Tested, and had not been found wanting. Still, she remained wary; the man seemed too perfect, as if he were more than human.
Or less. But he stood waiting before her, his hands held out for hers in patient supplication. And suddenly she was sick of wariness and of prudence, of weighing each word before she spoke it. Sick of constant quiet battle. I spend all my days and all my nights tending others’lives, thinking of their good, creating their happiness. But for today—
“Will Bilqis come?” Solomon asked, as if sensing her need of aid in crossing the last barrier, and reckless elation transmuted the blood flowing smoothly through her veins to hot pounding wine.
For today, the Queen of the Morning unlocks Bilqis’s chains. For today, the queen sets the woman free.
Slowly, she lifted her hands and laid them in his; his fingers closed about hers in silent caress. “Yes, Solomon. For today, Bilqis will come.”
She had no idea what Solomon planned—and neither did he. Or so he said; she doubted that, for even a king’s impulsive acts must be ordered, devised with care. But I will not spoil this day with questions. Today is not a test of his wisdom and my cunning.
Today was freedom. So she merely smiled, and followed where he led her.
Once again, Solomon surprised her; expecting him to carry her to some secluded spot beyond Jerusalem’s heavy walls, she found herself instead following him through narrow corridors to a tower with a stairway curved about it.
“Up here,” he said, and led her up the narrow stairs.
At the top they stepped forward into a blaze of pale pure light, and she stopped, dazzled by what lay before her.
Surely we are atop the world! But after a moment, she realized they merely stood atop the king’s palace, upon its highest roof. From this coign of vantage, all Jerusalem seemed spread before them, a golden haze dreaming under the summer sun. Beyond the city walls lay valleys silvered by rows of olive trees, beyond them mountains rising to the north and to the east. To the west, the land sloped green and golden down towards the restless sea. And to the south—to the south Sheba lay waiting.
But I am no goddess, to see beyond the world’s rim—nor am I a queen to trouble myself over a land beyond my eyes. Not today. For today—
“Beautiful, is it not?” Solomon released her hand and slid his arm about her waist, as easily as if they were in truth free young lovers.
“Yes.” She turned into his arms, setting her back to the south, and her duties there. “Once again you have surprised me, Solomon; surely an ardent lover takes his beloved into the secret hills for a tryst such as this?”
“Trust me, the hills have no secrets—not for us. If I so much as ask for my horses to be harnessed, half the palace will know where I go and why, and the other half will know before I pick up the reins. And if I go abroad with a beautiful woman—” He laughed and lifted his free hand to her cheek. “We might as well be an army with banners!”
“So you brought me here.” Now she saw how well-appointed this rooftop was; a pavilion shaded half the roof; beneath the pavilion’s stripes of purple and gold, carpets woven to resemble desert gardens blanketed the hard stone. Cushions lay piled upon the rugs, promising even more comfort when the time was ripe. A table set with wine and fruits, bread and cheese; flowers in bright-painted pots—Truly he has labored long to create this garden for us. How does he keep this secret?
“So I brought you here,” he agreed. “As any man might bring his beloved to the housetop.”
“And as any might come with her beloved. I am my beloved’s and he mine—for this span of time. So many love you, king of my heart.”
He smiled; she had not thought he could look so world-weary. “Oh, I am loved, Bilqis—but dutifully. I am loved because I am a just man, and a gentle king, and because I do not trouble the people with things they do not wish to understand.
“But I am not well-loved. Not as they loved my father David, no matter what sins he committed, no matter what burdens he laid upon their backs. Him they loved for no reason other than that they loved him.”
She slid her fingers through his. “Forget the people, Solomon; their love is not important. Their welfare, their happiness, their safety—those you give them freely, because you are their king, regent for their god upon this earth.”
“Yes. But it would be pleasant to be well-loved, despite my faults.”
“Or because of them?”
“That, too.”
She laughed, trying to entice him back to sweetness. “Then you are lost, for you have no flaws, my dearest love.”
“Then I wish I possessed one.”
