And then, with deadly precision, keen as a new-whetted blade, Did you think to keep her always?
He recoiled from the dark, tempting thought. No, of course he had not thought that! His beloved daughter must have what all women desired: a home, a husband, children of her own. A father’s love must not smother a daughter in its embrace. But Baalit is so young—
She is near fourteen. Her mother wed you when she was little older than her daughter is now. Solomon had been trained to look clearly on truth; now he forced himself to gaze again upon the scene unfolding in the women’s garden below. Clearing his mind, he studied Baalit as if his daughter were new to his eyes.
And he looked upon a stranger: a girl grown tall, lithe and slender as a palm; a girl whose once unruly hair had been tamed into smooth coiled braids. A girl whose fine linen gown clung to curving hips and rounding breasts.
She is no longer a child. Solomon allowed the truth to sink into his heart. My daughter still—but soon another man’s wife.
In the garden below, the queen spoke on, a passionate intensity radiating from her that Solomon noted without understanding. As if entranced, his daughter’s eyes never left the foreign queen’s face; his daughter’s eyes shone bright as twin moons—
Ah, Sheba, you have stolen my heart—will you steal hers as well? For the Spice Queen must, in the end, return to her own far kingdom. Grief would be her parting gift.
Must she return? the inner voice demanded. You are king of Israel and of Judah, and of many lands besides—can you not hold one mere woman if you desire her?
No. No, I will not even think that. Never before had Solomon truly understood how a man could act counter to his own wisdom; in ignorant vanity, he had prided himself upon acting always with cool judgment. Upon doing always what was right, what was just, what was politic, his decisions unpoisoned by folly or passion.
Because I knew not what temptation was. Now-now I am repaid for my arrogance. For the temptation to yield only to his own desires clawed at him, savagely demanding as a leopard.
You are king. Do as you wish. Temptation hissed like a serpent, coiled beneath his heart. Do as you wish. Your father King David denied himself nothing. Are you less a king than he?
Yes, hissed that dark serpent’s voice. You are less; you know it to be true. A great king would take as pleased him. What matters save your own desires?
Below him in the women’s garden, the queen and the princess sat untroubled beside the fountain, untouched by the darkness calling to him. Baalit spoke, earnest and eager. Bilqis nodded, and listened, and toyed with a handful of small crimson roses that lay in her lap.
You want her, and you are king. Take what you want. Who can deny the king’s desires?
“I can.” Spoken in a whisper, the words echoed against the cool stone walls. “I can,” Solomon repeated.
He closed his eyes against temptation’s brazen light. When at last he dared look again upon the garden below, his daughter and the Sheban queen had gone. All that remained was sunlight upon water, and the rising scent of roses.
Bilqis
Later, when it was too late to call back the words, Bilqis knew she had moved too swiftly, counted too greatly upon Ilat’s gift and promise. Our Mother promised the girl, revealed her to me. But it is I—I who must obtain her. Did I think Ilat would waft the girl from Jerusalem to Sheba in Her arms?
She had been overjoyed and overconfident—But had I not been both—ah, had I been as wise as I thought myself, I never would have lain in King Solomon’s arms.
She had looked upon Jerusalem from afar and from its streets; she had seen all the riches the king could spread before her. She had even been permitted to view the Great Temple that crowned the high hill, to walk its outer court and gaze upon the brazen sea resting on the backs of a dozen bronze bulls, and to look upon the two pillars that held up the doorway to the Temple itself
But of all the riches Jerusalem held, it was within the palace she had found the greatest prize. A pearl of such great price that she had permitted her greed for the treasure to overrule her reason, asked too much too soon. Ever after, when haste tempted her, she would sing that small story to herself, a silent warning.
She had thought herself patient as time, subtle as desert sands. For once she had seen Baalit, she had waited, smiling and serene, as if the king’s daughter held no more interest than did the great palace, or the golden Temple, or the grand marketplace in which merchants offered up treasures from lands beyond counting.
