Kiss of the Virgin Queen

by Sharon Buchbinder

  The priest’s indignation burned a hole in Solomon’s forehead. “God will not appear just because you summon Him.”

  “I am not attempting to summon our Lord like a witch would summon the dead or a jinni. The voice of God is not only for my ears, but for my heart and soul.” Weary of defending his decision, Solomon spoke through gritted teeth. “Did not a burning bush speak to Moses in the wilderness when he was alone? I strain my ears for the voice of the Lord, the Bat Ḳol, when I am amongst the people. If He uses his small voice, how am I to pick Him out over the din of men who shout like braying jackasses?”

  Lips twisted in disapproval, Zadok’s breath hissed through gritted teeth. “As you wish. I shall return to the city and tell Bathsheba of your decision.” The priest shook his head. “She won’t be happy.”

  Solomon barked a mirthless laugh. “She won’t be pleased until she rules the world—through me.” All the more reason for my sacred retreat. If only he knew how to achieve justice with mercy without killing everyone who opposed him.

  Day after day, night after night, the voice of the Lord was silent. On the fortieth night of his fast, alone at the crest of the mountain, huddled at the base of the altar, Solomon cried out, “Lord, what did I do to displease you? Will you not grant me one word, one small sound of your voice? What should I do about my mother’s plans to marry me to every ally’s daughter? Each week she brings me another proposal. They number like the stars. I love women, but I am only a man. I have limits.” He held his hands up, beseeching his Lord.

  “Who can I trust? How can I be a good husband to so many women? How can I be a good father to an army of children? What should I do when the women bicker and fight with one another? What should I do with the building plans my father left for your Temple? Where shall I find laborers and supplies? Is there no better way to rule except by killing my enemies? So many questions, Lord, so few honest answers.

  Please, I beg of you, speak to me, tell me what to do.”

  He fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed. A man wearing white linen appeared before him.

  “God answers your prayers. I, Gabriel, bring you good tidings and the first of many gifts.” The man handed him a small cedar box and vanished in a burst of stars.

  A soft breeze stroked his cheek, and a small voice whispered, “Solomon.”

  He strained his eyes and ears, seeking the owner of the voice.

  “Solomon.”

  He fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground. Hot tears bathed the rocks beneath his cheeks. “Thank you, Lord, for hearing my prayers.”

  The small voice grew into a large voice and resonated in Solomon’s chest like the echo of a drum. “Ask what I should give you.”

  This was the moment he’d prayed for, the request practiced each day, morning and night. Words tumbled out of his mouth, one after the other, like a flock of tiny birds taking flight at the first light. “I am only a little child when it comes to ruling. I don’t know whether to go out or come in. Give me an understanding mind, the ability to discern between good and evil. Give me wisdom.”

  A sigh of wind lifted the hair on the back of his neck, and a thrill raced through his trembling limbs. The Lord speaks. To me! How would he tell his mother, Benaiah, Zadok, and Nathan of this moment? Words could never do it justice.

  Like thunder rolling over a mountaintop, the invisible one’s voice shook every fiber in Solomon’s being. “Because you requested this, and not long life or riches for yourself, or for the life of your enemies, but asked for discernment between wrong and right, I do according to your word.”

  The earth rumbled and pebbles danced on Solomon’s hands.

  “I hereby give you a wise and discerning mind—no one like you has been before you, and no one like you shall rise after you. I give you also what you have not asked, many gifts, riches, and honor all your life. No other king shall compare with you. If you walk in my ways, keep my commandments, I will lengthen your life.”

  Solomon awoke with a start. Rosy streaks of light smeared the night sky. He blinked and searched for some physical sign of the Lord’s presence and promises. Nothing had changed. Yet everything was different. The sun crested the peak of the mountain, blinding him with its brightness. Songs praising the Lord exploded all around him. Every bird, tree, bush, blade of grass, each rock and grain of sand, it seemed, lent their voice, one louder than the next. Was this clamor and chaos his gift?

