“The Queen of Sheba and her people are at the gate. Her train goes for miles. Wagons laden with gold and ebony, carts full of boxes. Spices, so many spices, the smells made me dizzy. Camels, lions, leopards, cheetahs—”
Laughing, Solomon held his hand up. “Your report lifts my spirits. Rest yourself and your wagging tongue. Stay at your perch. I need you to stop your chatter so I can pay close attention to our guest.”
Would she be as beautiful as Hoopoe said? Or had the long desert trip blinded the bird? So many stories. How could anyone, man or woman live up to them? As much as his other wives and concubines were beautiful and amusing, he thirsted for conversation of a deeper kind than household gossip. Would the Queen of Sheba be wise or foolish? Would her voice be melodious and soothing, or harsh and irritating? Would her skin feel like silk or wool? So many questions, soon to be answered.
A wide-eyed servant raced into the court room and begged permission to speak. His words tumbled out between gasps. “She’s through the gates and coming up the hill—and so are her soldiers, farmers, and animals. Where shall we put them all?”
Solomon nodded to a maid to give the man a drink. “We set aside an entire house for the queen and her handmaids. The others will set up camp with our soldiers.” Mindful of Benaiah’s concerns, Solomon’s warriors would observe the foreigners and ensure their visit was peaceful. At last, it was time for him to leave the palace and greet his royal visitor. Solomon sent a servant to find Benaiah and Zadok. He nodded at the musicians who followed him with trumpets, cymbals, psalteries, harps, and voices raised in song.
Solomon tried to calm his drumming heart. The sun hung overhead, blinding him as he emerged from the cool interior of the palace. He shaded his eyes with his hand and a servant rushed forward with woven palm fronds. Behind the gauzy curtains of a bejeweled litter carried by six strapping men, he discerned a slender figure. The slaves grunted as they placed the elaborate carriage on the brick surface. Three hand-maids clustered about the enclosure and worked to extract their mistress. Two sandals decorated with gold and silver emerged between the hovering women. Contrary to Benaiah’s hand-wringing, her legs ended not in goat’s hooves, but in ten normal, but tiny, toes.
The nation of Sheba had sent a child.
He turned, caught Benaiah’s eye, and raised an eyebrow. The man shrugged. Solomon bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. What was he to do with a woman who hadn’t even had her first cycle with the moon? He wanted serious discourse, conversations about trade, treaties, and treasuries. Disappointment speared his heart and he closed his eyes to block out the scene before him. So much for his dreams of this meeting between nations. In his thoughts and desires, he’d built up the long anticipated day into an exalted event, one worthy of recording for all generations to come. He’d even told the scribes to attend and to record each thing they saw and every word they heard.
Where was Solomon’s wisdom now? Gone. Flown away with the chattering Hoopoe, leaving a foolish monarch in its place. He blinked, shook his head, and sighed. No matter. He had to greet his guest with courtesy and respect as behooved a visiting dignitary.
Assisted to her feet, the girl stood and turned toward Solomon.
She was much older than he first thought. Chin up, back erect, she stared at him with unwavering obsidian eyes. Hoopoe must have been mistaken about her eye color. The boldness of her gaze took him off guard, halting the annoyance of a begrudged welcome, and replacing it with admiration. He wished he could have been that calm under pressure when he was younger. Or was she play-acting like he did before he became wise?
Wrapped in billowing linen and silk, a gold breastplate covering her chest, the dark-complexioned young woman held her head erect under the weight of an ornate wig. A beauty with long lashes and almond shaped eyes, the Queen reminded him of Pharaoh’s daughter, one of his growing numbers of wives. A blasphemous arrangement according to Zadok, the marriage to the Princess of the Nile was a political triumph. With Egypt as an ally, not even the Philistines dared to attack Israel for fear of incurring the wrath of the Pharaoh’s armies. The generous father even threw in the city of Gezer as a dowry for his daughter. What more could a king want?
Love.
That’s what he truly wanted. Each of his wives was beautiful, yet not one had captured his heart like his father’s had been by his mother. On the other hand, look how their passion had torn up their lives. Was yearning for a love match wise?
