My father nodded and assured them both that I had exceeded his greatest plans for me, that I was well versed in all matters worthy of a princess of Ammon. The praise caused the heat to grow within me, and I hid my eyes from their perusal and studied the tiles at my feet instead, suffering the unpleasant feeling that I was on display.
“Naamah.” Bathsheba spoke my name, jarring my attention from the tiles. I looked her way once more.
“Yes, my queen?” Was she a queen? I suddenly realized that the guard had not instructed us on what to say or how to address the king or this obviously favored wife.
“While your father and the king discuss their business dealings, I would like to show you around the palace. Would you like that?”
I nodded. “Yes, my queen.” Though I wished it was Solomon who had asked the question. Would we meet him in the halls? Should I ask after him?
“Very good,” Bathsheba said, rising from her gilded chair. “Come with me.”
She descended the steps and walked toward a side door I had not noticed before. I glanced at my father. At his lifted brow and quick nod, I knew I should not linger. I bowed low before King David once more, then stood and walked with graceful steps toward the door the queen had entered.
As I stepped through into a smaller but more private antechamber, I stopped short. Bathsheba stood talking with someone that at first I did not recognize. By his resplendent robes I knew him to be royalty, but when he turned to look my way, I found it difficult to breathe. There was no mistaking the resemblance to his mother and his father. And though I had not seen him in five years, I would never forget the intensity in those dark eyes or the twinkle that accompanied his approving smile.
He glanced at his mother, then strode to my side. “Naamah?” He bowed at the waist, and I did the same, unsure at that moment what to do with my hands. I clasped them together to still my sudden nervousness.
“Solomon?” I smiled, though he could not see it behind the veil.
“What a pleasure to see you again,” he said. “Father told me he expected your father to arrive today, but he did not tell me you would be accompanying him. I had hoped you would come one day, and here you are.”
His smile held genuine kindness, or so I told myself, though his words were probably said to be polite, because what else could he say to a young woman who begs her father to travel with his caravan?
I suddenly realized how shameless it must look for me to be here at all. What other ambassador would bring his daughter on such a trip? But I ignored the uneasiness that thought evoked. I was here now, and the man of my many dreams stood before me.
“Thank you, my lord,” I said, glancing from him to my sandaled feet. “I am glad to be here.”
He didn’t respond immediately, causing me to look up. He exchanged a look with his mother, but I could not make sense of his guarded expression or their silent communication. When he returned his attention to me, he smiled. “My mother has allowed me the privilege of escorting you on a tour of the palace. That is, if you would like to join me?”
I studied him but a moment, aware of the slight strain in the pull of his mouth and the fine lines hidden beneath the heavy dark bangs across his brow.
“I would enjoy that very much.” I glanced at his mother. “I hope you will join us, my lady?”
Bathsheba stepped closer and shook her head. “I will look forward to meeting with you before the evening meal. If you don’t mind, I have a few things I need to attend to first.”
I forced myself to remain calm and dignified as I had been taught, though I was suddenly unsure of myself. Five years had changed Solomon, but I could not tell if he was simply wary or worried. When he offered me his arm, I gladly took it.
“Though my father has not yet declared it, I am his intended heir,” he said, leaning close to my ear as he led me through the antechamber. “Unfortunately, his hesitance to say so publicly puts me and my mother at risk.” He indicated the guard that followed at a discreet distance. “Thus the guards.”
“It seems to me,” I said, feeling that sense of understanding we had had so briefly as children return to me now, “that you were in the same predicament when we met five years ago.”
He leaned away to better look at me and chuckled. “So it would seem.”
The hall led to a private door, which he opened without pause. “What is like vinegar to the teeth and smoke to the eyes?” he asked as we stepped into the grandeur of the king’s gardens.
I squinted my eyes as I had that day when I was ten. “A sluggard,” I said, laughing.
He laughed with me. “You remembered.”
“It was not something I would easily forget.”
He smiled at me and settled me on a bench beneath a large terebinth tree, then sat beside me. He fingered the veil at my temple, gently brushing his hand against my cheek. I flushed hot and tingling, even beneath the veil. “Five years ago, we did not have this between us. I enjoyed the ability to look on your face, to easily read your expressions.”
I lowered my gaze, my senses heightened and attuned to his nearness. “I don’t suppose I have to wear it the whole visit,” I said, though I knew Inaya would scold me for days to come if I removed it now.
He seemed to think on that as he used to do when we were young. At last he shook his head. “No. Keep it on.” He smiled in that lazy way that must make every woman in Jerusalem love him. “You are temptation enough with it.”
I did my best not to fidget with the belt at my waist.
“How was your trip from Ammon? I am sorry I have yet to visit your town.”
“It was longer than I expected. At times I can still feel the camel beneath me.”
He laughed, revealing straight white teeth. I caught the hint of mint on his breath. “I prefer the horse to the camel. They are such proud, powerful creatures.”
“They are prettier than a camel, I daresay. And not as ornery.” I clasped my hands to force my nerves to still. Being so close to him after all these years brought on a headier feeling than I had imagined. “Horses would not make the trip as easily, though,” I said. “Some of the terrain we traveled was better suited to a camel, and the ride was slightly less bumpy than a horse could be.”
