Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba

by Edghill, India

  “At least a boy, a prince, could hope to be king.” Baalit hesitated, then said, “I know my father swore his eldest son would be king, but—”

  “But he thought his first wife would bear him his first son,” Bilqis said, “and even when she did not, kings have changed their minds before. Yes, had you been a boy, Baalit, I think it very likely you would have been king in your turn. But you are a girl, and you can never rule here.” She stroked Baalit’s close-braided hair. “You are the first wife’s child, you are the wisest child—” And you are the oldest girl, the only girl, but that counts for nothing here. “—and your father’s favorite. Yet—”

  “It is Rehoboam who is heir. That scorpion! He will rend the kingdom like a rotten rag.” Baalit’s eyes stared, cloud pale, into some future she alone could see. “And I—I shall be married to some pompous official who will be so awed at wedding the granddaughter of King David that he will not even beat me!”

  The disgust in the girl’s voice made Sheba laugh. “Do you wish to be beaten, then? An odd desire!”

  “No—but—”

  “But you will be tied to a man who regards you as a prize, rather than as a woman. Why do you fear this? You are a princess; surely King Solomon plans a royal match for you.”

  “He wishes to keep me close—and we do not marry our women to uncircumcised outlanders.” She shook her head, smiling wistfully. “If I were wed to a foreign king, I think I should not mind so much, for I would live far from Jerusalem, in a strange land, and—”

  “And you would be one wife among many, wed to a man too old and too tired to be of use to even one woman.”

  “Oh, I know that. But no one there would have known me since I was in swaddling clothes—and there are ways men may be of use other than in bed!”

  “So, you would be queen and run affairs—and your husband—to suit yourself,” Bilqis said, and Baalit laughed.

  “I know these are a child’s fancies; you must forget them.” Baalit rose to her feet, adjusting her bracelets as if they were her only care in the world. Sheba was not fooled; Baalit’s will burned fiercely bright; Solomon’s daughter would not prove an easy pawn to play.

  But in some ways, Baalit was a child still, as she herself had just claimed; Bilqis smiled and offered a new temptation, one held in reserve until she knew the girl could judge new things fairly. “A child’s fancies are easily forgotten. Now come—child—for I have someone for you to meet, and something new for you to try, if you dare.”

  Baalit Sings

  Darkness clung to me like a heavy veil that day; all that morning it seemed my father’s wives had nothing better to do than debate where and when and to whom I should be married. Even Keshet and Nimrah caught that fever, arguing over whether my wedding dress should be of scarlet or of saffron, and whether my bridal gems should be jacinths or rubies. At last I could not endure it and fled to the Little Palace, prepared to remain there into the night to see Queen Bilqis. She at least did not treat me as no more than a bride in waiting.

  That was the day the Sheban queen opened a door to a freedom I had not dreamed existed—not for a woman. First she charmed me into better humor, and then she presented me to Moonwind.

  I say it so because the queen’s hunting hound claimed better breeding and far better manners than most princes—and because he looked down his long nose at me as a king might at a grubby beggar.

  A dog, yes; a dog that stood aloof, proud; an image glowing in alabaster and silk. Moonwind bore no resemblance to the pariah dogs that scavenged the streets, slinking creatures near kin to jackals.

  “Dogs are unclean animals.” So I had always been warned, save by the Lady Melasadne, who came to Jerusalem from a faraway island and whose whole heart was given to the tiny white dogs she cosseted, caring more for the small creatures than for her rough sons. But Lady Melasadne’s dogs had as little in common with street-dogs as did this elegant creature, whose sloe eyes regarded me doubtfully—as if it were I who were unclean.

  “Folly. Moonwind is as clean as you or I—and certainly cleaner than that seer who complains so loudly of him.” Bilqis stroked the hound’s silken ears. She looked at me, clearly expecting me to touch him as well. Cautious, I extended my hand, an action that would have had all Lady Melasadne’s doglets flinging themselves upon me in a wave of fur.

  Even more wary than I of an alien touch, Moonwind recoiled slightly; the queen laughed. “You must win his regard, but the prize is worth the effort. Moonwind has a true heart and is a loyal beast—and useful, as well.”

