That knowledge tormented Queen Naamah; she had long years to walk before her son placed the crown of Israel and Judah upon his brow. She must wonder all the hours of each day and each night if Rehoboam would safely walk the blade-edged path that lay between him and his promised throne.
Now I acknowledged a truth my heart already knew: that peace was not to be snared within halls of ivory, love not to be bound even with chains of gold and gemstones.
And that contentment fled before ambition as swiftly as swallows before a storm.
I said as much to the Sheban queen, one day when I rode with her out to the plains beyond Jerusalem’s hills. “And I fear I am too ambitious to be happy; I have become”—I struggled for the right word, and settled upon—“restless. I know other girls desire only to marry and bear children-but I want more than that.”
“What more?”
“I do not know; what is there? I wish—I wish I had been born a boy; I would make a better king than Rehoboam!” I had not intended to say so much; the words burst from me, and the queen laughed.
“Yes, you would, child. Do not look so troubled—you would be a fool not to know your own worth, and even ambition prospers in its proper season. As for your restless heart—your childhood lies in ashes now; soon you will be a woman. We all emulate the phoenix, we women.”
She saw that I did not understand and said, “What, you do not know the phoenix, the bird of fire?”
I shook my head, and the queen smiled. “The bird of fire is a fabulous creature formed of sunlight and of clouds; her crystal eyes see the past and the future. The phoenix lives a thousand years, and when she grows old, she builds herself a bed of spices, a pyre of frankincense and sandalwood and cedar. There the phoenix burns to ash, and from those ashes is reborn to live another thousand years.”
“She?”
“Yes, for what else could the bird of fire be? She is her own mother and her own daughter, never and always changing.”
“Like the moon.”
“Yes, although the phoenix is the sun’s creature. Ah, look, the hounds have sighted game. Come!” And she set her horse into a gallop, leaving me to follow or not, as I chose.
Though I did not then know why, the Sheban queen’s tale of the bird of fire caught my mind and my heart. That night I dreamed of fiery birth.
I stood upon sand, sand so hot and clear it might be glass. Above me the night sky arched, and across it poured a river of stars, stars that blazed like gems in firelight. The falling stars drew me up after them, embraced me as if I too were a burning star. We flowed across the midnight sky, down into the rising dawnlight. The stars fell and fell, gathering in a great ball if fire, and at last I knew that burning lodestone was the morning sun and that I feared to follow the stars into its light.
Something flashed by me; a bird, its fire-bright feathers streaming stars. As it soared past it turned its head and I looked deep into crystal eyes. I reached out my hand and the bird slowed, curving back to land upon my wrist.
Its scaled feet were gold and its claws silver; the bird’s feet circled my wrist and I felt its pain and knew that pain could consume me. And I knew, too, that the bird summoned me, demanded I dare the fire.
As I hesitated, the bird spread its burning wings and soared into the cascading stars. I watched it fly, watched it fall, watched it vanish into the rising sun.
The stars were nearly gone; my time to choose was nearly gone. I took a deep breath and flung myself after the last stars, following them into the sun’s fire.
I burned; pain demanded I surrender, disappear within the endless flame. Surrender would be easy—but there was a prize beyond kingdoms to be won if I could claim it. I , fought pain’s dark power, seeking beyond sorrow to fire’s heart.
Peace glowed there; eternity bound in flames. I could rest here, forever unchanging. But before me another pyre burned with clear pure light, and I knew I had one last choice to make. This time I did not falter.
Within that secret flame I died and was reborn, reshaped for new tomorrows. Glorious, I spread my wings and flew into bright morning … .
When I woke, my skin seemed to glow hot, as if little flames clung to it still. But the dream-heat faded quickly. The phoenix was gone, banished by harsh day. I closed my eyes hard against sharp tears. But the temptation to weep soon passed; I told myself that I must not weep for a bird seen only in dreams.
But I did not forget the firebird and its crystal eyes. Something in that fiery image ensnared me; I would not give it up. Somehow I must keep faith with the phoenix, if only in my dreams.