But at last it seemed the king had spread before her all that Jerusalem had to offer, and he himself gave her the chance she had sought. That day they had ridden to the valley north of Jerusalem so Solomon might show her his famous stables. She had admired the vast horse farm and the fine horses bred there; King Solomon’s horses were prized by generals and kings.
Upon the ride home, they had talked of horses, arguing whether size and strength were more to be valued than speed and suppleness. At last she had said, “Perhaps one could breed a horse possessing all these virtues. When I return to Sheba, I shall choose three of Shams’s colts to send you. Put them to your largest, strongest mares—”
“—and in time, we shall see if such a breeding produces that ideal horse. I will accept such a gift eagerly.” Solomon had leaned over to touch Shams’s arched neck. “I have coveted your horse since I set eyes upon him; now I shall have such a beast for my own pleasure.”
She had laughed; they had ridden back along the Jerusalem road well pleased with one another.
Once they had returned to the city, and to the king’s house, Solomon had escorted her back to the Little Palace. At its gate he said, “Now you have at last seen all my treasures, O Queen of Queens.” He smiled. “Tell me your thoughts. Is my kingdom as great as yours?”
Warmed by the undertone of laughter in his voice, she smiled back. “Your kingdom is great indeed. But true treasure is a companion whose wit matches one’s own.”
“Yes; laughing at my own jests grows tiresome.”
“What, do your courtiers not laugh when their king smiles?”
“Too much. Do you not know that I am wise and given to clever jests?”
“And so they laugh at whatever words come from your mouth.” Mocking, she shook her head. “How sad, that your reputation causes all men to laugh at you!”
Solomon turned and took her hand. “But you do not laugh, or frown, save as my words truly move you. You are right; you yourself are your kingdom’s treasure.” A moment’s silence, then he added, very softly, “I wish your kingdom’s treasure were mine.”
“You flatter me, O King; I am old enough to be your mother.”
“What does that matter? Your mind matches mine; what more could I desire?”
“A great deal,” she said, and laughed. “But you are right that our minds match, for while you wish my kingdom’s treasure, I in turn desire yours.” She kept her tone jesting light. She had lured him to this point with care; he must not withdraw his words now.
“What can King Solomon possess that the Queen of Sheba could possibly covet?” His tone matched hers; the hint of dark longing had vanished. “Whatever it is, it is yours.”
“Do you not wish first to know what it is I will ask of you?”
“Greed is not in your nature.” Solomon smiled again. “Ask.”
This was the moment, she felt it in her bones. “King Solomon has sworn to grant me all I desire. Yet of all his treasures, there is only one that I would have.”
“Whatever treasure Queen Bilqis names shall be hers. Although what Israel can grant that Sheba does not already possess is a true riddle.” Solomon’s voice was tolerant, amused, as if he waited to hear what trinket had taken her fancy.
“What Israel can grant is what Sheba can no longer provide,” she said. “The riddle’s answer is the Princess Baalit.”
Silence; the golden amity shattered as the air between them turned cold and hard, and she knew that she had erred. Too soon; I as
ked too soon—
“I do not understand,” he said at last, plainly offering her the chance to soften her desire.
But that she could not do; she must have Baalit. Sheba must have Baalit. “You know why I have come so far, and what I seek. Now I have found her. All I ask of you is one girl—”
“I am no Jephthah, to sacrifice my only daughter.”
“Sacrifice? To you, to your people, she is only a girl-what life will she have here? In Sheba, she will be queen, Solomon; she will rule Sheba after me.”
For a moment he said nothing, his mouth closed tight over harsh words. But when he replied, his voice was flat, his calm worse than anger. “No, O Queen, she will not. She is my only daughter, my kingdom’s only princess. She will not be sent to a land half a year away.”
“She must leave you someday, O King.” She kept her voice as level, as calm, as his. “She will go to a husband, or to a temple. You cannot chain her to childhood; even Solomon the Wise cannot command time itself.”