  “Useful?”

  “Of course. Do you not hunt with hounds in this land?”

  “Hunt? With dogs?” Laughing, I shook my head. “Do you think a girl is permitted to hunt? Perhaps they do so in your land, O Queen, but here in Israel men alone hunt. And they do so on foot, or sometimes from chariots, but I have never heard of hunting with dogs. How is it done?”

  The queen smiled and stroked Moonwind’s slender head. “Come and see for yourself. What true objection can there be? You will be under my eye, and surely the Queen of Sheba is a fit guardian for Solomon’s daughter!”

  “Hunting is for men.”

  “Hunting is for hunters. Dress yourself in sturdy clothing, and come and learn.”

  I hesitated, desire battling caution; dared I violate custom so greatly?

  Then the queen gave aid to desire’s force. “Your father the king has sworn I may do as I wish, act as I would in my own kingdom. To hunt with the queen is a great honor. Surely you will not refuse?”

  She raised her eyebrows; her face became a haughty mask, stiff with pride. Playing her game, I smoothed my own face to meek obedience and bowed before her. “If Sheba’s queen commands, how can Solomon’s daughter do less than obey?”

  My false meekness fell away like a dropped veil as the queen laughed. “So dutiful! Go change your clothing—no, wait. You will own nothing suitable.” She turned to her waiting handmaiden. “Khurrami, gather clothing from my captain for the princess. I am sure Nikaulis’s garments can be persuaded to fit you, Baalit.”

  Just as I had never seen such a dog as Moonwind, I had never seen such a horse as Shams. The horses my father dealt in were small fierce creatures, pullers of war chariots. They were never ridden, nor used for any purpose less noble than warfare, or the hunting of wild beasts.

  Shams was different: tall, sleek-muscled, sweet-tempered. When he saw the queen, the stallion’s ears pricked forward, tips almost touching. His nostrils flared wide, and he uttered soft whuffling sounds.

  The queen laughed and cupped her hands over his soft muzzle. “So you have missed me? Or is it what I bring that you yearn for?” The queen pulled a dried apricot from her pouch and offered it upon her palm; Shams took the fruit delicately and nudged her, plainly hoping for more.

  “No, that is all.” The queen stroked his gleaming neck and said to me, “And that slothful creature is for you to begin upon. She is both gentle and patient; heed her and you will learn much. Will you not, Dawn?”

  I drew my eyes from the glory of Shams and studied Dawn. Smaller than the queen’s stallion, plump and sturdy and gray as her name, Dawn regarded me with soft dark eyes. “I am to ride that one?”

  “Of course; did you think to begin upon a horse like Shams? Your first ride would be your last, child, and you lucky to escape shattered bones.”

  Then she nodded and a groom came forward, knelt and cupped his hands. The queen set her foot in the man’s hands; sprang from them onto the horse’s back. Shams danced impatiently as she settled herself and gathered up the gilded leather reins. “Well, Princess?” she said, looking over at me, “do you wish to remain at home after all?”

  Not only had I never flung my leg over a horse’s back in my life, I had only rarely even ridden in a chariot. But what the Queen of Sheba did, I swore I too would do. And so I drew a deep breath and walked up to Dawn; as the queen had done with Shams, I laid my hand upon the mare’s thick neck.

  “I a
m to ride you,” I said, feeling no shame at talking to a dumb beast. “Be kind, and forgive my ignorance.” Swallowing hard, I nodded to the groom as the queen had done. And just as he had done for the queen, the groom locked his hands together for me to set my foot upon.

  This is the last chance to turn back. I ignored my fear and its coward’s warning and forced myself to forget I wore leather trousers that showed the shape of my legs to all the world. Trying to pretend I had some notion what I did, I grasped Dawn’s mane in both my hands and placed my left foot onto the groom’s waiting hands. A heartbeat later I sat upon the mare’s back, hardly daring to breathe.

  “Are you well-settled?” the queen asked. “Then come, follow me—slowly and gently; you must learn balance and judgment to ride well.” Shams walked forward at the queen’s signal, a signal invisible to my uninitiated eyes.