To remind me of this private vow, I decided I should have a seal ring to wear; my own token, carved to my desire. I knew who I would have work the seal: Yahalom, a widow whose husband had once carved seal rings for the court. Now Yahalom worked at the trade he had taught her, forming signets for those who cared more for a good price and good workmanship than for whether a man’s hands or a woman’s created the object.
I might have gone to her shop, dealt with her there. I was often in the marketplace, after all. But after a moment’s thought, I played the princess and sent one of my maids to summon Yahalom to the palace. When the woman arrived in my garden courtyard, she bowed to me, and I smiled and thanked her for coming to show her wares.
“It was no trouble, Princess,” she said; I knew she would have said the same words had she walked barefoot across hot coals to come to me.
I smiled and bade her sit. “I am glad; I thought it would do you no harm to have it known your talent is demanded by the king’s household.”
She smiled then. “What does the princess desire? For I can create whatever you wish—”
“A seal ring,” I said. “You carve them yourself, do you not?”
“Yes. And I do it well; few know this, but long before my husband died, his hands stiffened and would not obey his will, and it was I who carved the seals for those who came to him.” Yahalom began to undo the bundle she carried. She spread the cloth smooth before my feet and set varied gemstones upon its surface.
“No one guessed?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“Indeed, some said his work had improved.” She finished arranging the precious stones she had brought and then looked at me. “A seal ring, you said? What jewel do you favor? Is there a stone that brings you good fortune, or luck in matters of the heart?”
Shaking my head, I stared down at the gemstones laid out in neat rows upon the dark cloth. The jewels gleamed in the sunlight; Yahalom had brought her finest wares to the king’s palace. I knelt, studying my choices. Turquoise rich as sky; crystal clear as rain. Cat’s-eyes and jasper; onyx and jade.
“It is hard to choose, is it not?” Yahalom murmured. “Perhaps—a favored color?” She watched my face closely, shifted a stone forward. “I see fire colors draw your eye. Look upon this one, Princess; hold it in your hand and note the fine hue.”
I picked up the stone: a sardius, its color warm and true as honey in the sun.
“That is a fine stone, without flaw. It can be shaped into whatever design you desire.”
Sardius, stone of concord and peace. Yes, that would do. I nodded. “I will have the carnelian, then. It will do well.”
“And the seal itself? Does the princess know what she would have carved upon the stone?”
“Yes,” I said. “The seal is to be a phoenix. A phoenix rising from a bed of flame.”
As if the phoenix ring I wore upon my finger possessed a charm to unseal my blind eyes, I now saw all my world clear as a pure winter’s day. And what I saw angered me; how had I ever borne such servitude? Ever caressed such chains?
For now I knew what I had valued as comfort and as treasure to be bondage and dross metal. Each gem my father had set upon my brow was but another burden I must carry. Each wall he had set between me and the world was but another bar between me and true life.
The palace was but a prison, my rich robes and splendid jewels but chains to bind me. How was it I had been
blind until now?
Myself now freed of blind content, I could not understand how the other women of the king’s palace could endure their gilded captivity. Perhaps they do not, I told myself Perhaps they, too, burn.
But if others suffered as I did, I saw no sign of it; not yet.
Restive, I paced the harem courts, silent and critical as a cat. How could I ever have dwelt content within this pretty prison? How could my father’s wives endure their lives, trapped by walls, by custom, by fear?
I paused in the gateway to the courtyard before me. Within its confines the Lady Melasadne sat, laughing as a dozen tiny dogs white as cloud capered about her. Their eyes shone obsidian-bright, their tongues flickered at her hands like small pink snakes. One of Melasadne’s sons crawled through the pack of dogs, intent upon a gilded leather ball near his mother’s feet. When he came close enough to the toy, he smacked it hard with his hand; all the little dogs ran about the ball as it rolled across the courtyard’s smooth stones, barking in high little yaps. My half-brother crawled after the dogs; he, too, uttered high-pitched yelps, as if he too were a little dog.