“You are right, of course. But a horse is far better in battle. Any nation that would be great needs a strong military might. That means a great number of horses and chariots.”
“You have put much thought into your future reign,” I said, hoping he could hear the admiration in my voice.
He shrugged. “I am observant. And I have been sitting on my father’s court most of my life. I would simply choose what is wise for the kingdom.”
“You will make a fine king someday.” And in that moment, I realized that as king, he would not want to be saddled with a foreign wife. Would he?
Before I could pursue the thought, he changed the subject to other topics, to riddles and worship and the political intrigue he could not escape.
“May I ask you something?” I said when our conversation lapsed momentarily into silence. He seemed far away from me in that moment, and I yearned to know why.
He leaned into the bench and lifted a curious brow. “Ask whatever you like, Princess.”
My face flushed at the look in his eyes, but I determined not to allow myself to be flustered by my disobedient emotions. “Why did you stop our correspondence? Not a single word came from you once I turned thirteen.” I looked at my hands, suddenly embarrassed at my boldness. “Did I somehow offend you, my lord?”
Silence followed my question, and I feared that if I had not offended him before, I certainly had done so now. But a moment later he touched my arm. I looked up, meeting his gaze.
“It was not proper to continue to write to a princess of marriageable age. Not without declaring some kind of intentions.” His voice held little emotion, but as I held tight to his gaze, it was he who finally looked away.
“I understand,” I said at last, feeling the loss of some
thing I had savored for too long. He did not want me. He had not spent the past five years pining for me as I had for him. Suddenly I felt utterly foolish for coming here. Perhaps Jabbar was truly the best man for a princess of Ammon. I shuddered at the thought.
“Naamah,” Solomon said, coaxing my chin up with the slightest pressure of his fingers.
I lifted my head, too aware of the moisture filling my eyes. What a fool I was!
“I’m glad you came,” he said, his smile relaxed, as though trying to put me again at ease. “I have thought often of you in the past few years, but I have been caught up in finishing my father’s plans for the temple model, the temple he wants me to build one day. And there is the constant worry that though he acts as though I am his heir, he will not name me so. The tension of waiting and the threat that is always there from my older brothers have been immense.”
I touched his hand, losing myself in the vulnerability of his smile. “I’m sorry. I must sound like a petulant child. It is only that I missed hearing from you. There were so many questions I wanted to ask you—about Adonai.”
He leaned back and studied me. “You have come to believe in Him.” It was not a question. Could he read my faith in my eyes?
I nodded. “Molech no longer holds me captive. But I have often longed to hear more of Adonai from your lips.”
He squeezed my hand and smiled. “I would have enjoyed such a conversation,” he assured me.
Our words grew less awkward after that. The sun moved past the halfway point, and still we talked as though time had never separated us. My stomach grumbled, and we both heard it. He laughed and I joined him.
“I think we have missed the midday meal,” he said, standing. He offered me his hand. “But I know where we can find some almonds and dates to still the hunger until the banquet this evening.”
I allowed him to help me rise, grateful to move my limbs after sitting for so long. “And I suppose we should take that tour of the palace you promised me,” I said, casting him a coy look. I glanced quickly at the guard, who stood watch near the door to the gardens.
Solomon laughed, and the musical ring to it melted my heart. I was in love with this man, as I had been since my youth. I just prayed that I would be able to convince my father that Solomon was in love with me in return.
6
The evening’s banquet was a feast for my senses. From the colorful paintings hung in tapestries on the walls to the glow of lamps held aloft, the place dazzled. The people even more so.
I did not speak with Solomon again that evening, and I could not deny the disappointment I felt. But the women sat separately from the men, and I could only watch as Solomon sat near my father and engaged him in stories that brought laughter and smiles to my father’s lined face. I imagined Solomon talking of me and stating his intentions, but I told myself over and over that my name would not likely even pass their lips during such a meal.
I sought an audience with my father later that evening to discuss my feelings for Solomon, but he could not manage time away from meetings with the king’s treasurer and security advisor long enough to speak with me. I was not used to being put off, but there was nothing to be done but wait.
The sun had long since set, and I stood now in the guest courtyard. The rooms allotted me were spacious, and I had sent Inaya to bed long ago. Still, I was restless. The breeze tugged my night tunic against the curves of my body, and for a brief moment I wondered what Solomon would think of me if he could see me so revealed.
I glanced up at the roof, my heart longing to see him leaning against the parapet, looking down on me here. But the roof stood empty of anyone save the guards who were positioned near each set of stairs, their backs to me. I moved into the shadows just the same, suddenly wanting to keep my privacy. Though a bigger part of me imagined my escape through the halls to Solomon’s rooms, to seek him whom my soul loved.
I retreated to my chamber instead and lay upon the soft bed. Did Solomon love me as I loved him? The question still beat with the rhythm of my heart as I awoke with the predawn light the next morning. I rose quickly, determined to meet my father before he could run off to more meetings. I must know what was to become of me.
