Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba
Page 5
The court was silent; Bilqis heard the soft insistent buzz of a bee against one of the alabaster windows as the insect vainly tried to fly free. Gauging the moment, she went on before any of her ministers could speak.
She smiled at Prince Jotham. “At Ilat’s command, I shall accompany you to see this golden city for myself—and to test the wisdom of King Solomon.”
She had too much experience ruling men and women to permit her audience a chance to consider her words, or to question them. A nod to her attentive eunuchs, and the leopard-skin curtain fell, concealing her from those in the courtyard. Bilqis rose, and stretched, and stopped as she saw her nephew waiting for her beside her throne.
“Is that truly our Mother’s answer? That you journey north with these uncouth men?” Rahbarin frowned even as he held out his hand to steady her as she descended the steps from the ivory throne.
“Did I not say so?” Bilqis set her hand upon Rahbarin’s, and sighed inwardly. He was going to be difficult. For her nephew was nothing if not single-minded in defense of Sheba’s crown and queen, willing to protect her even from herself if necessary. Prince Rahbarin was strong, loyal, intelligent—if only he had been born a girl!
Yet even as Bilqis sighed over that useless wish, she knew Ilat had not erred in creating Rahbarin male instead of female. For Rahbarin also was gentle-natured and amiable, as good as a desert spring—and as transparent as that spring-water. Guile and subtlety he lacked. And guile and subtlety a ruler must have, to rule well and wisely. Rahbarin owned all the virtues of a good man; those very virtues would be disastrous in a ruler.
For a queen must be able to speak false as well as true, with no one the wiser. To rule—to nurture a country and its people—a queen must veil her true nature, her true self. Only one thing must count with her: her people’s welfare.
Not her own wishes, or her own happiness—or her own good. Theirs.
And the pause to speak with Rahbarin had permitted others to gather. Now the court chamberlain, the chief steward, the vizier, and the chief eunuch stood before her, all demanding to know whether the Queen of the South had gone mad. Only the captain of the queen’s guard, Nikaulis, remained silent.
“O Queen, your vizier has heard not a word of this journey.” Mubalilat’s tone plainly indicated that he wished he had not heard a word of it now. “It is impossible—absolutely impossible—”
The chief eunuch interrupted him, only to continue the protest. “Of course the Lady of the Morning may do as pleases her, but to undertake such an endeavor—”
“It is too risky,” Uhhayat finished; the court chamberlain could be counted on to counsel prudence above all. “We know nothing of this king or his land; his emissaries are barbarians who never smile.”
Bilqis held up her hand, and her courtiers fell silent. “And the captain of my guard? Has my Amazon nothing to say?”
Nikaulis regarded her queen, eyes gray and hard as iron. “Only what others have said; that such a journey is folly. But I am the queen’s captain. What she commands, I will perform.”
This is the outcome of training officials to speak their thoughts freely, unafraid of reprisals if their ruler dislikes their words! So thinking, Bilqis laughed softly, watching the puzzlement on her officials’ faces at her amusement.
“The queen has heard your words, and thanks you for your concern for her safety and the kingdom’s. But you must know that I go at Ilat’s bidding and at Her promise. From our land, I shall bring King Solomon gold and spices. And from his land I shall return bringing the queen who will wear Sheba’s crown of fire when I am gone.”
For a heartbeat they stared at her in silence. Then Mubalilat asked, “This is what the Sun of our Days revealed?” The vizier’s voice held an odd mixture of awe and doubt.
“Yes,” said Bilqis, “it is what She revealed to me. There will be a queen to follow after me; a queen granted us by Ilat Herself.”
“A queen from the north?” The chief eunuch, Tamrin, shook his head so hard a jeweled pin fell from his tight-curled hair. “How is that possible?”
Her most trusted and most loyal ministers stared at her, awaiting her answer. Only truth would serve; they deserved nothing less.
“I do not know.” Bilqis held out her hands, as if in supplication. “I only know that I humbled myself before our Mother and this is how She has answered my prayers. I ask that you trust Her, as I do. Now you have the queen’s permission to leave her presence.”
