The Pharaoh’s daughter brought gifts of olive oil and wine, along with stories of how difficult it was for her to stay here in a desert country, so far away from her beloved fertile Nile. Her pet, sitting on her lap the entire time in its jeweled collar was more direct.
“Leave us,” the spotted creature hissed for Makeda’s ears only. “Go home.”
She appreciated the Egyptian cat’s candor, if not his tone of delivery.
Naamah the Ammonitess, mother of Rehoboam, arrived with a snot-nosed child clutched in her hand and introduced him as “the next king.”
“The Elders convened a special gathering,” Naamah said, handing her son a large handful of dates from the bowl on the table between them. “They don’t want another queen. What they say is the law. If I were you, I’d be planning my trip home.” She waved around the room. “With all this, your slaves should start packing now.”
Despite wanting to douse the other woman with water, Makeda sipped it to keep from speaking.
Gulping wine, Naamah sneered. “Even if Solomon knew you, even if he gets you with child, even if you have a boy, Rehoboam was born first. Your child will never be heir to the throne of Israel.”
Makeda took another, larger swallow. She understood the mother was looking out for her child. However, the vinegar-tongued woman did not need to know whether she and Solomon had been together. If Makeda had an heir, he or she would have another kingdom to rule. Sheba was enough for any king or queen.
The thought stopped her breath for a moment.
In her kingdom, no one slid verbal spears into her side, unless they wanted to die on a real one. Who needed this constant intrigue and backbiting? She could lead a peaceful life alongside all manner of beasts—except Solomon’s other wives, it seemed. The girl in her wanted to run home to the high plains and play. Perhaps it was time to leave, return home, and be rid of this flock of female birds of prey.
Makeda shook her head. There would be no backing out. She had made a promise. The marriage had been announced by messengers to all the surrounding kingdoms. Tomorrow when the sun stood at its highest, the rams’ horns would sound. Preceded by her guard, accompanied by her handmaidens, and followed by her entourage, the Queen of Sheba would walk from her quarters to the high place where the priests celebrated festivals and rituals while awaiting the completion of the temple.
King Solomon would be waiting for her, wearing the crown his mother gave him for his wedding day. Zadok, the high priest, would call for God’s blessings on the union, as above, so below. Was she truly ready for the joining together of two important kingdoms? Was she prepared to join with Israel’s king? In the dusky light, the mirror shimmered with movement. Her beloved stood behind her. Legs trembling beneath the purple cloth, Makeda held her breath and waited for him to speak.
“I could not wait any longer. I had to come to your chambers.” He placed gentle hands on her arms and turned her around to face him. He kissed her forehead, nibbling down the side of her neck, nuzzling her ear, sending feathery delight down her spine. “I want you now.”
Her heart raced like her mare’s, and the room began to twirl. She closed her eyes to stop the whirling.
He pulled her closer and pressed his hardness into her warm recesses. He moaned into her ear. “See what you do to me? I cannot think, I cannot speak, I cannot do anything but dream of lying with you, running my hands across your breasts, suckling at your nipples, and lapping between your legs.”
Back arched, she could barely breathe. He loved her. That was all that mattered.
I am dark and beautiful, daughters of Jerusalem. Solomon comes to me, not you.
Girl no more, the woman in her took charge, pulled his face close to hers, and spoke her deepest urges.
“My countrymen and women tended to their desires. Yet, I was never allowed to do the same. My father made me guard my virginity. He thought a woman could not rule if she was distracted by a husband and children. If I chose that path, it would be at the cost of my heart. My love, my soul mate, I have found the wisdom I sought in your arms. Your love is better than wine. You have come to my chambers. Tonight we will rejoice in each other’s arms.”
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Your neck is bejeweled, but you don’t need adornment, your eyes are like emeralds. You speak, and my heart skips like a gazelle. Let us lie together and celebrate our love.”
Makeda took his hand and led him to her bed. She lit a single candle and removed her finery with care. Naked, she stood before him and held her hands out.
