Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba

by Edghill, India

  Seven gates those who would enter the Inner Court must pass, and at each, a garment or a jewel must be surrendered. Sandals at the first gate, so the petitioner walked barefoot to reach the ultimate sanctuary.

  Girdle unclasped at the second gate. She handed the band of woven gold and silver to the priest waiting silently before the gate’s smooth panels of polished jade.

  Necklace at the third gate; bracelets at the fourth. At the fifth gate, the elaborate gold earrings fashioned to look like flaming suns. At the sixth, she unpinned her gown; the heavy silk slid down her body, hissed softly to the floor. She stepped carefully over the mass of fabric and walked onward.

  One thing only remained to her: the goddess’s veil. Until the seventh gate, the veil protected her. There, even that illusion must be surrendered.

  Silence lay thick about her, the air itself heavy and soft, like warm honey. Emptying her mind of fear and desire was her task now, a goal she knew she failed to attain. I did better the first time I dared this, and the second. What is wrong with me, that I fail now?

  You know why. Now the stakes are too high. If you fail, Sheba falls.

  The seventh gate was made of wood from the frankincense tree, polished smooth and sheathed in horn. Here there was no priest to ask for and to receive the symbols of her womanhood. This gate she must pass alone.

  Beneath the veil she lifted her arms and raised the jeweled circlet from her head. As if pleased to be released, the goddess-veil slithered over her upraised arms and down her back to lie in a glinting heap upon the floor at her feet. She stared down at the abandoned veil, opened her hands and let the circlet fall onto the crumpled cloth. Now there was nothing between her and the Inner Court but the gate of wood and horn before her.

  Now she was ready to stand before the goddess, a supplicant like any other. She set her hand to the bar and opened the seventh gate.

  Light flooded over her; she walked forward, into the goddess’s Inner Court. There was no idol here, no statue to confine the Sun Herself within its golden skin. There was only a roofless courtyard, gilded walls encircling her, amber floor warm as blood beneath her feet. Sunlight poured into the courtyard, pale and harsh; the walls blazed bright as noon sun. Within that circle of burning light, only goddess and worshipper remained, what passed between them sacred to them alone.

  Golden light blazed so hot she closed her eyes against its force. She neither knelt nor petitioned; the Bright Lady required no words to know what was in Her human daughter’s heart. Bilqis had come not to speak, but to listen.

  So hard, to stand and wait, to be nothing but a cup for the goddess to fill or not, as She chose. In this place of pure white light, nothing was hidden, nothing shadowed. Naked to her goddess. No concealment possible.

  Naked to herself

  That, even more than her openness to Ilat’s sun-eyes, frightened her. Although she had stood here in this circle of gold and light twice before, today she feared more deeply, as if she looked farther into eternity now.

  I must not fear. I must not despair. And I must not hurry. I must wait.

  Wait and empty herself of all thought, all passion, all desire. Even the worthiest longing must be smoothed into patient acceptance.

  Wait. And trust Ilat. Why had she come, if she did not trust the goddess to answer? Look within yourself, to see how you fail, and why. Look within, Bilqis.

  The voice was her own, reminding her of what she must do here. Obedient, she looked, her mind spiraling inward, seeking. You know what must be done; why do you fear to do it?

  Because the cost of failure was too high to be borne. A cost that would be paid not by her, but by all those to come after. If I fail, Sheba is punished, not I.

  There it was, the lump of terror frozen at her heart’s core. Her Sheba, her land, her people—all rested easy, certain of her power. Certain of their future.

  A future only you can give them, child. The words came from nowhere, written in white fire before her dazzled eyes. Only you.

  “What must I do?” she whispered into the blinding light.

  You know. Seek and you will find what you seek. How else?

  Seek and find—

  The answer came, clear as sunlight, so simple she laughed in surprise and relief. If she could not bear a daughter, she must find one.

  You must seek a true queen to rule over the sunlight land, the incense land, the land gods love. The words sang clear, revealing a truth she had refused until now to admit. How could I not have understood what I must do?

