Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba

by Edghill, India

  “Greetings, O Prophet,” Rehoboam began, and Ahijah glanced down at him, frowned.

  “You find Yahweh’s words amusing, Prince?” Ahijah demanded, and Rehoboam swiftly looked solemn.

  “No. I was only glad to find you so easily, for I must speak with you. I—I am troubled in my mind, and desire your wise counsel.” There, that should satisfy the prophet’s vanity! All men liked to give advice—especially to princes! Irritating though the thought was, Rehoboam kept his face calmly earnest.

  Ahijah stared at him as if trying to see behind his eyes; apparently satisfied, the prophet nodded. “Ask then, and receive Yahweh’s wisdom.”

  Exulting, Rehoboam gazed for a moment at the dusty stones beneath his feet; it would not serve his need to reveal any emotion other than troubled sorrow.

  “Well?” Ahijah demanded, and Rehoboam raised his head.

  “I have come to you because a great weight lies upon my heart,” Rehoboam began. “It is a matter of the behavior of—of a woman—”

  Ahijah seemed to recoil, as if Rehoboam himself might be unclean. “All women are full of vice; it is the way Yahweh made them.”

  Rehoboam didn’t care how the Lord had made women, he cared only that the prophet should listen to him. “Yes—yes, that is so.” Agreeing was the surest way to hold Ahijah’s attention. Now to bend their talk to the subject nearest Rehoboam’s heart. “But my lord Ahijah, are not some women more vile than others?”

  “Do not call me ‘lord’; I am only Yahweh’s mouthpiece.” Ahijah’s eyes seemed to burn like coals in his thin face. Still, Rehoboam thought the prophet appeared pleased at a prince’s regard.

  “Some women,” Rehoboam said hastily, fearing to lose the prophet’s attention, “some women follow evil ways. What should one do in such an instance?”

  Ahijah drew himself up, stiffer than ever—like a dead cedar, Rehoboam thought, inwardly smiling. Yes, that was how he would describe the prophet later, when boasting to his friends.

  “The Law is clear,” Ahijah declared. “An evil woman must be given to judgment.”

  “Even a kinswoman?” Rehoboam asked, thinking himself cunning. Yes, the prophet took an interest in that question! Rehoboam forced himself to pious solemnity; it would not do to appear triumphant.

  “Even so. Do you know of such a one? Yes, of course you must, for the king’s house stinks of iniquity. Of pride, and lust, and—”

  “Idolatry,” Rehoboam prompted. So easy, he exulted. So easy to sway even a prophet! Oh, what a king I shall be! All men shall leap at my bidding!

  The prophet glanced at him sharply for a moment before agreeing. “Yes, idolatry—the sin Yahweh hates above all others. The sin King Solomon countenances, since his foreign wives delight in it.”

  “Not only his foreign wives.” At last Rehoboam could let his sister’s good name fall. “But his daughter too follows after heathen idols. And she is no foreigner. She is a Daughter of the Law. It is not fit that she should be seen in the temples of foreign gods.”

  “It is not fit that she be there,” Ahijah agreed, and Rehoboam nodded gravely at the prophet’s repetition of his words. Then Ahijah said, “Have you proof of this?”

  Someday, Rehoboam swore crossly, this prophet will address me properly. I am a prince, after all! But at the moment he needed Ahijah’s goodwill, so he said only “I have seen her walk through their doors with my own eyes, my lord prophet. And others have seen her as well.”

  “Which temples?” Ahijah asked.

  What difference does that make? Rehoboam studied the tiles at his feet, as if ashamed of the words he uttered. “That of Astoreth, and of Belitis.” He tried hastily to think of others. “And that of Chemosh, and I think—”

  “Does she visit the Grove?” Ahijah’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. The Grove—that would mean the princess was not only idolatrous but unchaste as well. Girls had been stoned for less.

  “Yes,” Rehoboam said after a moment’s pause, as if he thought hard and long over his words. “Yes, she has visited the Grove.”

  As soon as he was out of the prophet’s sight, Rehoboam permitted himself to smile. I’ve done it, I’ve done it!

