The Desert Princess

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “My father has bid me to return to court. I have duties, my love. You know this.” He touched my cheek, and I stepped closer, trying to coax him once again into my embrace.

  But he gently pushed me back and shook his head. “I can’t,” he said again. His look was apologetic, but he made no more attempt to kiss me or to touch me. He turned, donned the robe he had worn to my chambers, and stopped once he reached the door. “I will return when I can.” He smiled and winked at me in his usual endearing way.

  I stayed where he had left me near the window, trying to understand why my charms had failed and why my heart felt so weighted. What could be so important about court that he could not take a few hours to walk with me in the gardens? Even if he had not stayed the whole day, he could have given me part of it. But he had made no offer to appease, and I feared that he actually wanted time away from me.

  I sank onto the bed we had shared every night these past weeks and faintly wondered how long it would be until he returned to me. Tears threatened, but I scolded myself as I knew Inaya and my father would do. This was to be expected, a part of palace life.

  After all, a wife could not expect her husband to be with her every waking moment. He would return to me this night, perhaps sooner if he could get away. Surely he would realize how much he missed me.

  In the meantime, I would dress and perhaps seek an audience with Solomon’s mother, as my father had suggested I do. Perhaps Bathsheba could give me insight into Solomon’s thinking, to help me better wind my way into his heart.

  I found Solomon’s mother in her sitting room mending a garment for one of her children. She rose gracefully as the guard allowed me entrance and kissed my cheeks in greeting.

  “Naamah, how good of you to come.” She motioned for me to sit on a cushioned seat opposite the one she had occupied. I obeyed and waited as she gave instructions to a servant to bring us water from the spring and some of her famous date and honey cakes. At last she settled again across from me and set her mending aside.

  “I assume by your presence here that my son has finally left your side and returned to court?” Her eyes held sympathy.

  I nodded. “I tried to coax him into staying, but he insisted he must go.” The hurt in the admission surprised me, and suddenly I felt like a failure.

  Bathsheba gave me a thoughtful look, her smile knowing and slightly pensive. “It is hard to see the first weeks of marriage come to an end and life return to normal.” She glanced beyond me, and I wondered where her thoughts took her.

  “I only wish,” I said, filling the sudden silence, “to be all that he needs. I want to share everything with him, and he with me.”

  She looked into my eyes, but I studied the soft folds of my robe, unable to hold her gaze.

  “You will never be all that he needs, dear girl,” she said, and I looked up, disturbed by the words. “Only God can give us all that we need. Only He can feed the hungriest places in our soul.” She smiled again, and I was touched by her serenity. “Do not try to force Solomon. Give him time, my daughter.”

  “It is just . . .” I could not finish and yet knew I must. “That is . . . I wish things were different for him. I wish he didn’t have so many worries.”

  “I know.” She patted the seat next to her, and I reluctantly rose and sat on the edge. She took my hand as I imagined my mother might have done, though the memories of her dear face had long since faded from my mind’s eye.

  “If Solomon reigns as king as his father has intended, he will need you to be strong, to raise a son to rule after him. This is where you must place your focus and your love, my daughter.” She coaxed me to look at her. “This is how you will best show Solomon your love.”

  My hand moved of its own accord to the place where a child might one day lie. A child of the love Solomon and I shared.

  Did he share it?

  I pondered the question and his mother’s lack of solid answers that night as I lay alone in my bed for the first time since our marriage. Would Solomon call for me again? How soon would he take another wife, and worse, how would I bear it?

  9

  I woke the next morning feeling utterly bereft and endured a scolding by Inaya, which was simply her vain attempt to pull me from my sudden melancholy. She need not have bothered, for on the following day, another without sight of my husband, I was not only missing Solomon but I had apparently come down with an awful stomach illness as well. All I had eaten the night before was deposited in a clay pot before dawn, and I curled back onto my bed and hid my head under the soft linen sheets. Inaya knocked softly and entered without my response.