  She had known all along that she must choose a successor. But that was not easy to do, not and leave peace as her legacy. For she could not choose a girl from one of Sheba’s noble families to raise up; any choice she made among them would breed quarrels. Quarrels bred war. But now, at last, she had an answer, saw a way to escape the maze of family ties and tangled loyalties.

  So our Mother will grant me a daughter—but I myself must seek the child out, and must travel far to find her. She must seek elsewhere, undertake a quest to some far land from which she could return with the next Queen of Sheba. With a girl whose right to rule none can dispute, for she will be my true daughter, a daughter chosen by our Mother Ilat, by the Bright Lady Herself.

  Now she knelt, pressing her lips to the blood-hot floor in gratitude for the goddess’s aid, for the comforting certainty that flowed through her, easing all pain.

  Sheba’s crown would pass gently to its next queen; the goddess promised this boon. Now it remained only to learn where, among all the world’s kingdoms, the Queen of Sheba must search for the girl the goddess would choose—

  Even if that goddess is I.

  That night she slept deep and dreamless, awakening to find herself rested in body and easy in mind. And for all her secret doubts of Ilat’s true concern for Sheba’s future, it was upon that day, the day following her visit to the Temple’s Inner Court, that emissaries of a foreign king came to Ma’rib, came to petition the Queen of the South on behalf of a king of whom she had never heard.

  The king of a land far to the north of Sheba and its treasures of gold and spices: Solomon, King of Wisdom.

  It was not the queen’s day to sit in judgment, and so she had claimed the day’s hours for her own. Clad only in a skirt of fine linen, she sat quiet in her garden upon a bench carved of rose-red stone; savored the scents of lilies and lilac, the warmth of the sun upon her unbound hair. Such interludes were rare in Queen Bilqis’s life, so when Khurrami came soft-footed along the garden path with a message, it was with hand outstretched in apology.

  “I crave the queen’s pardon for disturbing her peace.”

  Bilqis sighed. “You would not do so without reason. Speak.”

  “The chief steward asked me to bring word that a king’s emissaries have arrived in Ma’rib and crave audience with the queen.”

  And this news could not wait? She folded the thought away, struggled to show Khurrami a placid face. “Emissaries? They must be important or importunate indeed—”

  “To trouble the queen without delay,” Khurrami finished for her, and lifted one smooth shoulder in annoyance. “But we all know what the chief steward is; he swore the matter urgent.”

  “Ah, well—” Bilqis smiled in rueful agreement; Shakarib was an excellent master of the court—but he did seem to treat all matters as equally weighty. “Tell me of these urgent envoys.”

  “I will tell what I know, which is that they come from a land far to the north—”

  A land far to the north … . Something in those words kindled the queen’s blood, caused her breath to thicken in her throat. A vagrant breeze stroked her, and suddenly she knew it was the Bright Queen’s answer to her ardent prayer. These men from beyond the burning sands somehow held the answer she had sought for so long.

  “—so far away that their kingdom lies beyond the great desert itself. Although they did not travel over the sands but voyaged down the Red Sea, in a merchant’s ship—”

  As Khurrami spoke, Bil
qis fought the temptation to demand the travelers be summoned at once before her; that would be neither kind nor wise. She held up her hand, and Khurrami fell silent.

  “I do not care how they came; they are here now. A far land, you say? A long journey, then; give these strangers all they desire, and then, when they are rested, bring them before me and I will question them, and learn why they have come.”

  Courtesies satisfied, Khurrami bowed, and Bilqis turned away. Both knew why the men from the north had come so far, and what they would ask. Merchants who dared the journey paid well for Sheban spice—and reaped a hundredfold reward for their daring in their own marketplaces.

  Spice lured all the world to Sheba.

  A land far to the north—in that far land a queen for Sheba waits. Seek, and find—

  Although her very blood craved haste, Bilqis refused to surrender to that pounding urgency. These men have traveled far and long to reach me and petition for the treasures I hold in my gift. They will not flee for an hour’s wait—or a week’s. Or even a month’s, come to that. No, those who came to bargain for Sheba’s spices waited patiently upon Sheba’s pleasure.