“My heart is your captive. I only ask you give me what I desire—you and you alone. No robe, no crown, no seals. Just you.”
Eyes shining, never taking his gaze from her face, Solomon removed his crown, placed his seals in a leather pouch, pulled his tunic over his head, and stood before her. “I shall give you whatsoever you ask, my beloved.”
She gasped. Great king, indeed. “You are like a buck, or a young stag, standing on the mountain, ready for the doe.”
He closed the gap between them. The heady scent of myrrh and incense washed over her. “Will you run from me, my doe, or allow me to kiss your apple flavored lips above and below?”
“Your locks are luxuriant, black as the raven. Your legs marble pillars. Your loins are of smoothest ivory, I wish to caress them. Your mouth is sweet. All of you is desirable. You are my love, my mate. I am no doe. I will not run. I shall shout from the highest place to the Jerusalem girls, I am going nowhere. I am home.”
His kisses burned a path between her breasts, down her belly, to her dew-drenched recess. He knelt before her and pulled her closer, his tongue probing her secret place. She moaned, and nearly fell. He lifted her, swung her onto the bed, and placed his left hand under her head. His right hand stroked her breasts and sent burning ripples of desire through her core. Each touch, each kiss branded her. Begging for entrance, his hand pressed against her wet center, and she moaned. Drunk with love, she opened her body and soul for her darling, and he set his seal upon her heart.
****
Solomon awoke at dawn, rolled over, and gazed upon Makeda as she slept. Her lovely black curls flowed across the pillow like rivulets on a parched plain after a rainstorm. Her arms, which held him tight as they rode the stallion of desire into the night, were thrown over her head in surrender. Her breasts, sweet suckling twins, called to him. Beneath the blanket, even more delight awaited him.
“My love.” He traced her nipples with his tongue.
She smiled and opened her eyes.
“You fill me with yearning.” He pressed against her moist center, entreating her with his hardness. Only she could satisfy what he craved. Last night, to his delight, her appetite had been equal to his. She urged him on with her cries of pleasure and pulled him deeper into her womb. If he planted a seed each time, she would carry a dozen babies inside her. Only exhaustion and sleep ceased their lovemaking. Rested, he was ready to begin anew. She pulled his lips to hers and rose to welcome him inside her again.
Bathsheba called from outside. “Solomon, you need to prepare for this wedding. Now.”
Solomon groaned, closed his eyes, and rolled onto his back, his desire a fading memory. “My mother’s spies are everywhere.”
Her face covered with her arm, Makeda shook so hard he thought she was crying. He gently pulled her arm away to console her—and stared at her.
“You dare to laugh at your king?”
“If you’re so wise, shouldn’t you know your mother would find out where you were on the eve of your wedding night? Every palace produces eyes, ears, and mouths that whisper to different loyalties.”
The absurdity of thinking he could keep secrets from anyone, much less his mother, struck down his momentary flash of indignation. He guffawed and shook with laughter, too. “At least Hoopoe didn’t eavesdrop on our lovemaking.”
Makeda pointed at the window. “Are you sure?”
The bird sat on the ledge, spreading his striped wings
in the sun. “Oo-poo!”
Solomon tossed a pillow at the bird, and he fluttered away. “He’d better keep his beak shut, or he’ll be served at our wedding feast.”
Laughing, Makeda mock-begged, “Please, don’t.”
“I could never eat that bird, he’s all bones.”
Makeda swatted him. “Go to your mother.”
He stood and pulled his tunic over his head. “I’ll tell her I was sampling the Sheban spices.”
A shoe narrowly missed his head. He strode back to the bed, sat beside her, pressed her luscious breasts to his chest, and kissed her swollen lips. “My beloved, by giving me your sandal, you made last night’s vows of love binding. Even without the priest’s blessings, we are legally married. Today’s festival will be for the people—and my mother.”