  “Go away,” I muttered from beneath the folds of cloth.

  “I will do no such thing,” she said in that tone I knew was meant to fix me to rights again. Inaya had been fixing me since Ima passed on, and though I spoke sharply to her and she reproved me in return, I could not bear to be without her. “What is wrong with you, dear girl? Are you ill?”

  She made a disgusted sound a moment later, and I knew she had found the clay pot with my stomach contents.

  “Yes,” I said, poking my head out slowly from my hidden cocoon.

  Inaya ordered a servant to clean the room, then threw open the shutters, sprinkled crushed mint leaves into the oil that fed the lamps, and lit the flames. When she was satisfied the room was sufficiently cleansed, she came to me and touched my forehead.

  “You are not feverish.”

  “No.” The queasy feeling seemed to have subsided, so I pressed a hand to my stomach and slowly sat up.

  Inaya looked me over with her no-nonsense scrutiny. “You have not had your time since two weeks before your wedding.”

  I counted backward. We had been married nearly a month. “It should have come last week.”

  Inaya looked thoughtful. “You are never past your time.”

  Truth dawned, and I stood, nearly losing my balance in the process. “Do you think . . . ” I sat down again, my longing for Solomon stronger than ever now. “I must tell him.”

  Inaya placed a hand on my arm. “Not yet. Wait until we are sure.”

  I stood again and walked to my window, which overlooked the family courtyard. My rooms were on the highest floor of the palace, above Bathsheba’s suite of rooms, which were closest to the king. Solomon’s chambers were not far from me on the other side of the hall.

  Inaya’s advice was probably wise, but suddenly I did not want wisdom. I wanted Solomon, and I had news he would want to hear.

  I whirled about, avoiding my nurse’s gaze. “Help me dress.” My heart beat faster as anticipation mounted. “If I hurry, I might catch him before he leaves for court.”

  Inaya gave me a disapproving scowl, but she did not argue. I did not wait for her to put up my hair but simply draped a veil over my head.

  A few moments later I appeared before the guard who stood watch at Solomon’s door and begged entrance. He merely nodded once, then slipped inside. I waited through the space of many breaths, to the point that I began to chastise myself for making such a grave error. It had been only two days since he had been to my chambers. Was I making myself a nuisance by not giving him more time?

  I tapped my slippered foot on the mosaic tiles and nearly turned around and ran back to my rooms before Solomon could reject me, when the door opened and the guard beckoned me to enter.

  “Naamah,” Solomon said, smiling as he strode toward me. His hair was rumpled and he still wore his night tunic.

  “I woke you.” I should have waited until evening or at least until I was certain. “I’m sorry. I can come another time. It is not important.”

  He took my hand and kissed it. “Of course it is important, or you would not be here.” He led me to an area of plush cushions and settled me beside him. I glanced around, realizing that he had never brought me to this room. Why had he waited to welcome me here?

  I studied our intertwined fingers a moment, then looked at him. He watched me, his expression puzzled as though he were tr
ying to unravel a riddle I had proposed to him.

  “I am not completely certain, my lord,” I said softly, feeling heat rush to my cheeks, but I did not look away. I wanted to see the ever-changing facets of his handsome face and see how he took my news. “But I believe I am carrying your child.”

  His dark eyes grew wide, and he seemed to think over the matter but a moment. A smile lit his face, and he took both of my hands in his and squeezed my fingers. “Already? I did not think . . . that is . . .” He let out a breath. “A child!” He kissed me then and pulled me close, laughing. “My dear Naamah. A child of our love.” He held me at arm’s length. “Surely God will give us a son.”

  I laughed in relief at his reaction. “I thought it wrong to come here, to tell you so soon. When you did not return last night . . .” And the night before, though I did not say it. “I thought you had grown tired of me.”

  He held me close again, and I could feel the beat of his heart against my ear. “Never think such a thing, my love.” The words were soft, a caress.