They obeyed, bowing themselves off with reluctance. Uhhayat and Tamrin walked together; already Bilqis knew they were forging an alliance whose intent would be to keep her here in Sheba. The chief officers of her court and the lesser dignitaries doubtless would spend the next hours grumbling to each other, unable to comprehend such an unheard-of journey.
Nikaulis remained, her iron eyes blade-keen, questioning. “My queen?”
“Speak, Queen’s Captain.”
“Cannot another journey north in your stead?”
Bilqis shook her head. “No. I must go myself. Who else can choose Sheba’s next queen?”
For a moment Nikaulis seemed to hesitate, as if about to speak again. The moment passed, and the Amazon merely bowed her head, as if accepting the queen’s words as final. Then Nikaulis, too, retreated, leaving Bilqis alone with her nephew.
“You, too, may leave me, Rahbarin.” But Bilqis was not surprised when he regarded her steadily and said, “I wish to talk to you, my mother’s sister, if you will permit it.”
Bilqis sighed inwardly; she had hoped to avoid an immediate confrontation with Rahbarin and his principles. Still, as well now as later, I suppose. Bowing to the inevitable, she permitted him to accompany her to her own chamber. There she sat before her dressing table, and Irsiya began to unpin her hair.
Rahbarin waited; knowing he would silently wait until next moonrise, if necessary, Bilqis sighed, and said, “Speak, Nephew.”
Rahbarin looked at Irsiya. “Send your maidservant away.”
“No; there is nothing either of us can say that is secret.” And a witness might prove useful; who better than the queen’s most intimate servant? “Now, what have you to say to your aunt and queen?”
Given permission to speak, Rahbarin hesitated, then said, “I know you have spoken with Ilat Herself, but—but to leave Sheba and journey north, to a far land none has ever seen—is this wise, Bright One?”
“Not wise, perhaps—but necessary.” She stared into the polished silver mirror; her face was still a fortune in men’s eyes. “Our Lady Ilat has promised me a daughter from the north; I cannot expect the winds to blow the girl across the desert into my arms!”
Rahbarin regarded her with that steadfast, stubborn devotion that made him such a good follower, and would make him an equally poor ruler. “It is too far, and too dangerous. Send me in your stead.”
“What, will you bear a child for me?”
“You are too old for that. Whatever the goddess means, She cannot mean you are to bear a child yourself! You would die birthing the babe.”
No one could ever accuse Rahbarin of empty flattery—always he would say plain truth, whatever the cost. “Who can say what She means? A daughter, She promised—and one of my own body and blood would be best. If I die bearing an heir to Sheba—why, I die. I trust you to raise my daughter up to be a great queen; she could have no better counselor or truer friend.”
“I don’t like it,” Rahbarin said.
“You don’t need to like it, Rahbarin; you need only obey. Her will is clear: I must go. And you must stay, and guard Sheba while I am gone.”
“And if you do not return, Aunt? Then what?”
Trust Rahbarin to spot each weak point and take careful aim. “Then, Sister’s Son, you must consult Ilat for yourself, and act as She directs—and as seems best to you.”
Knowing that order could not be improved upon, Bilqis dismissed her nephew and braced herself to face her handmaiden; Irsiya was sure to be as disapproving as Rahbarin.
Irsiya stared at her round-eyed. “The queen is serious?”
“Irsiya, do I sound as if I jest? Ilat has spoken, remember; I must obey, however far I must journey in Her service.”
“But to King Solomon’s court? That lies at the other end of the world—the merchants travel months and months only to reach the Silk Road, and Jerusalem is farther still!”
Bilqis laughed, deliberately making light of Irsiya’s protest. “Oh, Jerusalem is not so far as that. Damascus lies beyond Jerusalem, and yet our merchants trade often in the City of Roses. And the Silk Road, like the Spice Road, crosses many lands, including King Solomon’s. Be easy; I shall not waste half a year in travel.”