“That is someday, not now. And as you say, she is only a girl. This is not the Morning Land, this is the land of the Lord’s Law. Here, girls are not raised up to rule over men.”
“No. But even your girls can learn. They raise up the men who rule the kingdom, after all.” But her words did not move him; she sensed his withdrawal. And when he claimed urgent tasks demanded him elsewhere, she knew she must concede defeat for the moment. “Of course,” she said, and smiled, and before she returned through the gate into the Little Palace, she held her hand out to him as if they had spoken only sweet words, shared only laughter.
But it was the first time he had left her before she ended their encounter; that alone told her how much her request had troubled him. So much so that he revoked his king’s word—whatsoever I desired—Suddenly weary, she leaned against the window, its stone cool against her cheek. Whatsoever she desired- Men say such things easily, and kings more easily still.
Granting her desire would cost Solomon dearly; she did not deny that, even to herself. But I have been promised that girl, and if King Solomon denies her, his refusal will cost him more dearly still,
Therefore he must not refuse, must grant what she desired of him. I must bend him to my will. But how?
Suddenly she laughed, gay as a girl; how could she have forgotten? Is not the king a man, and the queen a woman? Men were ruled by their bodies-and by women’s bodies. Even Solomon the Wise was no exception, cool and passionless as he might think himself, for he was ruled by the memory of a woman’s body, by the shadow of his beloved, his Abishag.
I must battle a ghost for Solomon’s heart. Far easier to fight a living rival- Sober again, Bilqis stood before her mirror, judging herself in the polished silver.
How best to entice him? Shall I let him catch me bathing in the sunlight, as his father did his mother?
No; that was a young woman’s trick. She was beautiful still, but she was no longer young; the sun no longer stroked her kindly, promising her lover fire’s passion. The Sun Goddess had fulfilled Her promise by guiding her here, to this land ruled by men.
So I must seek the blessings of the Moon God, now. Shadow, and moonlight, and her own skilled desire-these would bring Solomon to her. So much will be easy. To gain the promise of his daughter, his Abishag’s child—That would prove difficult.
But not impossible. It cannot be impossible. Our Mother led me here, set the girl before me. She would not have promised me what I could not achieve.
To win her battle, she needed weapons, and those she could forge only when she knew her rival as well as she did herself. Bilqis sent her maidservants and eunuchs to glean old tales from the harem women and the palace servants. She winnowed ancient gossip and rumor, seeking truths she could wield against Solomon’s cool armor.
“Abishag? A pretty enough girl, but too quiet.”
“Almost a foreigner—I am sure she had foreign blood.”
“She was kind, and her voice was soft”
“She bewitched him. There were a dozen more comely than she!”
“She laughed a great deal.”
“No modest woman walks as she did-like a cat in heat. And she wore bells about her ankles; she did not learn that trick from a decent woman!”
“Abishag? I remember her; she smelled of cinnamon. Of cinnamon and roses.
Solomon
For seven days he had not seen her; the Queen of Sheba had remained closed within the Little Palace, a stranger to him. At first he had sent servants to her, bearing gifts of fruit and flowers, coaxing. Later he sent messengers to her, asking what was wrong. No, demanding. How did she become so needful to me? Lying unquiet in his bed, Solomon smiled into the darkness of the summer night. You know how; your minds match. She is someone you can talk to, and be understood.
Even his friend Amyntor could not fully comprehend the weights that pressed upon a king-and now Solomon could not call upon even such comradeship as Amyntor could grant, for the Caphtoran had gone. Always Solomon had known his friend merely paused, like a bird of passage, before continuing a voyage that had no end. But I miss him all the same-and now Bilqis has taken herself from my sight as well. She is angry because I refused her-but even as Amyntor asked too little of me, Bilqis asked too much.
Deep night, hot as black fire; how could he sleep when the very air burned his skin? Impossible. Solomon abandoned his dutiful effort to rest and rose, measuring paces to the window. There he sat upon the broad ledge, leaning against stones warm as blood from the day’s raging heat. No sleep again tonight; he would be good for nothing in the court tomorrow.