Laughing, Melasadne rose and scooped up the gilded ball. Her dogs swarmed about her ankles, danced upon their hind legs; her son sat up and waved his hands. About to toss the ball for them, Melasadne glanced towards the gate and saw me watching; she paused and smiled.
“Come in, Princess, and join our play.”
But I could not bear to surrender my solitude. I shook my head and backed into the shadows beneath the roof. Behind me a woman’s laughter mingled with shrill barks and delighted shrieks; the cheerful noise echoed from the sun-warm stone walls of the Lady Melasadne’s courtyard.
Little dogs and babies. How can she be content with so meager a portion?
All that long day I spied upon my father’s wives. I told myself I sought knowledge, yearned to understand how a woman might endure a lifetime spent in bondage, never once daring to see her bounded world as the cage it truly was.
But the truth was less worthy. Anger drove me; anger at the women I knew, whose happiness mocked my misery. And anger at myself, that for so long I had dwelt content in a paradise created for fools.
And so I roamed the corridors and courtyards, seeking proof of the folly of my father’s wives—and of my own wit and virtue that set me above them.
Long years later, when I sorted my memories of those passionate young days, I saw that I found proof only of the quiet strength of the human heart. The only folly had been my own, in thinking that all women must dream as I did. Most women, like most men, contented themselves with the common stones that built a wall of life. A husband, children, friends. A task to perform, however simple. Common stones, easy found if one were easy pleased—so I thought then, and despised them in my heart. I yearned for rare gems, longed to perform great deeds.
Only in age does one cherish the simple pleasures, those common stones polished by love to outshine gold. Still, I suppose I was no more foolish at fourteen than any other girl; it is always ourselves whom we judge most harshly.
But I had good teachers, and I can at least say with truth that I paid close heed to their lessons. When those I admired talked, I had wit enough to listen; when they acted, I studied what they had done, and why.
As I did the day I watched the Sheban handmaiden Khurrami catch up a runaway puppy—and gain an ally for her queen.
I had been granted the privilege of walking Moonwind; Khurrami accompanied the sleek hound, serving as elegant escort and drawing all eyes to her as we strolled through the palace gardens. Although the Sheban queen might be resented, Sheban fashions were not. The looped braids of Khurrami’s hair, the drape of her veil over her breasts, even the lines of paint about her eyes would be studied and copied.
I thought of Lady Halit flaunting Sheban style while vilifying Sheba’s queen, and as I laughed silently, Khurrami slanted her eyes at me—but she did not speak. And before I could decide whether to share my private jest, a scrabbling sound caught Moonwind’s notice; his ears lifted and he turned his head, staring down at the ball of white fluff dashing towards him. The puppy bounced to a stop when it saw Moonwind and began to utter sharp chirping barks. Moonwind tensed, as if he sighted prey; I caught the hound’s collar, coiled my fingers about the gold-sewn leather.
“It’s only one of Lady Melasadne’s dogs,” I said, and Khurrami laughed.
“Truly? I thought it a handful of wool rolling in the breeze.” Khurrami crouched down and held her hand out; the puppy dashed up and licked her scented fingers. She laughed and scooped the puppy up. “So small and valiant—and so lost, I think.”
“Yes; give the pup to me. I will take it back to Lady Melasadne’s courtyard.” I stroked Moonwind’s head; the elegant hound seemed as appalled by the wriggling puppy as Queen Naamah would have been by mud upon her gown. Still, I did not laugh, for I did not wish to offend the hound’s pride. “Take Moonwind back to the queen; he does not care to be barked at.”
Khurrami held the pup up in both her hands; it stared down with bright black eyes and tried to lick her nose. “No, I will carry it. We will all return this small wanderer to his home. You, Princess, may guide me to Lady Melasadne’s courtyard, and as for Moonwind—it will do him no harm to learn tolerance.”