  So she made herself wait a day before she told Shakarib that the emissaries from the land to the north might come before the Queen of Sheba’s ivory throne.

  Abishag

  My mother reared me to be a queen, although I never knew it until long after the crown was set upon my brow—just as I never knew her patience ran deep as a well, her faith strong as stone. I knew nothing of my mother’s true worth until I was a woman grown, and married to the man of my heart’s desiring.

  I first saw him when I was a small child and my family dwelt in Mahanaim, a city east of the Jordan. All I remember of my life in that place is that once King David himself lodged there, during the days of Prince Absalom’s rebellion. I remember that when the soldiers marched in, the street was so crowded I looked down from our rooftop and saw bronze helmets moving like a metal stream. And I saw a royal prince, a boy who looked up at me with eyes bright as the sun. I remember that. And I remember that, upon our windowsill, my mother kept a hyacinth in a painted pot.

  Boaz

  “A strange thing, to find a land ruled by a woman.” Jotham frowned. “I don’t like it.”

  “You never like anything new, Cousin. Why petition to come at all?” Boaz stared around the rooms they had been given—rooms rich enough even for King Solomon himself A generous people, these Shebans—but they are so wealthy gold means little to them, and silver nothing.

  “I am the king’s brother; it is my right and my duty to serve him. Solomon asked me to deal with the Shebans. He forgot to mention I would have to deal with a woman as if she were equal to the king of kings.”

  “I forgot you never listen to travelers’ tales.” Boaz lifted a cup and turned it over in his hands. Ibex leapt about the curves of a goblet formed of silver; the beasts’ horns gleamed gold. In most palaces such a costly item would be reserved for the banquet table. “These Shebans must be rich beyond dreams. Look upon this.” He tossed the goblet to Jotham, who caught it easily in one hand.

  “Fine work” was all Jotham said, after studying the silver cup for a moment. He set the goblet back upon the table. “I don’t see why your eyes stretch so wide; if Sheba did not possess what all the world desires, we wouldn’t be here.”

  All the world desired Sheba’s fabled spices. Cinnamon, spikenard, pepper; those and others equally precious passed through Sheban hands on their journey from the lands beyond the morning to lusting markets in the kingdoms of the west. But most vital of all was Sheba’s frankincense. Incense to summon gods, incense to pleasure goddesses. Even Israel’s austere god favored incense. The incense trees grew only in the land of Sheba; smoke of Sheban incense drifted across the wide world, more precious than gold, more coveted than rubies.

  “Incense beyond price and a queen guarding Sheba’s treasure—is she beautiful, do you think?” Boaz asked.

  “I think all men will call her so, whether or not she is fair to look upon. What do I care? I have a good wife waiting for me at home.”

  “I’ve heard the queen is a djinn; that no man can resist her. That she chooses men as she does jewels—for a night only. If she beckons to you, do you think you could resist her wiles?”

  “I think you should stop guzzling Sheban wine and listening to Sheban gossip. The queen is not important—the spice trade is.”

  Boaz regarded Prince Jotham with rueful amusement. “Of all the men King Solomon could have chosen, he sends one unmoved by beauty, unintrigued by mystery, unimpressed by riches.”

  “We are not here to lust after beauty, unveil mystery, or covet riches. We are here to seal the spice trade for King Solomon.” Jotham walked across the soft-woven carpet that covered cool marble tiles until he reached the moon-round window. He pushed aside the drift of silver cloth that curtained the opening. “Come and look, Boaz. Feast your eyes upon Sheba now, for when we go before the Spice Queen, we must go clear-eyed and clear-headed.”

  Boaz stood beside his cousin and gazed upon a city more dazzling than pearls. Jerusalem, City of David, crowned a rocky hill, an armored guardian of the land around it. But Ma‘rib stretched out freely, its houses circled by gardens, its streets lined with trees. Fields green as emeralds surrounded the city, tangible proof of Ma’rib’s ability to summon water from the desert.