  Heart hammering like a sword beating on a shield, Solomon covered his ears and shouted, “Lord, what is this uproar you send me? I don’t wish to seem ungrateful, but I cannot even think with this din. Help me, please, I pray of you, to sort this noise out.”

  The racket subsided to normal birdsongs. Beneath the trills and chirps, he could still make out an undercurrent of chatter. “Look how the sun rises on the crest.”

  “Bugs, I need some bugs for my babies.”

  Could they not keep these thoughts to themselves? Not to be ungrateful, but how was he to separate the chaff from the grain?

  A hoopoe bird swooped down, stood before Solomon, and bowed. “I offer you my services.”

  Tickled from his toes to the tips of his fingers, Solomon laughed until he wept. “Hoopoe bird, pray tell, what can you do for me that my army cannot?”

  The bird spread his black and white striped wings and ruffled his feathers. “My vision goes for miles. I can spy on your enemies and bring you news from other countries. Not to praise myself too highly, I can do something none of your soldiers can do. I can fly.”

  The laughter died on his lips. “I beg your pardon, Hoopoe. I am in need of your services. Come, be with me at all times. I shall treat you with the respect you deserve.”

  The foot long creature flew up and perched on his shoulder. “You are wise, my King.”

  Despite the azure skies and bright sun, thunder roared overhead, and a ball of blue fire streaked down from the sky, landed on his outstretched hand, and extinguished itself, leaving his palm unharmed. Power coursed through Solomon from his head down to his feet. The spirit of God burned but did not consume the bush before Moses. Now it burned but did not consume Solomon. He howled with joy and turned toward the soldiers’ camp at the base of the hill.

  Hoopoe dug his claws into his shoulders and called, “Oop-poo, what is that wooden case on the ground?”

  Tilted on its side, the box from his dream lay wedged against a boulder. Gabriel’s gift from the Lord.

  It was real.

  Solomon picked it up and tried to pry it open with his fingertips, to no avail. He shook his head. Tucking the box under his arm, he leaped down the mountain with the speed and sure footedness of a stag. The Lord answered his prayers, spoke to him, and promised him wisdom. His heart felt as if it would burst. It was a miracle.

  “Benaiah,” he shouted as he approached the cluster of men still eating their morning bread. “The Lord heard my prayers. I’m ready to go home now. Bring the horses.” Oh, dear Lord, did they talk, too?

  A black horse looked him straight in the eye, nodded, stomped the ground with his right forefoot, and neighed. “Yes, but we can keep our counsel and your secrets. We live to serve you.”

  Breathless with the excitement of each new discovery, awe swelled up in his chest. He raised his hands and lifted his face to the morning sky. “Who is like unto you, oh Lord? Let everything that breathes praise you—but not too loudly, please!”

  Singing God’s praises between each breath, Solomon relayed his miraculous story to Benaiah and his men.

  The soldiers shouted “Kadosh, kadosh, kadosh! Holy, holy, holy, the Lord God is all mighty!” Benaiah sent half of his men ahead to prepare the way for their King and to share the news of a great miracle.

  As Solomon and his bodyguard galloped up to Jerusalem, the city gates gleamed golden in the afternoon sun. Inside the walled city, people, his people, too many to count, thronged the route to the palace and called his name.

  Solomon’s soul burned with the fire o
f a million suns and overflowed with love for all of God’s creatures. He called back to the growing crowd, “His Glory is within me. We are blessed. Praise Him with rams’ horns sounds, praise Him with tambourine and dance, praise Him with lute and harp, clanging cymbals, strings and pipe.”

  By the time Solomon arrived at the palace, his voice was hoarse from singing and shouting, but he didn’t care.

  Joy spurred him onward. He leaped down from his blessedly silent mount, raced into his mother’s private quarters, and lifted the open-mouthed Bathsheba off her feet.

  “Put me down. What’s wrong with you? What is a bird doing on your shoulder?”

  Unable to contain his glee, he laughed and returned his mother to the stone floor.

  “Hoopoe is my servant. He flies where men cannot and reports back to me.”

  Arms folded across her chest, her face creased in disapproval.

  “Zadok and Nathan warned me your overlong fast might make you go mad. They were right.”