Lady Melasadne’s handmaidens greeted us with cries of delight that brought Melasadne herself hurrying up, her dogs dashing ahead of her. “Oh, you have found my lost one! My thanks, my deepest thanks to you!” She held out her arms, and, smiling, Khurrami set the tiny puppy in Lady Melasadne’s hands. Melasadne cuddled the puppy to her cheek; the pup began chewing upon her dangling pearl earring. “You are the Queen of Sheba’s handmaiden, the one called Khurrami? A thousand thanks; how may I repay your kindness?”
“Oh, it is not I whom you should thank, but my mistress, the Queen of the South.” Khurrami did not make the error of saying more; as she told me later, too many sham details bred traps for their creator. “Just as a half-veiled face entices and a half-shadowed form lures, so a half-truth beguiles. Why spend useless effort creating a tale that does not matter anyway?”
Now Khurrami smiled and said, “My queen cherishes her dogs and values those who do likewise—although I do not think this proud hound favors his small cousins here.”
We all looked down, watched the Lady Melasadne’s pack of dogs swirl about our ankles like little breaking waves, weave about Moonwind’s feet. Moonwind stood aloof, staring down his long nose in apparent disdain. I laughed.
“He looks as disapproving as the prophet Ahijah himself,” I said, and the others laughed with me.
“Truly he does.” Melasadne began chirping commands at the small white dogs, which blithely ignored her, engrossed in their investigation of the tall newcomer who stood in their midst like an alabaster statue. “Ah, well, they will come away when they are ready,” she said, and then smiled upon Khurrami.
“Tell your mistress, the Queen of the South, that the Lady Melasadne is most grateful for her kindness.” Melasadne lifted her hands and unhooked the ocean pearls that circled her neck like a collar of cloud. “Tell her I send this small token of my friendship. I would give her one of Miri’s puppies, but I do not think the queen’s hound would take kindly to such a rival.”
Khurrami received the pearls with smiling grace. “My queen will be pleased to own such friendship, which is a jewel past price.”
As I watched, holding Moonwind’s collar close, Khurrami bent and caressed the small dogs that milled about our feet. And when one of the pups set its tiny teeth into the hem of her gown and tried to run off with it, ripping little holes in the deep blue cloth, Khurrami only laughed and called the puppy charming and the gown too old and worn for the damage to matter.
As I walked on with Moonwind and Khurrami, I glanced sidelong at her. “Your gown is new; the blue still unfaded. You took its ruin lightly.”
“Oh, I can mend the rents, cover them with embroidery. To have the Lady Melasadne’s goodwill and
friendship-that is worth a few rents, even in a new gown.” Khurrami slid the rope of pearls through her fingers, slowly, as if she counted and judged them. “My queen likes to be on good terms with all. It is a wise policy, Princess.”
“Certainly it is a pleasant one,” I answered, and we continued on. And as I walked beside Khurrami, my hand resting upon Moonwind’s silken back, I wondered why a woman as powerful as the Queen of the South should care what one of King Solomon’s wives should think of her—and that wife not even the mother of the heir.
When I returned Moonwind to the queen’s care, I asked if I might speak with her.
“Always,” she said, smiling as she cradled Moonwind’s long head between her hands. “What is it, Baalit?”
So I told her what had happened, and how Khurrami had granted the credit for the puppy’s rescue to her, rather than claiming it for herself. And I confessed myself surprised that so great and powerful a queen strove so hard to please my father’s women. “Why? Are they not your rivals?”
“Why not? Are we not all sisters under the moon? And is it not better to own friends than enemies?”
And even a slave girl can cause trouble if she cares nothing for consequences.
And as I thought this, the queen said, “I am not their rival, although I suppose no one in all Jerusalem believes that.” She sighed, and shrugged. “Well, I cannot control others’ thoughts or tongues. No, I am not their rival-but it makes them happy to think so. I am someone they can strive to defeat, after all.”
I did not understand, and something in her tone and in her eyes made me hesitate to ask for enlightenment. I did not fear that she would not tell me; I knew that she would, if I asked plainly. But somehow I feared to hear her answer.
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