“I am wrong; you do own a fault.”
“And what is that?”
“You are too gloomy, my heart. Come to me; forget your ungrateful subjects for an hour.”
“They are grateful enough; they give me all their obedience and respect.”
“And their daughters, too, when you will have them. You are too moderate, Solomon—a lesser monarch would have a harem of a thousand beauties to cheer his nights.”
“Moderation—is that a fault?” He shrugged. “Perhaps it is. I am moderate, and tolerant, and am called Solomon the Wise. Solomon the Just.” His eyes studied the city below them. “But this city—this they still call the City of David.”
“That will change—”
He shook his head and turned from the city below. “No, it will not. A thousand years from now, they will still call this King David’s City.”
There was a dull weariness in his voice that chilled her; as if he had abandoned a long-held hope. She did not wait for him to embrace her, but gathered him in her arms as if he were a hurt child.
“Never mind, my love,” she whispered in his ear. “Never mind that. I tell you that a thousand years from now King David will be remembered only as the father of Solomon the Wise.”
Solomon pulled back and took her face between his hands. “Beloved, your wisdom is as strong wine—and you lie like a queen.” Before she could deny this, he bent and kissed her. “And your kisses are honey on the tongue. Come to me, my fair one, my only beloved—”
“Only? How many have climbed those tower stairs with you? I ask as any woman might ask her beloved, whose housetop seems so well-prepared.”
“How many do you think?”
“I think—only one other.” For a heartbeat she thought she had erred. Free or not, I should have weighed my words thrice over before reminding him of his lost love!
But he did not cool, or withdraw. Instead, his eyes softened, glinted crystal-bright. “Only one other, and since her, no one.” His hand slid into the soft coils of her hair. “Until you, no one.” His fingers sought and found the first of the jeweled ivory pins that bound up her heavy hair.
He drew the pin free so gently she knew it was gone only when she heard the gem-studded ivory chime against the hot smooth stones beneath her feet. “No one at all.”
Solomon
Long after the queen had drawn her garments over her body once more—she had permitted him to clasp the jasper brooches upon the shoulders of her gown, to slip the jeweled pins back into the coils of her soft hair—long after she had gone, leaving behind her only the faint perfume of roses and cinnamon, Solomon remained in the rooftop sanctuary he had long ago devised. Here he could rest untroubled. Here he could embrace his beloved.
Here he owned solitude and peace.
Of course the peace was false, the solitude illusion; kings possessed all a man could desire—save privacy. But this retreat gave at least the illusion of that humble luxury.
And he had labored hard to achieve even that. True, his servant Tobiah had aided him; it would have been difficult—nay, impossible—for Solomon to acquire all he needed, and to carry it to the rooftop alone. But Tobiah would never betray the secret retreat; Solomon had no fear of that. And it would be the worst sort of arrogant folly to truly disappear, for not even one man to know where the king might be found at need.
Bu
t all else Solomon had done for himself.
No hands other than his had arranged the cushions that awaited them. Just as no servant had carried the fruit and the wine, or spread them out upon the low mosaic table.
The flowers pleased him the most, for they had cost him the greatest skill and effort. Scattered about the rooftop were bright-painted clay pots in which grew iris and hyacinths, roses and lilies; sweet strong perfume drifted upon the heated air. A small garden, but Solomon’s own.
And to think I re-created this sanctuary only now, returned only now to this peace, Only because I wished a private tryst with my beloved queen … .
Another gift for which he must thank Bilqis. For here, in the aerie devised for a lovers’ meeting, Solomon could rest, knowing he would not be interrupted for the minor, the trivial. Only urgent need would bring Tobiah up the winding narrow stairs to the king’s secret garden.
Here I may do as I please, without wondering if it is wise, or just, or prudent. Smiling, Solomon tore the round of bread into small bits and flung them out across the sun-hot stones. The sparrows descended promptly, grabbing and squabbling over the king’s bounty.
So like my courtiers—save that the birds are more honest, Were men honest, before they set a king above them to bear their burdens and their sins upon his shoulders?