  He’d sworn his half-sister would be sorry she had ever thwarted him. Now she would be. The prophet Ahijah would make sure of that. Now my father will have to turn to me. I’m his heir, after all, and she—she’s only a girl. Still smiling, Rehoboam ran off down the king’s great courtyard—one day to be his great court. Someday in his bright future, when he was king.

  Ahijah

  Yahweh has granted my prayers; my god has delivered mine enemy into my hand. The thought came slow, weighted with its import; Ahijah was gratified to discover he did not exult at what he now must do. Nor did he shrink from the task ahead. Yahweh’s will must be done.

  And since the king refused to see the sin dwelling under his roof—and since the high priest refused to act at all—it was Ahijah himself who must act as king and priest would not. I shall cleanse the king’s house of evil, And then, when the people saw that even their king could not evade Yahweh’s Law, they, too, would abandon their evil ways and return to the path of righteousness.

  Ahijah began to consider how to bring Solomon to account. There must be no error, no crack through which King Solomon’s serpent-mind might crawl to safety. The evil must be exposed in the king’s own great court, to which any man or woman might come and demand justice before the throne.

  Solomon is soft and weak. I am neither. I will do whatever I must to bring him down to judgment. Even the king is not above the Law!

  Zadok

  The sacrifices had gone well; the worshippers had been numerous and generous. As always after the ritual had been properly carried out, Zadok departed in a glow of satisfied peace. The serene procession of the ceremony of sacrifice and worship reaffirmed the steadiness of the world and his own place in it. Today the rituals had flowed even more smoothly than usual. His hand had been steady on the knife, the sacrifice had been swift and faultless; his voice strong, the prayers chanted without flaw. And to think only yesterday I worried that I grew too old to serve!

  So thinking, Zadok bowed to the Holy of Holies and withdrew from the Sanctuary. Serenely contemplating the day’s blessings, he did not notice the figure awaiting him just beyond the Temple door until it was too late to retreat. The prophet Ahijah had seen him.

  Zadok’s serenity vanished like dew under desert sun. Bad enough when Ahijah cornered him in his own house—but this was a thousand times worse. A confrontation at the Temple door, with all eyes upon them and all ears stretched to hear whatever they might say—

  How have I offended, Lord? Zadok wailed silently. But he managed to smile upon Ahijah, and even to greet the prophet pleasantly, although he knew his efforts would be in vain.

  “Welcome to the Lord’s House, Ahijah; we are honored by your presence.”

  “So as well as having no name, Yahweh now dwells within walls, does He?” Ahijah demanded, and Zadok valiantly tried to smile as if Ahijah jested.

  “Of course He does not—but are we to grant Him no honors because of that? Come, walk with me to my own house and be welcomed there.” Zadok knew he would regret bringing Ahijah under his roof, but at least then the verbal lashing the prophet was sure to deliver would take place in private, rather than before the eyes of half Jerusalem.

  Ahijah regarded Zadok with scorn. “Like Yahweh, I need no house, and no walls can stop the truth of my words. Listen, Zadok, High Priest of King Solomon’s Temple; listen and heed.”

  “I listen, Prophet.” There was little else Zadok could do; Ahijah stood between Zadok and the steps down into the Temple court.

  “Then for once you show wisdom. Mark my words, for I shall say them once only. This city, once a citadel of holy purity, a woman chaste, now is no better than a painted harlot. Idols pollute the streets; false gods seduce all who pass by. And what is the source of this filth, this iniquity?”

  The prophet paused, as
if awaiting reply, but Zadok knew better than to speak. Words from him would only be oil poured upon the open flame of Ahijah’s loathing.

  “From one who should be Yahweh’s vessel.” Ahijah turned from Zadok to face the courtyard. “The king. The king’s palace is a sinkhole of lust and idolatry. And the king tolerates the sin beneath his roof—no, worse, he revels in such vile deeds. Solomon takes strange women to his bed, he worships at their shrines. And his children follow his footsteps through the mud.

  “Does not the king flaunt a pagan queen before us all? Does he not bend low before her and grant her all she desires? Do not his own women frequent the brothels of the Queen of Heaven?”