Solomon sighed and rubbed his temples. The hot wind blew hard this season; hard and cruel as law. In just such a summer season his father had seen his mother bathing upon her rooftop, and fallen in love with her on sight … .
If you believed the pretty tale now sung by court harpists. Other tongues also told a tale, not so pretty, of passion, of adultery, and of murder. But that tale was whispered in corners, and in secret.
They call mine a court of Law; in truth, it is a court of Secrets.
His father, king, had sent for a woman only because he desired her. I am king; I can do the same. I could order her brought to me because I will it. Because I desire her.
Even if she did not desire him? What is lust worth without love? Without even passion?
A whisper behind him; a susurrus of air, as if a serpent flowed through the hot night. Solomon remained still, knowing if he turned, he would succumb to temptation, and to sorrow.
“I did not summon you,” he said.
“If you had commanded me, I would not have come.” There was a ripple of slow laughter in her voice. “How did you know it was I?”
“Your scent; you are fragrant as a heap of spices.”
The air swayed about him as she approached. “Your words are sweet as frankincense, and honey is under your tongue.”
She stood close behind him, now; he judged her to be no more than a hand’s span away. “Words are easy to sweeten.”
“So are heavy nights.”
Hot night air pressed him; dark perfume stroked his senses. I should send her away. I shall send her away. This is folly, folly as great as my father’s when he took my mother.
He turned, cautious, avoiding her body. Facing, they were no more than a breath apart. “My queen—”
She smiled. “Yes, your queen-for this night. Come, Solomon, let us rule night together.”
Heat molded the robe she wore; silk clung damp to her ripe body. Perfume rose from her skin: frankincense and cinnamon, sweet hint of rose. The scent of love.
Folly. But a folly he could no longer resist.
PART SIX
A Bed of Spices
Abishag
“I wish you better fortune—” Sometimes, during those first months in the king’s court, Queen Michal’s words left me uneasy in my mind, but I knew tbe fault lay with me. I was too new to the king’s court to play the great game in which the queen so
excelled. Queen, Michal was wise and just, and well-loved by Solomon; I sought to learn all she could teach.
And I strove too to learn what the Lady Bathsheba had to teach. The Lady Bathsheba was not very wise, as Queen Michal reckoned wisdom, but she was kind and patient; sometimes the Lady Bathsheba could teach what Queen Michal, for all her iron wit, could not.
When I asked Queen Michal why she, a great queen, wore always about her wrist a cheap chain of brass and spangles, she looked at me with eyes cool as crystal and said, “To remind me of the cost of a queen’s friendship.” It was the Lady Bathsheba who smiled and said, “Long ago it was all I bad to send in return, when Michal sent me a gift of oranges. I still remember bow their juice flowed over my tongue, both tart and sweet at once.”
It was to the Lady Bathsheba I turned when I wished to learn any task I found tedious, for she owned the skill if liking whatever work to which she must set her soft hands. I strove diligently to learn that subtle skill, for I knew already that King Solomon’s queen must undertake many tasks that would bore or vex her.
So between Queen Michal and the Lady Bathsheba, I was well-taught. But some skills cannot be taught, only learned. Learned through pain, through hardship, through sorrow.
And, sometimes, through joy.
Rahbarin
As a thousand years of custom demanded, the queen’s court was held each new and each full moon. With Queen Bilqis gone, her nephew, as regent, sat upon the Sun Throne and received petitions and granted justice. And answered questions, or tried to. After half-a-year, answering the ever more frequent questions about the queen’s continued absence grew not only difficult but tedious.
Why do men ever wish to wear a crown? That, too, was a question Rahbarin could not answer. Serving as the queen’s substitute nearly drove him mad; no longer was his time his own, his actions unfettered. Each word must be carefully weighed, each woman or man who petitioned be granted scrupulous justice.
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