  Solomon laughed until his knees grew weak. “I hungered and thirsted for the Lord’s voice.” He wiped tears off his cheeks.

  “He spoke to me, first in His small voice, then booming, echoing off the hills.”

  She continued to gaze at him, concern carved into her face.

  “Oh, Mother, you have no idea, do you? You’ve never felt the Lord’s voice move through you, or His spirit fill you with the fire that burns, but does not consume.” He grabbed her to his chest. “Feel how my heart races. It is the Lord, roaring in my breast like the greatest of lions. He is with me, Mother. God exalts me among men, fills me with His power.”

  She shook in his arms, and he realized she was weeping.

  What was wrong with her? Couldn’t she see this was good news? “Mother, please don’t cry. Rejoice. Your son is now a man filled with wisdom.”

  She pulled away and wrapped her arms around her shaking shoulders. Silver hairs stood out alongside her high cheekbones where once only burnished brown had been. Crow’s feet wrinkled next to her eyes, and gaps appeared between her teeth.

  He’d only been gone forty nights. How had she aged so much in such a short time? Or was it that his vision was clear now, no longer shrouded in a cloud of memories of her youth and beauty? Tears streaked her wrinkled cheeks, and her lips trembled. “Does this mean I’m of no use to you now? Will you cast me out of your life? Send me into exile?”

  Why would she think such a thing? “Mother, no, never.”

  “You said you would rid your life of me.”

  Solomon knelt before her and held her thin hands. “Dearest Mother, please forgive me. I spoke in anger, before I became wise. We are commanded to honor our father and mother.”

  She raised her gaze to his. “And?”

  He searched her face for signs of subterfuge. Instead, he saw an old woman who feared she would be left to die in poverty, abandoned by her son. “Mother, you will always have a home with me.”

  “A home? But what of the throne room? Will I be allowed to counsel you?”

  There was the Bathsheba of old. He had to smile. “You may give me advice, but I choose if I use it.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “So be it.” She brushed away her tears, shook her head, and straightened her shoulders. “I’ll tell the servants to prepare the feast.”

  As she headed for the cooking quarters, the bird whispered in his ear. “Is she always so weepy?”

  “Be careful, my little friend. The lioness may be old, but she still has sharp teeth.”

  As Solomon rose to his feet, a servant appeared in the doorway and bowed. “Benaiah said I should give this to you.” He placed the box on floor and backed out of the room.

  A thrill of anticipation filled him. “Hoopoe, shall we see what’s in the wooden case?”

  The bird shrugged, fluttered over to the queen’s dressing table, and pecked at a kohl vial.

  Solomon turned the box over, searched for a gap in the wood, and tested a seam with the tip of his knife. Ornate engraving covered each side.

  “It says, ‘What is the greatest name of all?’ That’s simple. There is only one. God.”

  The lid flew open, revealing a dozen or more brass and iron sealing rings. He slid one onto his right index finger, held it up to the waning afternoon light, and examined the Hebrew characters in the pentacle. “What am I to do with these? Seal my scrolls?”

  A blinding light filled the room. Legs trembling, Solomon wondered if God was visiting him again.

  Did I displease Him?

  “Lord, have you decided I’m not worthy of your gifts? What have I done?”

  A swirling green mist surrounded a giant brandishing a sword.

  This was not the invisible God. Nor was it a human. And, he doubted it was an angel. That left only two other kinds of creatures, ones he’d never encountered before, but heard stories about at his father’s knee. It had to be a demon or a jinni. Either way, it looked like it wanted to kill Solomon.

  Chapter Four

  Aksum, 957 B.C.E.

  Three years after her father’s death, at the age of eighteen, Makeda climbed the stairs to begin the legal proceedings for the day. A profusion of green trees and purple flowers met her eye and lifted her heart. The gardeners had followed her instructions well, providing a calm environment to weaken the demons who fed on anger. If her days of reveling in the beauty of the land, mountains, streams, and skies, where she set aside her regal identity for a brief time and just be were over, at least she had this garden to remind her of her beloved countryside. Hundreds of birds in all varieties roosted in the treetops and called out to one another in a constant stream of background chatter. In addition to the comfort of having the birds close at hand, they also served as her eyes and ears when she was otherwise occupied. Vivacious and smart, the green parrots were her favorites.