  I rested my head against him, glad now that I had come. He held me for several moments, and I wished time would stand still. When at last he stood and pulled me to my feet, I looked into his eyes. He smiled down at me and walked me to the door, promising to call for me soon.

  A baby! I pressed a hand to my heart, barely daring to believe it. My father would be pleased beyond measure!

  I did not realize it immediately, or even halfway through the morning as I penned a letter to my father with the news. So caught up was I in the excitement of the moment that it did not occur to me until the servants came to dress me for the evening meal that Solomon had not invited me to stay with him this day or to return to him this night. And in that moment I sensed a slight shift in our relationship. He had said he would call for me.

  I was not invited to visit him unannounced again.

  Fortunately for me, Solomon was an attentive husband, and though he did not often call me to his chambers, he often visited mine. I was not ill in the evenings, so our nights were filled with music and dancing and laughing at silly riddles we invented.

  “I went past the field of a sluggard today,” he said one night as he lounged among the plush pillows adorning a large couch in my sitting room. I straightened and smiled.

  “What did you see?” I asked, wrapping a hand around his arm.

  “I saw a man who lacks judgment. Thorns had come up everywhere and the ground was covered with weeds. The stone wall was in ruins.” He glanced at me, his look thoughtful. “I applied my heart to what I observed and learned a lesson from what I saw.”

  “What did you learn?” I loved hearing the sound of his voice as he taught.

  “I learned that a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest—and poverty will come on you like a bandit and scarcity like an armed man.”

  I looked into his face, saw the slightest clenching of his jaw.

  “You are not a man who would ever face such scarcity, my husband, for you are too wise to be lazy.” I took his hand in mine and felt the strength in his gentle squeeze. “I like it when you share your thoughts with me.”

  He gazed down at me and traced a finger along my jaw. “Thank you for listening.” His look grew distant then, and I yearned to pull him back.

  “I find the heart of my husband a deep well. One whose depths I long to scale, to know your every thought.” I leaned closer to him and kissed his bearded cheek.

  He responded as I hoped—pulled me onto his lap and kissed me. I relaxed into his embrace, wishing such times with him never had to end.

  “As the heavens are high and the earth is deep, beloved, so the hearts of kings are unsearchable. Though I may not yet be king, I fear you wish to know more than I am able to tell. I don’t fully understand myself. How can I share with you what I have yet to grasp?”

  “Your mother seems to understand you,” I said softly, stroking his cheek and coaxing his gaze to meet mine.

  He touched a finger to my lips. “Only God knows the heart, dear wife. My mother knows me even less than you do.”

  I was tempted to share with him my doubts to that truth but realized I could not bear to break the camaraderie we shared in that moment.

  “Well, I am glad to know you at all!” I wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him. “My lover is mine and I am his,” I whispered in his ear.

  He laughed, the sound joyous and musical to my ears. “Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon, my love,” he said as he hovered a kiss just over my lips. “Your mouth is lovely.” He had returned to the dance of our love, and we spoke the words like a sacred song.

  I rested that night with Solomon peaceful beside me. But as I finally drifted into sleep, shouts in the outer halls shook us both awake.

  “Stay here,” Solomon ordered, his tone like that of a commander, not a lover. He quickly dressed and left my rooms.

  A shiver worked through me, and my mind whirled with images of my past, of Ima, of Padi, and of the ever-present worry of Solomon’s own brothers. I wanted desperately to follow Solomon, to feel his reassurance beside me. But by his tone I knew he was not to be disobeyed.

  Quaking, I wrapped the covers about me and crept to the door. If anything happened to Solomon . . . I placed a hand over the place where the babe grew in the secret place, my stomach twisting in a sickening knot. I had to protect him . . . or her. Footsteps rushed through the halls outside my door, and I heard distant shouts coming from both directions. My nerves were near the snapping point when Inaya burst through the door.