Solomon nodded at Makeda’s giggling handmaidens as he rushed by. They would enjoy the day with their mistress, talking about him, no doubt. He hoped she told them every last detail, including how much she loved him. He wanted to shout his thanks to God and announce, “She is my beloved, and my beloved is mine.” A few goblets of wine and he’d be merry enough to climb the walls of Jerusalem and sing his latest poem, his song of songs, regardless of how much the wretched priests and miserable prophets disapproved. All love came from God.
Bathsheba stood in the shade of the wall of Makeda’s quarters, her arms crossed, never a good sign.
“What’s wrong, Mother?”
“You dare to ask me what’s wrong?” Hands on her hips now, a frown furrowed her brow. “Dawn came and went. You’re lying about in bed when you should be preparing for a state affair. Visitors arrive from every kingdom, including your future wife’s. You need to greet them. This is a royal event. Everything must be done correctly, or the Kingdom of Israel will look like a bunch of Philistines.”
She took a breath, and Solomon seized the moment.
“Am I supposed to be cooking, cleaning, or preparing the table?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Are the servants not doing as they are told?”
Lips pursed, she spat out, “That’s not the point.”
“Why do you reproach me? I was with Makeda, in her chambers. What was so important that you had to interrupt me? Did one of the other wives send you?”
Her face reddened.
“Was it Naamah?”
She averted her eyes.
“The Ammonitess spits out jealousy laced venom with every word.” Despite his annoyance, wisdom forced him to pursue truth. “Why would you listen to her?”
“She begged me to think about Rehoboam and the future of Israel. What if Makeda conceives a boy? Joab killed Absolom, your father’s other son, to prevent a war. We don’t need more challenges for the throne of Israel. It could divide and destroy the nation.”
“Naamah has passed her bitterness on to her son.” He shook his head. “His temper is uncontrollable. He tries my patience with his selfish actions, as does his mother.”
“But, Solomon—”
“Tell Naamah I gave Makeda all she desired.”
“All?” Bathsheba’s eyes widened. “You cannot mean—”
“Last night God spoke to me with His small voice. He blessed Makeda.”
His mother’s shoulders sagged. “There will be war.”
“It’s Rehoboam we should be worried about, Mother, not Makeda’s unborn child.” He took her hands. “Didn’t we agree it was time for you to stop meddling in my affairs?”
She lowered her eyes and nodded.
“Go, now, prepare yourself for the wedding. We shall be joyous and celebrate a momentous day in our nation’s history. Two nations, one family.” He paused. “Who came from Sheba? Is it her uncle?”
Bathsheba shook her head. “The merchant, Tamrin, said he needs to speak with Makeda.”
Solomon waved his hand. “She’s busy getting ready for the biggest day in her life. He can visit with her at the wedding. That will be soon enough.”
He watched his mother dash toward the palace, her handmaidens scurrying to keep up with the older woman. No doubt she was racing to tell Naamah the news. A rival for the throne? Not likely. As long as he found favor in the eyes of the Lord, Solomon would never allow Rehoboam to reign over Israel.
Benaiah caught up with Solomon as he strode up the hill. “I heard you spent the night with the beautiful Makeda.”
Solomon shook his head and kept walking. Every rock and tree gave tongue to his sexual activities, it seemed. “Are there no Philistines for you to slay?”
“Not today. It’s your wedding day.”
“I wager that would be the time to strike an enemy, when people are merry with wine.”
The captain laughed. “Your enemies are kept too busy talking about your latest bride to wage war. Even they want to know if you saw her feet.”
“Her feet?” Solomon shook his head. “Not that again.”
“There is still time to call off the marriage.”
The king bit his lip and stared at his friend.
“My friend, you command the jinnis. They build the temple and work hard. There’s nothing wrong with having a jinniyah pleasure you.” Benaiah paused. “Marriage? Children? That’s not acceptable. Any offspring would be neither jinni nor human. They’d be half-breeds. I ask you as a friend, and as one who lives to protect you and the House of David. Are her feet like a goat’s?”
Not wishing to start a fight hours before his wedding, Solomon bit back harsh words. “All of her is desirable.” With those breasts and loins, only a man dead from the waist down would examine Makeda’s feet. He was not made of wood. Even now, his flesh warmed at the thought of his lover. “I explored all of the Queen of Sheba, and she is without blemish.”
