Nikaulis had seen the prophet only in passing. But unlike those of the other men here, men who disparaged her skills as both warrior and woman even as lust darkened their eyes, Ahijah’s eyes had held only clean loathing. That iron honesty Nikaulis could admire. “No. Whatever his faults, Ahijah is no hypocrite. I could stand before him naked and the prophet would only turn away.”
As soon as the words left her lips, Nikaulis wished she could recall them. But it was too late. The Lady’s Grove summoned passion and folly from men’s and women’s hearts.
Benaiah stopped, touched her arm; she turned to face him squarely. “I would not turn away, Nikaulis,” Benaiah said, and then, “Would you?”
Unfair, unjust; how can I answer? At last she said, “You think this a game. I am not a prize to be won, Benaiah.”
He said nothing; she counted heartbeats, willing her blood to calm. At last he said, “This is the only game and the only prize, Nikaulis. I know that now, and so do you. Tell me it is not too late for me to do honor to the Queen of Heaven. Tell me it is not too late to win you.”
Although his words were humble, his voice rang as firm as if he ordered troops upon a battlefield. Even as petitioner, Benaiah stood straight and strong as a good blade.
I must not soften; he is hard iron, so must I be also. Nikaulis looked into Benaiah’s steady dark eyes. He lusted for her; desire burned hot behind his eyes, rippled hot beneath his calm words.
“Tell me,” Benaiah repeated. “Tell me, Nikaulis.”
As if kindled by his demand, heat slid serpent-smooth beneath her skin, coiled within her loins. Long years of discipline granted her the power to mask response, but not to quench the fire his had kindled within her.
“You do not command me, Benaiah.” Moon-masked; such control would serve for the moment. “As for the Queen of Heaven—ask her for yourself. You do not need me for that.”
“I command you as you command me.” Still Benaiah did not move; did not attempt to touch her. “You are my match, Nikaulis, as I am yours. I have sought you all my life, war-bride.”
“But I have not sought you.” The words fell from her lips like stones, cold and hard. How could I seek what I did not know I lacked?
At last Benaiah reached out to her; she braced herself to repulse an embrace, setting her hand upon her dagger’s hilt. Now he shows himself for what all men are—selfish and greedy. Such a man was easily denied, easily forgotten.
“Peace,” Benaiah said, and laid his hand over hers. His sword-hardened skin touched hers as gently as water. “Never in my life have I forced a woman; do you think I would start with you?”
“Dare, and learn sorrow.” Nikaulis refused to shrink from the touch of his hand on hers. Nothing. It means nothing.
For long moments, she thought he would not answer. Then, at last, he let his hand slip from hers.
“Dare, and learn joy,” he said. And before she could summon an answer, he turned and walked away from her through the Grove, down the winding path back to the Lady’s Gate.
Long after Benaiah had walked away, leaving her standing alone within the Grove, Nikaulis still felt his hand press upon hers, an invisible caress. A bond—
Yes, a bond, she reminded herself. A chain for a soft-witted woman. Just as Benaiah’s words sought to command her mind, his hands sought to command her body. No one commands a woman’s will without her consent. That lesson Nikaulis had learned before she had breasts, before she had the strength to lift a sword or pull a bow.
Slowly she turned and walked towards the Grove’s edge, following the path Benaiah had used. Benaiah will not command me; I will not be lured by a man’s strength with sword and spear. I am not to be won like a warrior’s prize. I will not surrender.
At the Lady’s Gate she paused, looking up at the smiling goddess painted upon the gatepost. Lady of Love, fruitful and profligate; alien to a Sword Maid’s vows. “I will not surrender,” she said to the bright idol above her. “Not to Benaiah. Not to You. Not even to myself.”
So vowing, she walked down the path away from the Grove. As she stepped beyond the trees, into the hot still light of midday, she heard a sound behind her. A whisper of leaves tossed by a playful breeze, a ripple of sun-warm laughter.
