Her claim enticed others into the rising quarrel. “We all know there is no chief wife,” Xenodice said; an Achaean, she stood always ready to argue fiercely on any matter or on none. “And if there were, surely it would be Pharaoh’s Daughter. She is a queen to her very bones.”
Naamah’s red lips thinned a moment, but she did not retaliate. There was no need; Naamah’s cronies rounded upon Xenodice, eager for prey as a pack of hunting hounds. “So only Pharaoh’s Daughter is fit to be queen?” demanded Naomi, whose tart tongue made her name, Pleasant, a wry jest. “Unfit, rather—all these years wed to the king and not one child, not even a girl.”
This spiteful comment was a mistake, for it reminded all the women gathered in the harem garden of the only woman who had ever held the king’s heart in her keeping. The woman who had given him a daughter whom he favored above all his many sons. Now the women all turned to gaze upon me, where I sat playing cat’s-cradle for my baby brother David, the Lady Makeda’s son.
Sensing the pressure of their regard, I paused with my fingers tangled in the scarlet thread I wove into patterns for my small half-brother’s amusement. The stilling of my fingers and thread displeased him; he frowned and waved his hands and feet, demanding I continue. When I did not, he reached up and grasped the thread, pulling hard and tangling the pattern beyond all unknotting. I will have to begin again, I thought, glancing down at David’s clutching fingers. I decided to remain silent, not add kindling to the fire of their quarrel.
And I knew silent observers heard more of interest than those who wished their own views admired. So I bowed my head over the scarlet thread and began slowly unplucking the knot, to start the game again. David’s mother sat upon a bench close by; she watched, and slanted her night eyes at my father’s other wives.
“Jackals about a bone,” she said, and laughed.
As if Makeda had not spoken, the others lifted their eyes from me, to continue scratching each other with sharp words. No wife would willingly retreat a step to grant another pride of place, and on one thing only could they agree: that the arrival of the Queen of Sheba promised trouble.
Why they should be so sure of that, I did not know. No one had yet set eyes upon the fabled Queen of the Morning. She might be old, or plain, or dull-witted. As for why she had journeyed a thousand miles—
“She hopes to wed King Solomon,” Arishat said. “Why else would a woman travel so far and so long? And then she will be the chief lady of the palace.”
“Why else? To glean treasure, of course. Is not Jerusalem the world’s heart now?” That was Marah, spiteful as her name.
I had the scarlet thread smooth, and began twining it about my fingers, weaving the pattern once more. Small David stuck his fist into his mouth, staring wide-eyed as the web grew between my hands. Why do they hate the Sheban queen so? They have not yet set eyes upon her! But they were jealous as cats of their place in sunlight—or, as the Lady Makeda had said, as jackals of a bone. I glanced up through my lashes, judging who had gathered to complain and quarrel. Naamah, of course, and Marah; Yeshara and Arishat. That they partook of such bitter bread surprised no one, and any who wished to protest imagined wrongs drifted towards them.
Others avoided the quarrelsome group. At the other end of the garden, Melasadne rolled a gilded leather ball for her two young sons and half-a-dozen small white dogs. Lady Leeorenda and the Persian princess, Nilufer, sat beneath the lemon tree, engrossed in a scroll. Nefret, the Pharaoh’s daughter, had not come to the garden at all that day.
And the Lady Chadara had left it. As I studied my father’s wives, I realized that Chadara no longer stood within the group of arguing women. Because she must prepare for the Sheban queen’s arrival, and they need only deplore it. The thought made me smile; David pulled his fist from his mouth and laughed, and once again seized the net of thread I had so painstakingly rewoven for him.
At that, I, too, laughed, and set aside the tangle of scarlet. “So you grow bored, little prince? Come, let us walk about and find something else to amuse you.” I scooped him up from the sheepskin on which he lay and kissed his plump neck. He gurgled happily and grabbed one of my braids.