  As Ahijah spoke, Zadok grew increasingly uneasy. True, the prophet often raved against the court’s vices—but this was the first time Ahijah had dared proclaim them so publicly.

  And on the very steps of the Temple, and before me, in the sight of all men. Zadok faced a dilemma he must solve, and swiftly, if disaster were not to crash down upon his blameless head. For Ahijah spoke treason. If I do not rebuke him, I condone bis words. And if Zadok did rebuke the prophet—All Israel knows Solomon permits his wives their own gods. If I rebuke Ahijah, I publicly condone idolatry.

  Ahijah had fallen silent and turned back to face Zadok, waiting. When Zadok did not speak at once, Ahijah said, “Well, High Priest? What is the Law? For a daughter of Yahweh who consorts wanton in the Grove, what does the Law ordain?”

  With those words, Ahijah’s true snare lay revealed. He speaks of the king’s women—but the one he truly accuses is the Princess Baalit. Yes, that is the way to kill Solomon’s heart. Zadok knew he was not a clever man, but suddenly the words he must say flowed smoothly from his tongue.

  “For such a one, death; death by stones.” You know that, Prophet, as do all in the Temple court who listen to your poisoned words. Well, I too have words for you. Zadok drew himself up, filled with an odd sense of power, as if for once he were Ahijah’s equal in all things. “But for so grave a charge there must be proof. There must be witnesses—witnesses of untarnished motive. Have you such proof, Prophet? Have you such witnesses?”

  “There will be proof,” Ahijah said. “There will be witnesses. And then you must uphold the Law, High Priest—no matter who the transgressor may be.”

  “Bring me such proof, and such witnesses, and I will uphold the Law.” Unflinching, Zadok looked into the prophet’s eyes. “But remember, Ahijah, that there is another sin the Lord our god hates.”

  Zadok paused, as Ahijah had before, waiting. At last Ahijah asked, slowly, as if the words were being forced from his mouth. “And what is that, Zadok?”

  “False witness,” Zadok said. “Be careful, Prophet. Be very, very careful. For I am High Priest, and I will uphold the Law. The Lord’s Law, Prophet. Not yours.”

  Still exalted by that uncanny strength, Zadok stared into the prophet’s eyes. And for the first time since Zadok had known him, it was Ahijah who first looked away.

  Zadok did not remember how he got home; doubtless the Lord—or long habit—had guided his steps. Once there, he collapsed upon his bed; his body trembled as if with cold. The fiery power that had upheld him as he confronted the prophet Ahijah had vanished. And it had taken all Zadok’s own small power with it, leaving him weak and shaken.

  Was that the power of Yahweh, of the Lord? Zadok did not know; he knew only that for a shining moment he had burned stronger than the angry prophet. But that moment was gone. Zadok did not know why he had been granted that brief glory, and he was too weary to try to understand.

  But there was one thing more left to do. I must warn King Solomon. Zadok swallowed the hot spiced wine his wife brought him and held the bowl out for more. Yes, I must warn the king. As soon as I am able, I will go to King Solomon.

  Ahijah

  Proof. Yes, the high priest is right. Grudgingly, Ahijah admitted the truth of Zadok’s words; the concession left a sour taste upon his tongue. Yahweh’s Law demands proof.

  But such proof would not be easy to get. Even the princess’s visits to the temples of foreign gods would not be enough; many women visited those temples—too many. Well, that must stop. But men would not condemn the king’s daughter for doing what their wives and daughters also did, for that would be to condemn their own womenfolk as well.

  As they should, as they should—Ahijah forced himself to calmness. First cleanse the king’s house, and the others would follow. He must smash the serpent’s venomous head. The king.

  So mere visits to the temples of strange gods would not suffice. But Prince Rehoboam had also admitted that his sister visited the Grove. And for that, Ahijah could demand her death. A princess of the House of David wallowing wanton in the Grove, worshipping the Morning Star with her own body, opening herself to all comers! Disgusted to nausea by the image sullying his mind, Ahijah shuddered and spat.

  That was where she must be taken. She must be dragged from that foulness, dragged through the city streets and flung naked before her father’s throne. The Law was clear, clear as pure water: for wantonness, she must die. King Solomon would be forced to condemn his daughter or lose his throne.