  She waved at an emerald male preening himself on a low branch, and patted the arm of her chair. He flew to her side, nuzzled her ear with his beak, and nipped at her gold earring.

  “Pretty. For me?”

  “Silly bird, you need no adornment.” She rubbed his cheek and considered her next words. A few compliments and he’d do her bidding all day long. “You are too beautiful now. Who will look at me with you in the room?”

  He plumped himself up. “Right you are, Queen.”

  “I ask a favor.”

  He cocked his head. “Your wish is my command.”

  “A troubling dispute comes before me today. The Chamberlain tells me two women, next door neighbors, are quarreling over a missing gold chain. By all accounts, each woman is honest. The piece is missing. Was it stolen or misplaced? I need someone smart and impartial to help me solve this problem. Can you fly to their houses and tell me what you see? I need you to be quick about it. Do you think you can you do it? Maybe I should ask another bird, perhaps the ibis?”

  The parrot squawked. “The ibis? He can barely find his own bugs. Can’t stop shouting ‘haa-haa’ all day long. I’m the bird for this task.” With that, he spread his wings and flew out a tall window, grazing an incoming ibis.

  “Haa-haa! Get out of my way.”

  The parrot was right. The ibis couldn’t keep his beak shut. She smiled and turned to the sea of faces below her. While she’d been whispering to the parrot, the room had filled up with petitioners. A cordon of her finest warriors stood at the ready, lest bickering led to the drawing of knives and spears. She motioned to her Chamberlain to proceed. He pounded his staff of office on the stone floor and shouted for quiet. At his nod, a tightly bound cluster of four people struggled forward, knelt, and placed their heads upon the floor.

  The Chamberlain, a tall man with hair sprinkled with gray, intoned in his deep voice, “Who is the aggrieved?”

  Three hands shot up.

  Makeda shook her head.

  Wisdom. Where are you when I need you?

  The Chamberlain frowned. “You can’t all be the aggrieved. Who brings this dispute to the Queen?”

&n
bsp; One hand.

  “Rise and tell us your story.”

  An older man clad in a brown loincloth and a lion tooth hanging from his neck rose with difficulty. Stooped shoulders, sad eyes, head bowed, sorrow filled his body. “I gave my only daughter in marriage to that man.” He pointed at the young man prostrate on the floor. “She is a good girl. A loving daughter.”

  Makeda interrupted the petitioner. “Is she here with you now?”

  A tear trickled down his cheek. “No, my Queen. My daughter is no longer with us. Her mother and I believe her husband harmed her. Three moons have passed since we tried to visit her. That man told me she ran away. I don’t believe him.”

  The Chamberlain poked the accused with his staff. “Rise and speak.”

  The young man leaped to his feet and faced his accuser. A thick twisted chain of gold banged on his broad chest, and abdominal muscles rippled beneath well-oiled skin. Hands balled into fists, he spat his words out one by one. “I gave her a good home. She couldn’t cook, clean, or make love the right way. I had to teach her everything. She didn’t like her lessons. Disobedient, worthless thing ran away.”

  The girl’s white haired mother lay on the floor, shaking and sobbing. Makeda had the strong feeling the ‘lessons’ involved his fists. Wisdom, please, help me. I cannot judge against a man just because I don’t like him. “Who is that woman with you?”

  Makeda nodded to the Chamberlain. He prodded the young man’s companion. She wore a long white dress and rose on swollen, unsteady feet. Her hair and face hooded, shadows obscured her features. Not even loose clothing could hide her belly heavy with child.

  Makeda leaned forward. “Take off your head covering.”

  Moments stretched into minutes as the girl unwrapped the long cloth and revealed her battered face. Swollen eyes, split and bleeding lips gave mute witness to the abuse she withstood at this man’s hands. A collective gasp filled the room.

  “Is this your daughter?”

  The old man shook his head. “This is not my child.”