“I will take him now.” Makeda rose and held out her hands; I gave David into his mother’s arms and then pried his fingers from my hair. And when she had taken him away, I, too, slipped from the main garden.
I wanted to know more about this visitor from a far land, this unknown woman who dared such a journey. Why has she journeyed so long and so far? And for what? Trade and treaties could be negotiated by envoys; queens did not travel half the world lightly. So why has this queen come here? What does she seek?
But I would not learn what I wished to know from my father’s wives. I must wait until the Queen of Sheba arrived, and discover her secrets for myself.
Bilqis
As they rode north from the encampment outside the walls of Ezion-geber, Bilqis studied King Solomon with discreet caution, judging him as if he were a rich gem for which she bargained. Or say, rather, a treaty which I must examine point by point, lest I be deceived by fine words and a smiling face.
One thing already she had learned: these men regarded her and her women with both awe and anger; a potent mixture that she must control with great care. Oh, the king was pleasant enough, at least pretending tolerance—but his courtiers were less tactful. And the king’s general never takes his eyes from my Amazons, and never smiles. Such men could be dangerous—
“What so chains the queen’s thoughts?” King Solomon’s question summoned her attention back to the moment; she glanced sidelong and saw him trying to judge her mood.
Difficult, with a veil guarding my face. Behind that protective cloth, she smiled. “I think on the king’s land, and on his people, so different from my own. I look forward to learning of them both.”
“As I do to learning of yours.” He hesitated, then said, “And to discovering what has truly brought you so far from your kingdom and your throne. It must be a great matter for you to so risk yourself and your crown.”
At first she did not answer; they rode side by side in a circle of silence created by their hidden desires. They crested a hill, and she looked upon a broad river flowing slowly through the valley below. By the river’s color and the speed of its flow southward, she judged it not deep. But in this land of golden dust and rose-red stone, the river glowed like a fine turquoise.
“The Jordan,” the king said. “Our mightiest river.”
She liked the wit that could so describe the shallow waterway, and the patience that let him wait without repeating his question. It was for her to choose when and if to answer. As their horses walked slowly down the hill road, she decided to reveal the truth to King Solomon—some truth, for the moment. I will see how he accepts a portion before gifting him with the whole.
“I have come at my goddess’s bidding.”
Solomon regarded her with interest. “Your goddess speaks to you?”
“From time to time. And your god—does He speak to you?”
Now it was his turn to pause, as if weighing each word before he uttered it. At last he said, “Once. How does your goddess speak with you? In dreams? Visions?”
Bilqis shrugged; the dark veils shrouding her rippled as if lifted by a summer breeze. “She makes Herself understood, if I have the wit to heed Her.”
“And your goddess—” He paused, and she said, answering his silent query, “Her name is Ilat. Sun of our Days, Mother of Sheba.”
“And Ilat told you to journey north, to see me?”
“She told me to seek to the north. You”—she slanted her eyes at him, shrugged again, creating another subtle ripple of veils—“you were kind enough to provide ships for the journey.”
“Charity is a virtue. What is the prize your goddess has promised, that you look upon a thousand miles as if it were a single step?”
“One worth a journey to world’s end and back. And you, Solomon? What did your god promise you—once?”
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Again he seemed to weigh his words, at last saying only “What I asked of Him.” And after another silence, “It is wise to think well before one petitions one’s god.”
Yes, for She—or He—may answer, and the gods do not think as we do. Time to lighten the mood; she laughed, low and soft, the sound muted by her veil.
“True enough, and enough truth for today.” Bilqis tilted her head; the thin gold stars sewn upon her veil shimmered and glinted. “Now the King of Israel has questioned the Queen of Sheba, and she him, and both been answered. Now ask again, any question you desire. Surely there is something the man Solomon wishes to ask the woman Bilqis?”
“Yes,” Solomon said. “Why do you hide yourself behind gold and veils—yet ride upon a horse like—”
“A man? Why, I ride because upon a horse one can move freely, without reliance upon others. And I veil”—she glanced sideways, and her eyes met his—“I veil to hide my face from the sun, which kisses too hard and hot. Does that answer please you, Solomon?”