But there was no breeze. And when Nikaulis swiftly turned to catch the laughing spy, she saw no one.
Only the Lady’s Gate, and an empty path, and a painted goddess shadowed by dust-gilded trees.
Later, when she lay alone in the bed across her queen’s doorway, Nikaulis found she could not sleep. She had been set a riddle she could not answer, been challenged to a battle she could not win. Turning on her side to stare into the darkness, she tried to think, and saw Benaiah’s form in the shadows, heard his voice in the murmurs of the night.
A choice lay before her; a choice between the queen she had served so long and well and the man she knew only as a worthy opponent, a match for her own skill.
I care nothing for him. He does not kindle my blood. Lie; she had only to ask her own heart to know that.
She needs me. Truth; the queen needed her. But needed her as queen’s captain, not as Nikaulis. Any woman as skilled as she could serve as well. Or any man. Only custom dictated that the queen’s guard be a woman.
And each year it grew harder to find women who owned the needful skills. Women possessed by no one but themselves, who rode and fought and lived as free as any man. Once the Amazons had been a power in the lands, ridden the war-roads, ruled an empire of the wind.
Now the Maiden clans remaining lived hidden, secret; ruled no more than shadows, their ancient customs fading even in their own memories.
A dozen generations ago an Amazon ruled as Queen of Athens beside Theseus Kingslayer. A dozen generations hence, who will remember we once rode beside the kings of men and were counted their equals?
Time rode with iron hooves; no woman and no man could turn its course.
I grow—womanish. A bitter smile curved her lips. Such thoughts could not aid her in the choice the gods had spread before her. Only cold truth would serve.
The queen, or the man? Duty—or love?
The Lady of Swords owned her service, pledged long ago. And all the years since she had taken that vow, Nikaulis had served Her faithfully and well. Now, without warning, the Lady of Love beckoned, and She, too, was owed worship. But just as the Dark Sister and the Bright owned their own realms, so, too, did they own their own servants.
I cannot serve both Duty and Love. Wiser and stronger women than she had torn themselves to bloody ruin in the attempt. Nikaulis could not serve both goddesses; she must, in the end, choose.
Time spread two futures before her, a merchant displaying glittering wares. Upon this cloth, a life cool as a string of flawless pearls: Nikaulis the queen’s guard, the Moon Maid, the Amazon walking pure and cool all her chaste life. And never again to see him? Never again test my heart and will against his?
Then take up the other offering: a handful of stones bright and dark. The rarest gems glowed beside dull smooth stones; a woman’s days, some bright. Some dark. Become just a woman like all the others? Become nothing more than his prize?
Neither life held all that she desired; she must choose, knowing that to choose was also to reject.
So which?
Return to her old life, safe and sure?
Or entrust herself to the unknown, and hazard all she was?
So it seems choice, too, is a duty. And whichever course I choose, I choose tears.
Baalit Sings
In my mind, the fateful night unfolded before me as if I alone wove the pattern of its hours. I forgot that other men and women possessed fears and desires. And I forgot that those I expected to dance the measures of my song had not learned their steps.
My father had told me I had many lessons left to learn. He was right. That night taught me again what I had learned but chosen to forget as I plotted to gain my future: that no man sees himself as no more than one spear-carrier standing amon
g many; that no woman sees herself as no more than one spinner sitting among all the rest.
In our own hearts, we all are our god’s best beloved. We are all heroes.
So while I laid out my plans in the arrogance of youth, others also prepared for the Night of the Full Moon. Had I thought well upon the matter even for a heartbeat, I would have gone to the Grove by sundown, waited there until full dark. My warning to Ishvaalit had ensured that my plan was now known almost as widely as was Ahijah’s. Too many people knew. And there may be a way in which a secret told even to one other may be kept within palace walls, but if there is, I have not yet learned it, even now.
My true folly was to think no one would care, save I—and Ahijah.