Perhaps it had been better a hundred years past, better when there had been no rich empire, no kingdom. When there had been no king in Israel or in Judah; no court, no subjects, no government. Only a proud, spare people holding themselves aloof from those about them, dwelling as farmers and shepherds and merchants.
No City of David. No Temple.
Such great change; such swift change. Within the space of a single long lifetime the very land upon which men walked had altered beyond recognition.
When Queen Michal was a girl, only judges ruled our land, laid down what law there was. It was still said, of that wild time, that then each man had done what was good in his own eyes. And that road leads to chaos. But Michal had lived to see her father rule those proud, wild men as their first king, and her husband as their second, and had herself raised their third. Now Solomon ruled not only over Israel and Judah but over Edom and Moab, and half-a-dozen kingdoms beyond. And his influence swayed royal decisions from Egypt to Tyre and Babylon.
Saul ruled one kingdom, and David two. I rule an empire. I wonder what my son will rule over in his turn?
The silent question shadowed the day; even a father’s eye could not find a true king in Rehoboam. But the boy was young yet—I must give him time. Time and training.
But I will not think of that, not here, not this hour. I will not think of the future, or of the past, or of anything but now. Now, when I once again can lie within this garden, and look into a woman’s eyes, and see love shining there.
The sky shone blue as a faience bowl above his head; all about him rose the perfume of the flowers he had brought here. The tower’s height muted all sounds, and beyond the walls he could gaze into the uttermost distance, to the silver haze that veiled the world’s end. Beauty, and silence, and for once, peace. Gifts given, all unwitting, by Bilqis, and her loving heart.
Even without her, all this gives pleasure. And with her here—Ah, then this rooftop garden was paradise.
Abishag
Yes, Solomon’s choice proved wiser than Adonijah’s. Thinking his father already within the gates of death, Adonijah chose to hold a great banquet, asking all the princes and all the great men of the court—all save Solomon and those who favored him. And somehow Adonijah had persuaded the high priest Abiathar to anoint him as king.
Joab sat at Prince Adonijah’s table as well. When I told my news to Queen Michal, I thought Joab’s action would be the stone that hit hardest. Instead, her eyes glinted; a smile shadowed her face. Then she kissed me and bade me return to King David’s side. There I sat beside King David’s bed as if I never had left my post until Queen Michal herself came and sent me away.
Sitting silent through the long afternoon, pretending I knew nothing—I was glad, then, to take up a spindle, and busy myself turning thread. Queen Michal was right.
Spinning calmed the hands, and soothed the mind. When all one could do was wait, that was indeed a blessing.
Bilqis
Their trysts in the tower garden took place by day, during times when each might be assumed by those who sought them to be somewhere else, somewhere chaste and prudent. But today she had received a silent message from Solomon, a gift of a pearl pure and perfect as the full moon folded in a black cloth sewn with spangles of silver. And she had known that for once—perhaps for the only time—they were to share the paradise of night.
This time, when he climbed the stairs to the tower garden, it was she who awaited him. During the long afternoon, she had bathed in water scented with oil of roses; her handmaidens had smoothed ointment perfumed with her own scent of frankincense and amber into her skin and drawn sandalwood combs through her hair until the fragrance clung to the long gleaming strands.
But to Irsiya’s pleas to paint her eyes with malachite and with kohl, to redden her lips, Bilqis shook her head. She merely had Khurrami stroke her throat and the palms of her hands with Abishag’s perfume of roses and cinnamon, touch the scent to her breasts and knees and belly.
Nor would she accept any of the massy gold ornaments Irsiya urged upon her, the rich gems Khurrami wished to twine through her hair. And when Irsiya and Khurrami protested, she said only “No. Tonight Solomon sees the woman who loves him—not the Queen from the South.”
That silenced them. She stood quiet as Irsiya knelt and wound thin chains hung with golden bells about her ankles, as Khurrami draped a cloak of black linen over her. When they were done, they gazed upon her as proudly as if she were a bride and they her doting grandmothers; their eyes glistened bright with unshed tears.