Not when the sea lay beside the desert, its waters a swift road to the north. By sea, the journey would last weeks rather than months. Bilqis smiled and patted Irsiya’s hand. “I shall journey north to King Solomon because our Mother Ilat bids me do so. I may trust Her to smooth my path.”
“Of course,” Irsiya said, but Sheba sensed her handmaiden’s pious agreement was less than wholehearted. But then Irsiya was a true daughter of her bloodline: cautious and conservative as a cat. Irsiya’s world was bounded by the golden sands ringing Ma’rib; her desires centered upon home and temple. So long as she trod a path laid out precisely for her careful steps, there was no better servant than Irsiya. But ask her to contemplate change, even in so little a thing as the colors of the flowers to be placed within a vase, and she became worried; worried, Irsiya became stubborn, clinging to the pattern she knew.
She will loathe journeying to unknown lands, but she is one of the queen’s ladies. I cannot leave her behind, for she would hate that quite as much. There will be no pleasing Irsiya in this quest.
But so long as she returned from King Solomon’s lands bearing Sheba’s next queen with her, Bilqis did not care who objected now.
Abishag
When my father died, my mother packed all vve owned and took me to dwell in Shunem. In those days Shunem was a prosperous town, a decent place for a widow to raise her daughter. Shunem stood at a crossroads; the King’s High Road ran past the town’s walls. So as well as a good marketplace, there was also a temple to comfort foreign travelers, and a Grove,
My mother need not have remained alone after my father died, for she was beautiful still, and my father had left her enough to dower her well. But she turned away all men who came seeking her favor.
“You do me too much honor,” she told those who sought her as a wife. And to me, when we were alone, “Never again; I have had enough of men. Now I may live my own life and ready you for yours.”
“But I thought you happy with my father,” I said, and my mother smiled and wiped tears from my cheek with her slender fingers.
“That is because I was happy with him, Abishag. He was a good man, and kind, and he fathered you, for which I would forgive him much. But no more men for me—at least, not here, where they all smell of grapes and of sheep!”
Then she laughed, and when my mother laughed, it was impossible not to laugh with her.
Rahbarin
After he left the queen, Prince Rahbarin headed straight for the great Temple, seeking solace and guidance. Easy enough for his aunt to say “Stay, and guard Sheba—” As if he had the knowledge or the cunning to do so, need only lift his hand to accomplish wonders, to replace the Queen of the Morning at a word.
Sometimes he thought his aunt was too confident of others’ abilities. She herself was fearless and wise, and believed others as skilled as she herself. Witness her placid instructions to him!
“Act as the goddess directs”; that was simple enough. But for the rest of it—
How am I to know what is best to do? Not for the first time, Rahbarin wished that his aunt would not place such faith in him. Someday he knew he must disappoint her, and that would be hard to bear. But if the queen wished him to guard Sheba in her absence, he would obey.
And he would try to have faith in her mission—hard though it was to believe that such a journey was the goddess’s wish, and not the woman’s. But if the queen did not hear the goddess truly, then what hope was there for her, or for Sheba?
Goddess-sent or no, I pray she finds a new queen on this quest. For if she does not—Without an undoubted heir, Sheba would succumb to the same disease that ravaged so many surrounding lands. War. War setting family against family, brother against sister. In such conflicts, there were no victors.
To avoid that fate, the queen would fight any battle she must. And if he could do nothing more to aid her, he could at least follow her orders to the best of his ability.
As he stood before the image of the goddess, Rahbarin opened his heart to Ilat and prayed that he would rule well in his aunt’s absence—and that the queen’s prayers would be granted.
And failing that, Rahbarin prayed for peace, and for his aunt’s safe return.
The men from the north stalked grimly through Ma’rib’s streets, hard and cold. Rahbarin could not imagine them ever smiling, laughing, enjoying life’s soft pleasures. Nor could he envision a land full of such men welcoming the Queen of Sheba warmly and with pleasure.
Let her go and return safely, he begged the silent image of Ilat. Let her return unharmed to Sheba—with or without an heir.