  Slowly, Dawn followed; I clutched the mare’s mane in both my hands and pressed my thighs against her broad sides so hard my muscles ached for three days after. But the cost in aches and effort was as nothing compared to the joy of sitting tall upon a strong beast and guiding it as one willed.

  And as the queen instructed me in how to sit properly, to relax into the trot and urge the placid Dawn past that rough gait into the smooth delight of the canter, pleasure spread through my body, warm and sweet as summer honey.

  Upon a horse, I could see far as a falcon; upon a horse, I could challenge the wind. Upon a horse, a girl became a man’s equal.

  Such pleasure, potent as any wine—no, not mere pleasure. As I reined Dawn to a halt at the crest of the hill leading away from Jerusalem, I named the emotion that so elated me.

  Triumph.

  Forgiveness for transgression is easier to obtain than permission. I asked no one whether I might venture forth with the Sheban queen. Nor did I tell anyone where I was bound. The king’s palace sprawled, a maze of courtyards and corridors, over more land than did the Great Temple. Even if I were sought, I could easily explain away my absence.

  But I returned from my first ride out with the Sheban queen to find Keshet and Nimrah frantic and furious with worry; I had been asked for by my brother Caleb, who wished me to play with him—

  “And you know what Prince Caleb is like when thwarted,” Keshet said. “He howled like a paid mourner when you were not here—”

  “And like an entire pack of mad jackals when we could not find you.” Nimrah regarded me steadily with her pale cool eyes. “Of course you are our mistress, and our lives are yours—but we cannot serve you with our eyes bandaged.”

  “Yes—suppose it had been the king who desired your presence, rather than Prince Caleb!” Unlike Nimrah, Keshet burned hot when angered. “And you nowhere to be found, and we able to say only that we knew not where you might be. You leave us as ignorant as—as—”

  “As Prince Rehoboam?” I tried to jest her into better humor, with no success.

  Keshet stamped her foot. “Even Prince Rehoboam might have better sense! Where were you, Baalit?”

  “And with whom?” Nimrah’s voice cut sharp with a disdain I could not understand.

  But their mistress or no, I knew Nimrah and Keshet had good reason to be angry. My follies rebounded on their heads. Still, I was a princess and they were not; I lifted my chin and said, “If you must know, I was with the Queen of Sheba. She showed me how to ride a horse, as she does.”

  “The Sheban queen. Oh, I see.” Relief softened Nimrah; I had not seen until she slackened her hold on her temper how truly fearful she had been. I put my arm about her waist and said, “Why? Who did you think I was with?”

  Nimrah turned her head to look straight into my eyes. “A man, perhaps,” she said, and I gaped at her. “What man?” I asked blankly. After a moment, she smiled. “Any man. But I see I was wrong.”

  “Of course you were wrong; she does not yet think of such things, even when she ought,” Keshet snapped in a tone that made me feel myself still in swaddling bands. Then, lest I think she had forgotten my transgressions, Keshet turned on me. “Riding upon a horse? Are you mad? Far better if you had been with a man. He could marry you, but what can a horse do, save toss you off and trample you? How came your father to permit such nonsense? I suppose you teased at him until he gave in.”

  Within the circle of my arm, I felt Nimrah’s silent sigh and knew she already guessed the truth. So before either girl could berate me further, I said, “I did not tease him. I—I did not ask him.”

  “Oh, Baalit, why not?” Keshet half-wailed.

  “I was with the Queen of Sheba,” I offered, “and some of her servants rode out with us as well.”

  “Suppose you had broken your neck?” demanded Keshet, unmollified.

  “I didn’t. And it is my neck, not yours!”

  “Yes, it is—and if you break that neck, you will be dead, but we will still be alive to bear the king’s anger.” Keshet glared at me, her eyes as hot as mine.

  Nimrah slipped from my embrace and set a pale hand upon Keshet’s arm. “Peace, Keshet; Baalit has returned safely to us.” Nimrah slanted her glance towards me. “And the two of us can ensure she rides no more without the king’s consent.”

  “And yours too, I suppose!” Someday, I swore to myself, someday I shall be served by men and women who have not known me since I lay wailing in my cradle! Truly you would think I could not walk safely across the garden without their guidance!