And before he could answer, she touched Shams with her heels; the stallion danced sideways. “I must let him run, or he will give me no peace,” she said, and sent Shams cantering off along the road that led north.
To Jerusalem.
Abishag
Prince Solomon left me sitting by a pretty fountain in the queen’s own garden to await Queen Michal. Outwardly serene, I fretted over every detail of my appearance, though I knew worry was both needless and useless. Needless, as I had garbed myself witch care, ensuring that my gown displayed both my person and my skill at sewing to good advantage. Useless, as I would face the queen within a few breaths, and so had no time to alter any fault there might be.
I knew I looked well, and I knew I was Prince Solomon’s own choice—and I knew, too, those things would count for nothing if Queen Michal did not find me pleasing.
My own troubled thoughts trapped my senses so that I did not hear her approach, and thus did not see her until she stood close. And then I was so flustered I barely managed to bend my head modestly and bow low. All I saw of the queen was her feet, which were slender and pale, and clad in sandals of gilded leather.
“Rise, Abishag,” she said, “and sit here beside me.”
Hoping the queen did not sense my fears, I forced myself to move with slow grace, as my mother had taught me. Queen Michal watched me with what I knew must be critical eyes as I spread my skirt carefully, so that the cloth would neither pull too tight across my thighs nor trip me up when I must stand again.
“A pretty design. Is it the work of your own hands?”
“Yes, Queen Michal.” I brushed my fingers over one of the moons I had so painstakingly sewn upon the fine blue linen. “And the pattern is mine as well.” Golden suns and silver moons, set row upon row—my own fancy. This was the first time I had ever worn the gown.
The queen’s praise made me bold; I raised my eyes to hers. She smiled, and for a breath looked so like Prince Solomon I found it hard to remember that she was not truly his mother. I am not sure Queen Michal herself always remembered that.
I am sure she knew at once that Prince Solomon had claimed my heart; I think it pleased her. She smiled upon me and kissed my cheek, and unclasped an ornament of fine coral and pearls from her own neck and set it about mine.
I thanked her with a pretty speech complimenting her beauty—and learned that Queen Michal need not be fulsomely flattered. She preferred truth, when it could be safely told.
Baalit Sings
A considerate man, my father sent messengers ahead each day, keeping his ministers apprised of his progress towards the city. He sent orders, too; orders concerning the housing and entertainment of the Queen of the South and her entourage. The Sheban queen was to be given the Little Palace, the wing of the King’s House that once had been the king’s dwelling place. Now it was the quiet portion of the palace, seldom used and too old-fashioned for Solomon’s wives to grace with their presence.
All that had changed, for my father’s commands summoned workmen to the Little Palace: men to smooth fresh clay upon the walls, to paint the faded images back to bright life. Once again the Little Palace came alive, reborn to house a foreign queen and her exotic court.
Gossip flew to Jerusalem more swiftly than the king’s fleetest messenger, and so long before the watchtower wardens lit the fires that would signal the king’s return with his royal guest, everyone in the city, from Pharaoh’s Daughter to the lowest beggar in the street, knew that nothing to match the Sheban queen’s court had ever been seen in all the land.
Women warriors guard the Sheban queen, the fabled Sword Maids, haters of men sworn to chastity and the Moon. Eunuchs tend her; princes sacrificed their manhood to serve her.
She speaks with birds and with beasts. She can change into a serpent at will.
Half beast herself, the queen dares not display her deformed body; heavy veils shroud her always from men’s eyes.
With each retelling, the rumors grew wilder, until the Sheban queen’s beauty became more than mortal, her consequence greater than an emperor’s. As for the treasures she had brought—Gold beyond weighing and gems beyond counting, Frankincense and myrrh enough to fill the Temple itself from floor to rooftree. Pearls large as peacock’s eggs, rubies large as a woman’s heart—those were the stuff of wild dreams.