When the royal stood before Solomon, her chaperone, a tall woman covered from head to toe in white linen, her face concealed in shadows, intoned in the language of merchants and travelers, “Behold, the Queen of Sheba appears before you with great treasures. Our nation sends you one-hundred and twenty talents of gold, abundant spices, precious stones, and animals from throughout our land. If you accept her gifts, please take the Queen’s hand and bid her to join you in feasting.”
He grasped the tips of the young woman’s fingers, and began to intone the well rehearsed words, “Splendid are the offerings of your nation. Your gifts are accepted with awe and gratitude. We are honored by your presence.” He leaned in to kiss her hand. A fresh burn, still in the early stage of healing, caught his attention. He turned her wrist and examined her palm.
Solomon clutched the young woman’s hand, yanked her close, and growled into her wide-eyed face, “Where is the Queen? What did you do to her?”
Trembling beneath his grip, she spoke not a word. A single tear trickled down her cheek.
“Your eyes are not green and your hands are burned from cooking and callused from hard labor. Did you murder your mistress? Who helped you?” He motioned to Benaiah. “Seize this woman, take her to be interrogated.”
Guards grabbed hold of the girl’s arms, her wig toppled to the side, and her gold breastplate twisted on its chains.
The chaperone’s voice rang out over the buzzing crowd, “Stop.”
****
Makeda’s legs shook beneath her long dress, and her heart leaped like a young antelope at the height of a run. Tamrin had not done the king justice. Yes, he had a regal profile, that much was true, but her friend hadn’t spoken of Solomon’s expressive eyes, as brown as her father’s and just as terrifying when enraged and glaring at her as he was right now.
What had she been thinking?
“Who dares to interfere with the will of the King of Israel?”
Hands trembling, she threw her head covering back. “Makeda, Queen of Sheba.”
Her gaze caught in his, and she lost track of time and place. She fell into the dark pools of his eyes, and the rest of the world disappeared. All sounds ceased, except the rush of the blood in her ears and the rasp of her breath. She reached out for help from her animal friends, yet for once in her life, all were silent.
How could that be? Not even the prattling Hoopoe bird spoke.
“You,” he whispered. “Why did you seek to make a fool of me?”
At his voice, ripples danced across her skin, as if a cool breeze caressed her. She squeezed her shaking knees together in a failed attempt to quell the growing warmth between her legs. Was he controlling her thoughts with his rings? Mouth dry as sand, she chose her words with care.
“I had no intention of making you look foolish. I needed to see if you were truly as wise as people said. This was my riddle for you. ‘When is a queen not a queen?’ I ordered my hand maid to switch places with me before we entered the city.”
His response, a roar, reminded her of that fateful day in the cave. He sounded like Metatron, huge blasts of laughter exploding all around, echoed now by the crowd.
“This is the best test anyone has ever given me.” He wiped a tear from his eye and turned to his captain. “Release the handmaid. She shall be rewarded. Not once did she seek to save herself. Only a true leader can inspire loyalty to the death.”
He grasped Makeda’s hand and stopped.
“Your palms. They are callused, almost as much as your handmaid’s. Do your people not serve you?�
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At his touch, her spirit went out of her. Weakness washed over her, and she longed to cling to this man. Controlling her wayward body was more challenging than rendering death sentences. Lust is for animals. At length she spoke with what she hoped was a queen’s reserve.
“My handmaid just put her life at risk for me. What more service could a ruler demand? Would your people do the same for you? Or am I not speaking to the real King Solomon?” She pulled her hand out of his and pointed at a guard. “Perhaps that man is the true ruler of Israel?”
The soldier placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “You dare insult our king?”
Solomon raised his hand. “Benaiah, keep your peace.” Eyes locked with hers, the king spoke loud enough for all to witness. “I meant no insult. The Pharaoh’s daughter came to me with hands as soft as a newborn’s. Yours tell me you do not sit around all day, waiting to be waited upon.”
