goblet. “Please, my queen, tell me how I can undo the hurt I have caused.” Though she denied there was any wrongdoing on my part, my heart said otherwise. I was guilty. My questioning of his arrogance had been fed by my own. I had to make things right.
Bathsheba stood and walked to her window, her back to me. I waited, begging Bastet to grant me wisdom. And in a blind moment of fear that such a prayer might offend Yahweh in King David’s house, I even said a silent prayer to him for forgiveness.
Bathsheba turned and perched on the edge of her seat. “Siti.” She extended a hand to me and I took it, startled by how cold her fingers felt. “You must stop fretting over what is done. If God allows you to speak to my son, to tell him you were wrong, to tell him whatever you feel is best, then so be it. But my son will continue to be driven by the beast that wisdom has brought him. I fear . . .” She looked away for a moment as though trying to regain her self-control. “I fear that he worships the gift over the giver. And he sees himself as too wise to do wrong, for he believes his wisdom will stop him. Someday he will find he is wrong. But neither you nor I can tell him so.”
I squeezed her hand in a gesture of gratitude, but my heart felt heavy with the realization that she carried a far greater burden than I. “You fear deeply for him,” I said. “You fear he will be lost in his pride.” For wasn’t that what drove him?
But later, as my litter bearers took me home again, without me taking the time to attempt to find Solomon, I wondered if it wasn’t pride that drove me as well. If I had not been so self-assured that I would be proved right, I might have bowed to Solomon’s wishes and set Bastet aside. Was she not as Solomon said, an object of stone and jewels made with human hands?
The thought made my insides quake with such a sense of disloyalty that I could barely stand straight once the litter stopped at the steps to my palatial home. Home. Where Bastet’s grand figures stood on either side of the doors, much like Solomon’s lions stood beside his throne.
Both were cats, images to remind us of power. So why were mine so wrong? And why had Solomon not been by to visi
t since Bastet had taken her rightful place?
I lay awake too long that night, and though I knew I would not be at my best, I decided I must see the king before the day was out. I needed to understand. And I needed to appease my guilt.
But a knock on my door too soon before dawn put an abrupt stop to my plans. Akila rushed into the room.
“My lady,” she said, her voice still fighting the sleep that had eluded me. “There is news.”
“Tell me.” I knew by her look it was not good.
“The queen . . .” Tears filled her eyes, and my breath hitched as I sensed her next words.
“Has taken ill?” I interrupted.
She shook her head. “Far worse than ill, my princess. They say she has passed into the underworld.” Akila’s wide eyes showed more white than their normal deep brown. “How will she pass the tests of Osiris? She knows nothing of the gods or the things to say to enter eternity.”
I shuddered, knowing it was true. Bathsheba would not have spoken with me of my gods even if I had tried to explain them to her. Solomon’s response to them had told me that much. “Their god is different than ours, Akila. They have another path to travel than we do,” I said. Didn’t they? Suddenly I could make no sense out of any of it. “But how can she be gone? I just spoke with her yesterday.” I sank onto the edge of my bed, my limbs weighted and useless. “She tried to comfort me. She told me she was not ill, just tired.” But hadn’t I seen it in her eyes? She was weary beyond normal weariness. “Surely there will be a funeral.” I was speaking just to hear words now.
Akila nodded. “The king will surely send word when the time comes.”
I stared at my maid and wondered. Would Solomon allow his foreign wives to attend the burial of his beloved mother? Would he be thinking clearly at all?
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