  “The Shebans must be great sorcerers, to force the sand to yield crops,” Boaz said, and Jotham laughed.

  “The Shebans must be great engineers, to create a dam to channel the only river for a thousand leagues. I may not listen to travelers’ tales of gems and djinns, but I do take heed of our agents’ reports. Now go ask that sly chamberlain just how much longer King Solomon’s envoy must wait before the Queen of Sheba deigns to admit him to her presence.”

  Bilqis

  Despite the wealth of Sheba, the queen’s throne was a simple thing, formed so long ago that the ivory itself had grown old. Once pale as bone, the chair from which a thousand queens had ruled shone golden as honey; time-burnished. Before the ivory throne hung curtains sewn of leopard skins and embroidered Cathay silk, hiding the queen from those who waited in the great court. When she lifted her hand, the eunuchs whose task it was to shield her would pull upon golden cords, drawing the curtains back to reveal the Queen of Sheba seated like a goddess upon her ancient throne.

  An effective image; created to imbue awe in the beholder—and render newcomers to Sheba’s marketplace vulnerable to her merchants. Bilqis had no reason to suppose the waiting men from King Solomon’s court would prove less malleable than any others—

  One of the eunuchs cleared his throat, pretended to cough; the small noise drew her attention, and Bilqis realized they had been awaiting her signal to pull back the curtains—a signal she should have given long since. But the wild urgency that had driven her since Khurrami brought her word of the men from the north had deserted her. Passion had chilled to fear.

  For if I look upon these men and listen to their words, and still find no answer—what then?

  She lifted her hand, and it seemed to her that never had her own flesh weighed so heavy. The curtains that had concealed her swept back, and she looked at last upon the men who had sailed down the Red Sea from the court of a king called Solomon the Wise.

  The men from the north neither knelt nor bowed. They stared upon her as openly as if she were not a queen whom they must petition, a priestess whom they must propitiate. She had seen such men before, men from lands of men who looked upon a woman and saw only weakness.

  Oh, yes, I have seen you all before. You with your scornful eyes and your rough manners, who think that because I am a woman my word is less than law. Without taking her eyes from the men standing before her throne, she lifted her left hand; as smoothly as sand flowing over a dune, Uhhayat, the royal chamberlain, paced forward and knelt.

  “Who seeks the Queen of the South?” Bilqis spoke in the Traders’Tongue, courtesy to he
r foreign visitors. Ritual must be observed, however roughhewn a guest’s conduct.

  “I am—” the group’s leader began; ignoring his words, the royal chamberlain answered, her voice ringing clear over his.

  “O Queen, Light of our Days, Lady of the Morning, those who seek wisdom and favor of the Daughter of the Sun would approach.” Uhhayat’s face remained as bland as her voice, but her glance at the foreigners cut like a blade. The leader’s face darkened; whether with shame at his ill-conduct or with anger at Uhhayat’s contempt the queen could not tell.

  In the silence that followed Uhhayat’s words, Bilqis sat quiet and counted heartbeats. At last, when the men behind the leader shifted, restless, she spoke the time-honed response.

  “Those who seek the queen’s wisdom and the queen’s favor may approach.”

  Without waiting for Lady Uhhayat to summon them forward, the men strode forward. No grace, and no manners. And their garments were well-woven but lacked style.

  Just before the first step to the throne, the group’s leader stopped, standing proud and gazing straight into her face. She recognized the gleam of curiosity mirrored in his dark eyes—and the glint of contempt ill-hidden. Well, Sheba would teach him better manners, at least. If you wish my spices, you must bend before my will. So thinking, she smiled, and saw the leader’s face change; caution replaced curiosity.

  “The Queen of the South greets you, men from the north.” She gestured to the three broad steps that led up to Sheba’s ivory throne. “Sit, and speak. Tell us all that is in your hearts.”

  A graceful gesture; a signal honor not to be refused. But once accepted, that honor ensured that the man sat awkwardly at her feet, as if he were a babe playing before his nurse. Now make your speech, little man. Spread your king’s demands before us and see us laugh.