“My responsibilities take me away from many simple pleasures, but hunting is one I will not and cannot forgo. My father led the men, now it is my duty, one I enjoy.”
Solomon’s eyes grew wide. “A queen who hunts? God never ceases to amaze me. Perhaps we can ride to the hunt while you visit with us? Now, that will be a story for the scribes.” Taking her hand again, he smiled and turned to his musicians. “Let there be music and merriment and feasting.”
High-pitched howls and ululations erupted from the women in the courtyard and bounced off the stone walls, echoing her joy and forbidden desire. She wanted to kiss his full red lips and lie all night with his head between her breasts. Oh, dear Sun God! Why did this fierce reaction come from his touch? No mere human body could experience this explosion of sensations. Controlled by the seals on his hand, her jinniyah half must be betraying her human half. Part of her wished to squash the response, the other part wanted to drag him into bed.
No. Impossible. She promised her father she would remain a virgin, married to her kingdom, not a man. Her nation needed her. Sun God help her, she would need the strength of a lioness to resist this man’s powers.
He smiled and pulled her into the shadows of the courtyard.
Had he read her thoughts? Was he taking her to bed? Was this the meaning of Metatron’s prophesy? Was this wise man her destiny?
“Our children and our children’s children will marvel at the story of our meeting and rejoice in God’s plans for our nations.” He paused in front of a doorway blocked by armed men. “A surprise awaits you.”
Had the man not heard of her promise to her nation? No children would be coming forth from her womb.
He nodded at the soldiers, then led her into the throne room.
Her gaze snagged on Hoopoe. He bowed his head to her, and she gave a laugh of relief mixed with disappointment. “Your bird is too clever by far.”
The king smiled. “Keep looking.”
“Your throne is covered with gold eagles, lions, wolves, sheep, doves, hawks, animals of every kind. It is a magnificent seat for a king.”
“Yes. But that’s not your gift.”
She stepped deeper into the shadowed room and came to a halt.
A carved ivory throne overlaid with gold leaf and encrusted with jewels sat next to King Solomon’s.
A chill glided down her spine. Impossible.
She strode over to the seat and ran her fingers over every jewel, flower, and leaf pattern. “This is a wondrous piece of work. My friend Tamrin must have drawn you a picture of my throne. I must congratulate him on—”
There on the right arm of the throne, in her own hand was the design she’d scratched into the wood, written over and over while she grieved and prayed for guidance as the new ruler of Sheba. Only she had ever seen that word.
Baba.
Anger restrained by years of training, Makeda wheeled on her host. “What is the meaning of this? Who conspired with you to steal my throne? How did it get here ahead of my arrival?”
“You are so far away, I thought you’d like a reminder of home. To answer your other questions…” Solomon beckoned to someone hiding in the shadows. “When I asked him, this one told me he would bring it to me before I rose from my station, for he was strong and trustworthy.”
A mountainous creature stepped forward. Her skin prickled as if on fire and sweat trickled down her back. Fear made her voice harsh. “Who is this?”
Solomon motioned for the creature to approach.
The closer it came to her, the more her skin burned with the stings of a thousand insects. She glanced down at her hands, certain she was covered in blisters. Nothing, not even a welt, appeared. The urge to flee called for her feet to run, but her father’s lessons, pride, and anger rooted Makeda to the brick floor. The Queen of Sheba did not run away.
“This is not a who, but a what. A jinni. And a powerful one, at that. He tried to kill me when we first met.” Solomon waved his bejeweled fingers. “If I did not bind him with my seals, he would destroy us and everything we have built. Instead, he does my bidding and holds his tongue, except when I prompt him to speak.”
The brute’s brazen stare burned with rage and bore into her soul. His eyes widened for a fleeting moment. Then his lips quirked.
The jinni knew.