I dressed and donned my veil without Inaya’s help but found my father still abed. His manservant allowed me entrance to his chamber, and I sat in a wooden chair on the balcony overlooking Mount Moriah, the famed mountain where Solomon told me God had stopped the very thing He had asked of Abraham—to offer his son Isaac on a stone altar. My heart beat with the memory of the tale as I imagined such a thing, seeing Molech’s bronze arms in my mind’s eye. I shuddered at the thought. Belief in Solomon’s God had stripped Molech of his power over me.
“King David tells me that his son will one day build a temple to Adonai on that mountain.”
I turned at the sound of my father’s voice and rose to kiss his cheeks. He had dressed in his day clothes and combed his hair, looking refreshed and more at peace than I had seen him in many days.
“You are awake at last,” I said, smiling at him.
He rubbed a hand along his stubbled chin. The men of my people did not grow hair on their faces as the men of Israel did.
“And you are up very early, my daughter.” He kissed my cheek as well, and we both sat at a small food-laden table along the balcony.
As he studied me, I felt the prick of uncertainty and suddenly wondered if I was making a huge mistake. I swallowed my fear—and my pride—and held his gaze.
“I wanted to speak with you before you were whisked away from me again.” I took a sip of grape juice, a distraction from my churning thoughts.
“It must be important to wake you before Inaya’s third attempt to get you to rise.” He chuckled and I joined him, though I was certain it came out sounding false.
“It is. To me. Important, that is.” I set the grape juice down and put a hand to my middle.
He lifted a brow and looked at me a moment, then chose a fresh fig from the tray and took a bite.
I drew in a steadying breath. If I didn’t speak now, the chance might not come again. “I want you to give me to Solomon as a wife.”
My father held the half-eaten fig in his hand, then set it down and clasped his hands over mine. “This is a hard thing you ask, my daughter.” He glanced beyond me as if seeing something in the distance, then again held my gaze. “How do you know Solomon wants you? What if his father refuses me?”
I suddenly realized the blow to my father’s pride that such a refusal would mean. And yet I took comfort in my father’s touch. He loved me. He would do as I asked, surely.
“He spent the day with me yesterday. We talked and laughed, and I think he would have kissed me if not for the veil.” I had removed the veil in my father’s presence and casually pointed to where it lay on the chair beside me. “I love him, Abba.” I searched his face, hoping he could see the earnestness of my plea.
“Do you now?” He released my hands and looked toward the mountain. At last he spoke. “And did he voice any desire to make you his bride?”
Disappointment curled in my middle, but I could not lie to Abba. “No,” I said barely above a whisper. “But . . .” I stopped, seeking the right words.
Abba faced me once more, and his sigh seemed weighted. “You are a beautiful young woman, Naamah. A princess fit for kings’ palaces.” He fingered the goblet of juice, still looking at me. “But you must know that if Solomon is to be king, he will take wives other than you for political gain. This is not ideal, and I do not wish such a life for you.” He picked up the goblet but did not drink. Instead, he studied the contents as one reads a scroll.
“I love him, Abba. I have loved him since I was ten and never stopped.”
“He is a Hebrew.”
My heart beat faster in that moment as I studied Abba’s intense dark eyes, so loving, so certain he knew what was best for me.
“He believes in Yahweh . . .” I pulled in a breath and slowly released it. “As do I.�
�� I waited, watching him for some sign of displeasure.
He glanced beyond me toward the sun-washed hills, his thoughts hidden from me as they often were when he grew reflective. At last he set the goblet on the table and took my hand in his.
“Your mother, peace be upon her soul, was Hebrew.” He looked intently at me. “I never told you, but it is the truth.”
I stared at him, my erratic pulse making me feel as though I had run a race and lost. “Why did you not tell me?”
He looked away again, and his face darkened as one ashamed of his silence. “I should have.” He sighed deeply and stood, pacing the small balcony. At last he seemed to weary of his movement, his agitation gone, and settled once more in the seat beside mine.
“Your mother had been a slave in Ammon—actually, the daughter of a slave in my father’s house. When Hanun was deposed by King David and I was made acting ruler in his place, I freed your mother and married her.”
My heart beat to a strange yet familiar, joyous rhythm that I had this heritage, this link to Solomon’s people. “You loved Ima.” It was not a question, and my father only nodded. “As I love Solomon, Abba.”
He glanced beyond me once more, and I knew my words had settled within him. I waited, silently praying to the Unseen One that my father would take my case before the king.
“You risk heartache, my daughter,” he said at last, looking once more into my eyes, his own filled with uncertainty and remembered pain.
“All love risks such loss, Abba. Whether I lose Solomon as you lost Ima or I lose him to another wife along the way, it is a risk I must take.”
He nodded, his bearing resigned. “I will see what I can do.”
I jumped up and kissed his cheeks, laughing with joy. But as he left for a meeting with the king to discuss my fate, I decided that if God gave me Solomon, I would not lose him to any other woman. I would love him so completely that he would want no one but me.
The Desert Princess Page 4