But that night only one thing troubled me, and that was the thought that the prophet Ahijah might not come to the Grove. He had sworn he would seek me out there, drag me out of the Grove’s darkness into the light of the Law’s justice. Surely he would keep his word. But suppose he chooses another night? I cannot run to the Grove each moon on the chance that is the night he will appear!
By the time I had adorned myself in gown and gems befitting a venture to the Grove of the Morning Star, the western sky burned red and gold. To the east the sky deepened to the blue of night; the edges of the eastern hills glowed silver, heralding the rising moon.
I paced my balcony, restless as a caged leopard. Surely Khurrami and Irsiya should have come to me by now. Surely Helike should already be scratching at my gate, ready to set her feet upon the Grove’s path once more. I twisted the serpent of gold about my wrist, toyed with the silver tassels fringing my girdle. Over the eastern hills, the moon rose full, a bright shield against the fall of night.
I looked at the moon and knew with chill certainty that the others were not coming, or they would have been here long ago. So I must do this thing alone. For a heartbeat the task seemed too hard for me, too dangerous; my courage melted like salt in rain, and I knew I could not do it—
You must. My inner voice sounded unfamiliar, as if a stranger spoke. This is your one chance. Act now, or lament forever,
Now I saw that it had been selfish and craven to rely upon the others to risk themselves for me. It is your life, your future. You must take the risk if you desire the reward.
I lifted my eyes to the rising moon. Nothing troubled the moon; she soared the heavens free and silent as a swan, following her own path through endless night. So too would I soar. I had only to summon my courage, and fly.
But in the end, I flew only so far as my courtyard gate. As I stepped beyond it, two shapes moved forward out of the shadows thrown by torchlight. For a breath my skin chilled; the forms seemed ghosts in the unsteady light.
“No, Princess,” said Benaiah, and a cold stone seemed to settle in my stomach, freezing me where I stood. Benaiah, my father’s commander of the army, and beside him, Nikaulis, captain of the Spice Queen’s guard—I would rather it had been ghosts.
“What—what are you doing here?” I demanded, wishing my voice did not sound so much like a mouse’s squeak.
“Stopping a foolish girl from causing much pain to herself and to her father,” Benaiah said, and that was how my daring scheme ended—with an order from Benaiah for me to behave myself and stop acting like a silly child.
I did not even try to elude them; I knew it would be not only useless, but pointless. I would not defy king and prophet this night. And another moon would be too late.
“Nikaulis will make sure you wait until your father comes to you,” Benaiah said. “And I grant her complete authority to use any means necessary to keep you safely in your own courtyard. Do you understand me?”
I longed to speak cool, regal words that would shrivel Benaiah’s composure, but I retained enough sense to know that any words I uttered now would sound like the mewling of a spoiled child. So I said nothing. I only nodded and walked past Benaiah and Nikaulis, back through the gate into my garden court.
Behind me, I heard the ebony gate close. I stared at the closed gate until my heartbeat slowed again, my breathing steadied. Then I turned and walked slowly across my courtyard and sat beside the alabaster fountain. I could do nothing now but wait.
Ahijah
For all his rage against Asherah’s Grove, Ahijah had never before set foot within that ungodly place. Now he must, for the sake of the kingdom itself. Never had it occurred to him that he would be denied entry.
But when he strode up the path of gilded bricks and approached the gateway to the Grove of the Morning Star, a woman barred his path. Her lips were painted scarlet and her eyelids green; a gilded leather belt two handspans wide circled her waist. Her bare breasts rose like twin moons above the gilded leather, and her thighs gleamed white through the ribbons of her skirt. She held her hands out, palms upward, as Ahijah approached.
“Peace, brother,” she began, and Ahijah lifted his staff and slammed it into the ground between them.
“Silence, harlot, and let me pass. I am here on Yahweh’s business.”