Hodaiah
“Another chest? Stow it aft, with the others—no, not there, fool! Do you want to unbalance the ship?” Swearing in half-a-dozen languages, Hodaiah, captain of King Solomon’s merchant fleet, grabbed the confused porter’s tunic and thrust him towards the right section of the deck.
I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. Sailing was unchancy enough without adding a foreign queen and all her finery, her slaves and her servants and her endless treasure chests, to the cargo. But no one had consulted him; no, he was simply expected to provide accommodation for the woman and all her chattels and goods. No matter that the Tarshish ships were designed for slow, steady transport of bulky cargo, not the swift conveyance of royalty. The Queen of Sheba commanded, and even foreign captains must obey. Hodaiah spat, clearing his throat, and continued his vigilant supervision as the loading continued.
Chests of gold and cages of apes; bolts of fine cloth and jars of spices; if pirates spot us, we’ll be slaughtered like wingless ducks. And then there are the women—
And such women! Flaunting themselves like harlots, striding about like men—Hodaiah had sailed from Tyre to Troezen, Knossos to Massilia, and never had he seen such women as dwelt in the land of Sheba.
“You there—take those bales of cloth to the other ship! No more on this one!” Idiots, fit only to feed to the sharks. Hodaiah turned to the flagship, Jael. Upon Jael’s deck, slaves were erecting a pavilion, a sanctuary for the Queen of Sheba and her handmaidens during the voyage north.
As if the sea cares she’s a queen! If anything, the sea, always a harsh mistress, would be twice as jealous of a queen as of a common woman. It would be a chancy voyage, with women aboard, with the sea lying always ready to claim her rivals.
But master of ships or no, his opinion didn’t count, not laid in the balance against a queen’s whim. And what did it all boil down to but another woman for King Solomon—as well send a honeycomb to a beehive!
And here was the queen herself, riding down to the dock on a horse—a woman sitting upon a horse, whoever heard of such a thing? Beside her rode a warrior; an Amazon—long years since I’ve seen one of them. She’ll not like sailing; her kind doesn’t favor water. A gaggle of women followed, all aflutter in bright garments of cloth so fine the wind from the water pressed the fabric against their bodies close as a second skin.
There were some men as well—eunuchs, guards, grooms—but mostly there were women. Too many women.
At the foot of the gangplank, the Queen of Sheba dismounted, handing her horse’s reins to the nearest sailor, who was so st
artled he took them. Followed by a slim pale hound, she walked up the planks to Jael’s deck.
“The Queen of the South greets you, Captain, and thanks you for your care and kindness.” She caressed her hound’s long silky ears. “The journey will go well.”
“With luck,” Hodaiah added hastily; it didn’t do to let the sea think you scorned her power. “And with Yahweh’s aid.” Sailors lived and died on the lift of fortune’s waves; Hodaiah clung to the old way of calling upon his god by name, that there might be no question whom he petitioned.
“Always with the favor of the gods.”When the queen smiled, lines creased the skin at the corners of her eyes; in the bright sunlight, you could see she was not young.
But it didn’t matter. Young or not, the Queen of Sheba’s smile kindled a slow fire in a man’s blood. Hodaiah hoped the queen’s own blood ran cool, or the voyage up the Red Sea would be endless trouble.
“Almost everything’s aboard,” he said. “The pavilion’s nearly ready for you and your women.”
“I—and my women—thank you. Now we have only to load my servants and my courtiers, and my horses, and then we may begin our journey as soon as wind and tide are propitious.”
Even as he agreed, Hodaiah’s heart sank. Asherah’s eyes, I forgot about the damned horses!
“Do not look so dismayed, Captain.” Laughter rippled through the queen’s voice as sunlight danced over waves. “All will go well, and our voyage will prosper. Can you doubt that the gods look with favor upon this enterprise?”
“I can doubt anything,” Hodaiah said and strode down the gangplank to the dock, to find his quartermaster and begin the process of loading the queen’s horses upon the ship that had been prepared for them.