As was the queen herself. Half djinn and half fire. Clever as the Sphinx. Even the queen’s titles sang like golden bells: the Queen of the South, the Queen of the Morning Land. The Spice Queen.
Although King Solomon’s wives came from every kingdom from Melite and Egypt to distant Colchis, the Queen of Sheba’s entourage promised to eclipse all others that had entered through Jerusalem’s great eastern gate. Upon the day that King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba rode through the streets of Jerusalem to the palace, the streets and housetops were so crowded with people come to gaze upon her that no one could move so much as a step for the press of bodies until the royal procession had passed by. And although the Sheban queen indeed had veiled herself, those who had come to watch were not disappointed—
“For a cloak golden as the sun covered her, and a mask of pearls hid her face,” Nimrah told me; I had sent her to try to spy out the Queen of Sheba before she reached the sanctuary of the Little Palace. “Her hands were painted with henna and her fingernails painted with gold.”
“And her feet?” I asked, for one of the wilder tales claimed that the Queen of Sheba walked not upon a woman’s feet but upon little hooves, like a goat.
“The golden cloak hid her feet,” Nimrah said, “so we must wait and see. If she indeed possesses hooves, perhaps she gilds them as well as her nails.”
“Perhaps she does,” I said, and we both laughed. I could not quite believe in the hooves—but who truly knew what might be possible in a land in which trees dripped incense for the gods—and a woman ruled over men?
Bilqis
Against her expectations, her first sight of Jerusalem impressed Bilqis. The city sprawled rich and careless across the hills it commanded; circled by walls high and broad, crowned upon its highest point by a building so clad in gold that it seemed to burn under the noonday sun like a bonfire.
“That is the Temple.” King Solomon noticed even the smallest change in her attention; now he named the great building that had caught her eyes.
“King Solomon’s Temple—so I have heard it called.” She smiled, slanting her eyes towards him. His lips smile, but his eyes do not. Now, why? A queen could not afford to ignore subtleties.
“So called because I put my father’s plans in motion. The Temple was his dream.”
And not yours? She gazed across the valley at the blaze of gold. “It is magnificent. And the city is beautiful.” That, too, was a surprise. But even at a distance, the city pulsed with life, shone new and hopeful.
“Yes, Jerusalem is beautiful. So much of it is new, since even my father’s time. He conquered an aging town and built a great city upon its fou
ndations.”
“The City of David.” Jerusalem the Golden. Again she watched as King Solomon smiled—and again that smile did not warm his eyes.
“Yes, the City of David. My father won not only cities but men’s hearts.”
“And women’s too, I hear.”
“Of course. How could he not? David was a hero, skilled at war and at love.” Solomon’s tone revealed nothing.
Which told her everything. A hero for a father—that is a heavy burden for a man to bear. It was her turn to smile, to speak lightly. “Yes, even in Sheba we heard of King David. And now of King Solomon. Your land breeds great men.”
“And yours clever women,” he said, and she inclined her head, acknowledging the compliment.
“So that is the Great Temple. And the king’s palace—surely that is as magnificent—or nearly so?”
“Nearly so,” he agreed, and they rode on along the valley road, the broad way that led up the hill to the open gates of the City of David.
Just as she had spared no cost, no effort, to bring the glory of Sheba north to the court of King Solomon, so the king had spared nothing in providing for his royal guest. She had been presented with the Little Palace; she was to consider that residence her own during her stay—
“Which the King of Israel hopes will be long,” Solomon had said, to which she had replied, “A king’s hopes are customarily fulfilled, are they not?”
She only hoped that her sojourn in Jerusalem would not merely seem long. Three days in an unquiet house is longer than three years in a loving one. And she had to admit the Little Palace charming, its old-fashioned columns sturdy rather than elegant, its rooms cozy rather than spacious. Even the new-painted walls copied the style of a previous generation, the lilies straight as guardsmen, the swallows flying in neat rows above the rigid yellow flowers.
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