  “What happened?” I rushed to her side, pulled into her strong embrace.

  “The king is ill.”

  I stepped back and searched her worried gaze. Inaya was my rock, my strength, but the fear in her eyes made my knees wobble once more.

  I sank onto my bed, which still held Solomon’s warmth. Had only a few moments passed? “Why hasn’t Solomon come to tell me this?” In my condition, I needed him more than ever now.

  “You should be asking me, ‘How ill?’ dear girl, not worrying about why your husband is not here. If the king dies without naming Solomon king, there will be more trouble than you have seen in your lifetime.” Inaya paced the floor in front of me.

  I had never seen her so agitated, wringing her hands, and suddenly I was no longer weary but contrite. Inaya was right, and I was being childish. “What can we do?”

  “Pray to Solomon’s God to spare the king’s life until Solomon’s coronation. Your life and the life of your child depend on it.”

  I put a hand to my belly where the slight swell of a child had started to show. I had proudly shown Solomon just hours before, and he had held me close. “I had not thought of that.” In all of my worry, the danger had always been for my husband and his mother. I had not seriously thought that the life of my child could also be a threat to Adonijah or any other of Solomon’s older brothers.

  “Well, it is time you did.” Inaya stopped pacing and sank to her knees on a lambskin rug in front of the plush couch. She bowed low, and I recognized her intent.

  I slipped from the bed and came to kneel beside her, bowing low on the floor as well. I closed my eyes, my thoughts swirling, incoherent. I did not know how to pray for this! Please, Unseen One, spare my husband. The prayer became a mantra in my heart until I heard Inaya begging God to save the king’s life. Fear still held its grip on my heart, but slowly, haltingly, my prayers included the king and Solomon’s mother and the babe. I did not ask for myself. It seemed too selfish a prayer, but as the night wore on, I pleaded with Him to save the king’s life until my husband was king and King David could hold his grandson on his knees.

  A knock on my door startled me, but I could not get up from kneeling fast enough to open it. A servant relieved me of the need, and I had just regained my bearings when Bathsheba’s maid Tirzah approached me.

  “What news do you bring?” I continued to move to coax my legs to cease their tingling.
r />   “The king is quite ill, but they believe he will recover.”

  I paused in my pacing. “They are quite sure of this?” Relief filled me, and my head felt suddenly too light. The room moved, though I was standing still.

  Tirzah, seeming to sense my wooziness, steadied me and guided me to my couch. “As sure as anyone can be about life and death, mistress.”

  A servant brought me water and I greedily drank. “This is good news. Thank you for telling me.”

  Tirzah smiled. “As always, mistress.” She bid me farewell, and Inaya helped me to my bed, where I crawled beneath the covers to finally sleep. But the trauma of the night brought fitful dreams.

  Throughout the coming weeks, King David’s condition improved only slightly. The danger of his imminent death had averted, but the ailment had left him perpetually cold. Not even Bathsheba’s body beside him could relieve him of his distress.

  “The king’s counselors have decided, with the king’s permission,” Bathsheba told me one afternoon, “to send for a virgin to warm the king’s bed. Perhaps this will help him.”

  I looked sharply at my mother-in-law, trying to read her thoughts. “Are you happy with this decision?” The king had taken few wives since Bathsheba, and she was his obvious favorite of them all.

  Bathsheba shrugged one shoulder and gave me a reassuring smile. “The king has assured me that the woman will remain a virgin. She will be a wife in name only.” She smoothed a wrinkle in her robe. “The king would appease his counselors.”

  I nodded, but as the news settled inside me, realization dawned, making me feel suddenly sick. A king’s wives passed on to the future king. If King David kept this girl a virgin, then whoever reigned after him would marry her as a true bride. Solomon still expected to rule after his father.

  “Do they have a woman in mind?” I could not smile, but I had learned through years of training to hide the turmoil roiling within me.