  “Why, Princess, we are but your handmaidens. Who are we to say to our mistress yea or nay?” Nimrah’s voice was smooth as cream cooled in the well; Keshet giggled. Then, relenting, Nimrah smiled, and said, “But if your father the king grants you leave to ride with the Sheban queen—why, then what happens is no fault of ours.”

  And so, to placate my handmaidens, I had to beg my father’s consent that I might learn to ride a horse. Such permission proved harder to gain than I had foreseen. Like Keshet, my father seemed to understand only that those who rode upon horses often fell from them onto the hard ground. Since he himself shocked the traditional by riding horses when he chose, I thought him unreasonable. More, he proved stubborn in the face of my entreaties.

  “I will be careful,” I swore as he continued to shake his head. “Please, Father, grant me leave to do this.”

  He sighed heavily. “My dear child, it does not please me to deny you, but such an endeavor is far too dangerous for you. Horses are not suited to women’s guidance; they are too powerful and unpredictable. You are not strong enough to control a chariot team. How could you control a horse once upon its back?”

  Much as I longed to beg, I knew better than to continue to plead in that fashion. Such a tactic would only grieve my father, who truly hated to deny me anything, while failing to convince him to grant my request. Instead, I met his objections with the only arguments he respected: logic and reason.

  “I know I cannot control a harnessed pair, my father, but that, as you say, requires great strength. Upon a horse’s back, it is skill that counts, and that I can acquire.” Then I offered my strongest counter to his fear. “Horses cannot be so very dangerous, Father; do not the Shebans ride them? Have we not seen the Sheban queen herself upon a horse?” And then, the final shot: “You ride horses yourself, and care nothing for what people say of its perils.”

  I knew he could not deny that; my father never refused to acknowledge truth.

  Nor did he now. “It is as you say. But—” He paused, and I waited, regarding him steadily. At last he sighed. “Very well. You may try—but cautiously, under Semorn’s eye.”

  “The master of the king’s horses will be delighted to learn of this new honor you bestow upon him,” I said, and as I hoped, my father laughed.

  “But remember, Baalit, you are to be careful,” he added, and I bowed my head. “Yes, my father. I will be careful.” Then I flung my arms around him and kissed his cheek, and thanked him a dozen times before running off to tell the Queen of Sheba that my father had granted permission for me to ride upon a horse, just as sh
e did.

  At first I had merely wished to try a strange new custom, expecting only to be amused, and to anger my brothers. Instead, I discovered a true joy.

  Mounted, I possessed freedom I had once known only in dreams. To sit astride a horse, to send the great beast racing across the plain until my hair pulled loose from its bonds to stream like a banner behind me—that was indeed delight. I exulted in the horse’s strength as if it were my own; in a sense it was mine, mine to command, if I owned the skill to do so.

  And I did, for my mastery of riding had been rapid; the Sheban master of horse had regarded me closely the first time I was set upon a gentle mare, and called me a born rider. My prowess proved him right, and never did I feel uneasy upon a horse. True, I tumbled off often enough at first, but falls never troubled me; I also owned the knack of rolling soft and springing up again like a cat, ready to try again.

  After she observed my talent for riding, the queen bestowed a great gift upon me: a horse of my own, a sleek-muscled stallion sired by her own favorite, Shams. I named him Uri, for his fire-bright coat and hot courage. Uri seemed to fear nothing; upon his back, I was swift and free as wind.

  Of course there was a great uproar about my riding at all, let alone riding out beyond the city walls. Our people used horses only to draw chariots; to ride a horse seemed an unnatural risk even for a man. To have the king’s daughter riding out, bold as a boy, was scandal indeed. But I had my father’s permission, however grudgingly granted, and needed no other’s approval.

  This was indeed fortunate, as no one else would have granted it. Even my dearly-loved handmaidens did not understand why I risked my neck only to dash about on a beast that might do anything at any moment.

  “Horses are stupid, chancy creatures; you cannot trust them.” Keshet could not be moved from this belief And Nimrah failed to grasp my reasons for wishing to ride beyond Jerusalem’s walls. “It is not as if you journey to another city. All you do is ride in circles.”