She drew them to her and kissed first Irsiya and then Khurrami in silent thanks. Khurrami pinned the embroidered veil to the cloak, hiding her face; Irsiya held the heelless slippers for her to step into. And then she moved silent from her rooms, from the Little Palace, through the maze of corridors and courtyards to the king’s tower. Cloak and veil concealed her; she moved through the night palace as if she had become a shadow, or a ghost.
When she had climbed the stairs and reached their garden, she unpinned the veil and let it fall from her face, let the cloak slip away. Clad only in the night air, she savored the rising breeze upon her body. To the east, the moon rose full as the pearl Solomon had sent her; above, the stars blazed across the endless darkness. And below—
She walked slowly across the rooftop to the wall that shaped the limit of their solitude; the golden bells about her ankles chimed low and sweet as she moved through the cool air. Below, Jerusalem crouched like a great beast, tawny-dark; torches and hearth fires flared, wrathful eyes. This land does not love me; I will be glad to abandon it to its anger. But I will miss its king—no, I will miss Solomon. My dearest love, and my last,
She closed her eyes against pain; and when she opened them again, she turned. Solomon waited there, a shadow among shadows.
As the moon climbed high, they lay in each other’s arms, warm against midnight’s chill. She cradled him as if he were son as well as lover, and listened as he talked.
For tonight, as if sensing their time grew short, Solomon spoke of the deeds that had brought him here, to this night, and the circle of her arms. He spoke of his mother, and of the queen who had raised him up to be king. And he spoke of guilt, legacy of a child’s grief.
“You know I should never have been king, Bilqis? I had a brother—a good man, a brave man. Even Queen Michal praised him, spoke of him with fondness. His name was Amnon, and he was King David’s eldest son. Amnon was born to be king. And I had a sister, too. Tamar.”
She had heard the tale of Amnon and Tamar as it now was told: rape and murder and war. “There was another brother,” she said, as Solomon paused, remained silent so long she feare
d he would not go on.
“Yes,” he said. “Absalom. Our father’s favorite, the Lord alone knows why.” He twined his fingers through hers, lifted her hand to his face; she knew he breathed in the scent of cinnamon and roses that clung to her love-warm skin. “Absalom and Tamar shared a mother, Maachah; Amnon was Ahinoam’s son. And Amnon loved Tamar, and she him; they wished to wed.”
“That would have been a good match.” Twice good; a brave prince to please those who swore only men counted in this changing world—and a royal daughter to carry the legacy of the mother, and the past.
Solomon shrugged. “Perhaps. Queen Michal approved; she promised to speak to King David on their behalf, to urge his consent to their marriage. I loved Tamar and Amnon too. Amnon was always kind, and Tamar gave me a toy horse. Its mane and tail were scarlet wool. I do not know why I remember that.”
“You remember because your sister gave the toy to you, and because you loved her.” She stroked his arm; his muscles strained tense against his skin.
“But Absalom—Absalom hated Amnon, and Tamar too, when she chose Amnon for her lover. He slew them.”
“Yes, my love, I know. The tale is no secret.”
“It was not rape. That was Absalom’s lie.”
“Lies live long, Solomon. Truth—truth is a thing of the heart.” She stroked his hair. “There is more; tell me.”
He told the rest in slow hard words, as if he feared to utter them. “Queen Michal vowed to aid Amnon and Tamar when Absalom stood there too. He had struck Tamar, you see, and Amnon swore to beat him bloody. I listened as Queen Michal and my mother Bathsheba spoke of what had passed, and of how they favored Amnon and Tamar over Absalom, whom they loathed.
“Later that day I taunted Absalom, rejoicing that my brother Amnon and my sister Tamar would be king and queen, and Absalom less than nothing. Absalom told me our father David would never let them wed, and then—and then I said that they must wed, for they already lay together as if they were husband and wife. And that night Absalom went to Amnon’s house and slew them both.
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