The woman did not move. “You may pass when you come here on Asherah’s business,” she said. “Anger and hatred are not welcome in the Lady’s Grove, Prophet”
So the painted strumpet knew him, and still would not let him pass; pain gnawed Ahijah’s stomach. She will beg to do my bidding before the Lord of Hosts is done with her!
“Step aside, lest the Most High strike you down, and this blasphemous den of vice with you.”
The guardian of the gate laughed. “Your god has not struck us down yet; perhaps He is not as offended by our worship as you are.”
She shall be struck down; dogs will eat of her corrupt flesh. Ahijah strove to console himself with the thought, refused to falter in his purpose.
“Let me pass, harlot,” he said, and walked forward as if the woman did not exist. Yahweh will uphold me; His strength will support me. His will shall be done.
He was not surprised when the half-clothed woman surrendered the path to him; he brushed past her as if she were mist, his eyes fixed upon the path into the Grove. But as he passed, he smelled the cassia and nard upon her skin; heard a low ripple of laughter.
“Look well, Yahweh’s Prophet. Look well, and learn.”
I will look. And it is you who will learn, harlot. You and King Solomon’s daughter—all of you will learn the price of mocking Yahweh and His prophet!
He had searched the Grove, looked upon evil and upon licentiousness past bearing. Gazed upon painted idols, upon painted women, harlots offering themselves to any man who passed by. He had endured the pressure of lust, of wantonness scenting the air like heavy perfume.
He had endured the sly smiles, and the soft laughter as he strode through the Goddess’s Grove upon his god’s work.
For nothing. Knowledge of his failure burned beneath his heart, gnawed fierce and hot. Nothing. King Solomon’s daughter had not been found within the Grove. All the women who flaunted themselves that night wore the scarlet-tasseled belt that marked them as priestesses, as daughters of lust. As women sworn to lie with any man who desired them.
But the other women who flocked to the Grove each full moon to slake their lusts had not come this night. The only women in the Grove this night were the priestesses, with their whispers and their laughter.
The king’s daughter was not there.
Baalit Sings
All that long night, I sat beside the singing fountain. Above me stars slid across the sky, changing with the changing hours. As the night sky paled from black to deepest blue, heralding dawn, the ebony gate opened.
It was my father; I had known he must come. I had been bracing myself to meet his anger.
As my father walked towards me, I rose from my seat at the fountain’s edge. When he stood before me, I bowed my head. “Father—”
“Do not waste your breath on pieties you do not mean.” Never had I heard him speak to me so coldly. This was not my father speaking; this was the king.
“I do mean them. I do honor you
, Father.” To my distress, my words trembled upon the air. I bit the inside of my lip hard, suddenly fearing I might weep.
“You choose an odd way of doing me honor. You are not a child, Baalit; you are nearly a woman ready for marriage. And you are not some slave’s child. You are a king’s daughter. Kings cannot afford folly.”
He paused, and I drew a deep breath, readying myself to respond calmly. But I was not given the chance.
“I had thought you well-taught and wise, Baalit. How could you plot such deadly folly? Were it not for Benaiah’s good sense and loyalty, Ahijah would even now be dragging you before the wall for stoning.”
“I knew you would stop that.”
“Yes, if I knew of it. Ah, I see that pricks you. Good.” There was no softness in him now, no yielding. King Solomon spoke, his words clear, his wisdom sharp as a well-honed blade. “Daughter, what were you thinking?”
Cold fear sank into my bones. “Father, I—” My mouth was too dry for words; I tried again. “I had thought he would accuse me in your court. That you would have to send me away to ensure my safety.”
“Send you away. Send you away with her—” Sorrow shadowed my father’s face; never had I seen him look so weary. For an instant I saw clearly how he would look when he was old.
“Daughter,” he said at last, “it is not wise to set in motion events you cannot control.”
“Father,” I said, “you should have thought of that before you taught me that my mind was my own.”
Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba Page 42