Chapter Thirteen
Summertown, Present Day
Eliana counted to ten. This wasn’t the first time her father had tried to convince her of the magical powers of the ring, nor would it be the last, she was sure. If her mother hadn’t given it to Eliana as she lay dying, she wouldn’t keep the damn thing. A semi-precious stone glinted at each of the six points of the star engraved on the face of the brass and iron signet. Etched between the gems was the tetragammaton, Yod, He, Waw, and He, or YHWH, the four letters in Hebrew that stood for God’s divine name. Despite her father’s role as head rabbi of a tiny Sephardic congregation in Baltimore, she did not share his unshakable faith in the legends of the ring—or her mother’s strict religious customs.
Her mother was an observant Jew, a woman of valor, who kept the Sabbath and scrutinized her household to keep it in accordance with the laws of Moses. If devotion to rituals was any measure of her goodness and faith in God, then she should have been spared from dying a painful death at a young age. An aggressive form of leukemia took her away from them one year after her diagnosis. Angry with God, Eliana fell out of love with religion and refused to go to synagogue ever again. She attended the William Harvey University Center for Talented Youth and fell in love with physics.
“Abba, I’m in the middle of an investigation. I’ll call you when this is over.”
“Your life might be over if you don’t pay attention to me.” He took a deep breath. “Your mother, may she rest in peace, was of Solomonic descent. Her father was a holy man, a Kesim. He kept the Jewish customs alive through storytelling and oral history. During Operation Moses, your grandfather put your mother on the plane in Ethiopia and sent one of the last Torahs written in the ancient language of Ge’ez along with her to Israel.”
An artery began to throb in her right temple, harbinger of a migraine to come. She pressed on it and wished for the meds that sat in the trunk of her car in the parking garage two blocks away from the hospital.
Arta touched her arm and whispered, “Are you okay?”
She shook her head and mouthed the word “migraine.” He patted his pockets, pulled out a green bottle, placed it in her hand, and held up a finger. His steps receded behind her.
“Abba. Please.
I know the story.”
Irritation flashed in his voice. “Why do you act like it’s a fairy tale?”
“More like the Arabian Nights. If my mother was a direct descendant of the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon, then why didn’t she live in the palace with Emperor Haile Selassie instead of a mud hut in the highlands of Gondar?”
“Menelik, the son of Makeda and Solomon, had many wives, concubines, and children. The concubines’ children could not lay any claims to the throne. He gave the ring to his favorite child, a little girl he named Dameka.”
“My great-great-great-grandmother a zillion times over was a concubine. Not even a real wife.”
“Did you forgot everything you learned in Sunday school?”
She could almost see him pulling at his long gray beard, a sign of exasperation with a slow pupil, a stubborn daughter, or both, in her case.
“Abba, you of all people should know information gets jumbled in oral history. It’s like playing ‘Gossip.’ By the time the story got to Ima’s parents, it evolved into a new, colorful story, one that made the family seem more important than just being dirt poor farmers.”
“Don’t be disrespectful. Your grandparents, the Beta Israel of Ethiopia, were a biblical people who lived their lives according to the Tanakh, the teachings of Moses, the prophets, and the writings. That’s more than some people can say.”
She chose not to take the bait. Today of all days, she lacked desire to debate her non-observance of religious customs, like not driving on the Sabbath.
“I’m suggesting family legends may contain a bit of truth within them, but usually that nugget is buried beneath layers of creative story telling.”
“That doesn’t negate the power of the ring. I’m sure that’s why you were able to find the evil jinni in Kentucky. Don’t you see? It’s a homing beacon for jinnis.”
“Homeland Security Operations Center’s satellite technology spotted the abnormal energy pattern and transmitted them to the Science and Technology Directorate and the Anomaly Defense Division, just like we track any other irregularities. The werewolves destroyed that entity, not me. With what they say is their real Seal of Solomon.”
Kiss of the Virgin Queen Page 13