Chapter Nine
Summertown, Present Day
Eliana stood at the edge of the asphalt and peered into the green mists cloaking the forest. Only half past three in the afternoon, but shadows beyond the tarmac were thickened by the trees. Jinni stink clung to the plants like noxious fumes at the gates of Hell, violating the forest with its presence. Skin tingling with pins and needles, the urge to run after the jinni almost irresistible, she took two steps toward the wooded area and paused. Her mother would tell her to run, not walk, away from the jinni-infested site. How many times had her mother clutched her hand as they walked past decaying houses in their old Baltimore neighborhood? Her mother would hold up her ever-present signet ring given to her by her mother, Eliana’s grandmother, and say, “Jinni stink. This is no place for people like us.”
People like us.
What had her mother meant by that? Ethiopians? Moroccans? Jews? With a Moroccan rabbi for a father, they lived in a Jewish neighborhood and walked to their warm synagogue filled with the comforting sounds of the small congregation. Women sat behind a screen in a balcony, watched their babies, and chatted with one another. The men wrapped in prayer shawls rocked, prayed, and shouted “Amen” in unison at the proper times. Little boys ran up and down the aisles in defiance of all rules of decorum in any other setting.
At the end, families converged on the sidewalk calling, “Good Shabbos, good Sabbath” to one another as they hurried home to dinner, timetables of Jewish life set by Adonai and the commandment to honor the Sabbath and keep it holy. Eliana and her mother would rush home to set the table, prepare the wine, Kiddush cup, and the candles for their prayers before dinner. They needed to beat the setting sun.
While they hurried through the lengthening shadows, her mother taught her about the jinnis. Made from smokeless fire, created by God along with angels and man, these invisible beings came in all varieties—Islamic, Jewish, and Christian. In some places, families of jinnis lived with human families, the humans unaware of the invisible beings at their side. On occasion, this closeness in living arrangements led to accidents. Sometimes humans hurt jinnis without knowing. Jinnis lived for thousands of years and never forgot a slight, intended or unintended.
Their long lifespan allowed them to bide their time to exact revenge, generations later. The more powerful the jinni, the more devastating the blow. To avenge a perceived wrong, the evil ones, the ‘Ifrit, destroyed everything in their path—human or non-human. God forbid a terrorist gain control of one like the one she was tracking right now. The jinni was close, time was of the essence, but she wasn’t about to go in unprepared.
“Arta?”
Eyes closed, breathing with his mouth open, the psychiatrist stood rooted to the spot where he first called out the signature su
lfur smell. Arta turned toward her. His eyes, normally brown, appeared to have a golden cast to them. He blinked, and the illusion disappeared.
“What do you want me to do?”
She gave him a once over and stopped at his spit-polished loafers. “First, change your shoes. You’ll break your neck slipping and sliding in those.”
He glanced down at his feet.
“Second, grab whatever you can carry that the Imam gave you and follow me.” The tingling sensation was ebbing. If she didn’t get moving, she was going to lose the jinni. “I’m going after him.”
“Wait. I’m no park ranger. You leave me, I’ll never find you.”
“If I don’t go now, I’m going to lose him.” She didn’t have time for an argument. The tingling was almost gone. She jogged to the car, placed her too-loose signet ring into the center console, pulled out an ashtray filled with change, and poured the coins into her pocket. “Follow the money.”
“Eliana—”
“Later, Shahani.” She ran into the forest, sniffed the air, and prayed for the pins and needles to reappear. She glanced over her shoulder. Arta bent over the open trunk of the car. She hoped he brought those hiking boots and a pile of holy weapons of ‘Ifrit destruction. She dropped some quarters and moved as fast as she dared, her senses on high alert, her mind wandering back to her childhood, to the time Eliana and her mother encountered an evil jinni.
On their way home from synagogue, a new member of the congregation’s burial society stopped her father. He needed to know the correct way to pray when practicing shomrim, guarding a body from desecration and dybbuks, during the time between death and burial. Her father sent them on home when it became obvious the conversation was going to be a long one. Despite living only a few blocks from the synagogue, the shadows falling across the decaying houses made it seem as if they were miles away from home.
“Ima, Mommy, what’s a dybbuk?”
“The spirit of a dead person. Sometimes they try to crawl into the recently deceased person, take over a body. That’s why we have shomrim.”
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