  Ahijah smiled. Let the vaunted wisdom of Solomon show the king a way out of that trap!

  Baalit Sings

  Later, it seemed to me that Ahijah’s secret plan to disgrace me must have been known to half the city. The fault lay in the prophet’s own iron virtue; to him, a word sworn was immutable. It did not occur to Ahijah that the men he bound to secrecy would not count it oath-breaking to whisper the matter to their wives as they lay together. Or that Rehoboam would work against his own good by boasting to his followers that his haughty sister would soon be dragged down lower than dust.

  As a result, I heard of the plot to violate the Grove of the Morning Star well before the new moon showed in the evening sky. And I was not even the first to know of the matter, for word came to me from Ishvaalit, sister of one of Rehoboam’s friends. Her brother Athaniel had listened to Rehoboam’s boast, praised him for wisdom greater than Solomon’s, and gone straight to his own sister—not to warn me, for Athaniel cared nothing for me for either good or ill, but Athaniel was fond of his sister, and Ishvaalit worshipped in the Grove each full moon. Athaniel cared a great deal for what happened to Ishvaalit, and so he warned her to stay away from the Goddess’s Grove at the next bright moon. No fool, Ishvaalit soon extracted the whole tale from her brother, and then came straight to me.

  “We must speak,” she told me.

  “Very well,” I said, and invited her into my own courtyard.

  But Ishvaalit shook her head. “Come sit with me by the fountain in the queens’ garden.” The great fountain there was a favored spot; what was spoken beside its falling waters could not be heard three steps away. So I knew what she wished to say was secret—there is no better place to trade secrets than in plain sight—and smiled, and wound my arm about her waist, and walked with her like a sister through the hallways and galleries until we reached the garden.

  “Now,” I said when we sat beside the singing fountain, “tell me.”

  “Your brother Prince Rehoboam plots against you,” Ishvaalit said, and I smiled.

  “Always,” I said, “it is the only way he can be happy, by injuring others.”

  “Do not laugh.” Ishvaalit smiled, as if we shared a mild jest. “This time he means your death.”

  I sat like stone while Ishvaalit told me of Rehoboam’s boasts, and her brother’s warning. I knew Rehoboam hated me—but so greatly? What wrong had I done him? I was not even a rival for the throne, for, as he had so often jeered, I was only a girl.

  Ishvaalit finished her tale, and I forced myself to laugh, shaking my head as if she spun jests too well. “I do not know what the prophet plans,” I said, “for you know I do not go to the Grove by moonlight.” I had visited the Grove of the Morning Star once, by day, and seen only a well-tended orchard, a vale of pomegranates and olives. The Grove’s moon did not call me; I had
not gone again.

  “I know only what my brother told me,” Ishvaalit said. “Now I have told you.” She leaned forward, then, and laid her hand over mine. “I do not know what the prophet plans—but until the full moon wanes, do not drink from any cup you do not share with others, and do not go aside with any you do not trust as you trust yourself.”

  I promised I would not. I knew what Ahijah and Rehoboam thought, that since the wild princess roamed where she would, it would be simple to force a sleeping potion down her throat and carry her off to the Grove, to be found lying naked by scandalized louts—

  Well, I knew better than that. “I will be careful,” I said. “Go now, and warn the priestesses who serve the Morning Star that this bright moon, their goddess will be best served by chastity. And warn the Daughters of the Law not to go at all.”

  If Ahijah could not snare me, he still would happily accuse any girl found there and demand she be delivered up for stoning. My father would refuse, I knew that, but it would be best to avoid an open clash between king and prophet.

  “I will tell them,” Ishvaalit said. And then we remained beside the great fountain, chattering of this and that, until half-a-dozen of my father’s wives came to bask in the sun. Ishvaalit and I wove our way into other conversations, as if caught by their gossip, until at last I looked up from the new embroidery stitch Ahinoam was displaying and saw that Ishvaalit was gone. I smiled, and set to praising my stepmother’s needlework, and hoped that I was truly as clever as I had sometimes been told.