Queen of Sheba (13 page)

There were no torches here, only the small lamps carved of alabaster with their bit of fire at the end of the twisted sheep’s wool that curled down into the rich olive oil. The light was dim but magical, transforming the bright cushions into rubies and emeralds and the gold and silver goblets and trays into gleaming particles of captured light.

He was about to call for one of his favorite harpists when a small, bent figure seemed to emerge out of the shadows. “Your lordship,” the voice was almost a whisper as the figure with rather slow, painful movements prostrated herself at his feet.

He wanted to laugh as he recognized one of his old nursemaids. She who had been so bold and had wielded a very effective switch on his bare young legs was now almost frightened to approach him. She who had fed him with her own fingers and told him funny stories to make him forget a skinned knee had become distant and formal as though his being king had wiped out all the past between them. It was obvious that to her he was now someone remote and unapproachable.

“What is it you wish to tell me?” He tried to say the words in a gentle way, hoping she would relax and be her normal, humorous self.

“Your lordship,” she said again with a trembling voice.

“Come, come. Enough of this formality. Let me get a look at you. I haven’t seen you all year.” He reached down to help her to her feet and a servant rushed forward. “I can at least help this old one to her feet,” he said as he motioned the servant away. “She helped me often enough when I was just a little fellow.”

The old woman stood trembling before him, her eyes on the floor and her hands nervously twisting the tassel of her mantle. “Come,” he said, “look at me. Have I grown so frightful?”

“Your lordship, your mother wishes to see you. I’ve only come at her bidding.” Her eyes were still looking down at the floor as though she could not look at him.

“So it’s my mother who’s sent you. You didn’t just come to see if your little charge is behaving himself.” He looked at her and could hardly recognize the jolly, tender, caring woman she had been. She seemed so stiff and formal with no trace of the person she had been.

At his words she looked up and he saw just a flash of surprise that he had spoken so familiarly to her. Then just as suddenly the mask again descended and a look of fear and awe took its place. This was the thing he hated most. Almost everyone treated him as though he were some royal object. He could have been a golden idol in a Canaanite temple for all the human warmth anyone displayed.

“Where’s my mother?” he again asked gently so as not to frighten her.

“She’s waiting below in her sitting room.” Her voice was low and he had to bend down to hear what she said. He was so frustrated, he was tempted to force her at least to look at him. To see the little boy he’d been still hiding behind the elaborate finery—if she could only see him.

With a sigh he called one of the scribes to him. “Write an order for the keeper of the king’s treasury.” He waited while the man did obeisance and then sat down and began fumbling with his parchments and reed pens. “This woman is to be given a golden ring and pendant from the king’s own treasures.”

At these words the old woman fell to her knees and wept, while Solomon, ignoring her, now pressed his seal into the soft red wax making the order official. “Come. It is little enough the king can do to honor the woman who dared whip his legs with an almond branch.” Solomon lifted her to her feet himself and handed her the parchment. This time he was
the one who looked away. He couldn’t stand to think that he’d again find fear written in her eyes at his little joke.

He dismissed her and then stood for a moment pondering the whole episode. His father, David, had somehow been able to command the respect of his subjects and friends without this terrible alienation from them. How strange it was that men fought and struggled to gain power and prestige and then found it to be such empty isolation. Vanity, all is vanity. The words drummed in his head like an ominous knell summoning in the depression he suffered from so often lately.

He motioned to one of his pages. “Take this to the court of the queens and hand it to my mother personally.” He handed his royal scepter to the page and knew that when his mother received it she would know that he was waiting for her.

Bathsheba had heard rumors of trouble with the Egyptian princess and her cat and then the threats Naamah the queen was making against her Egyptian rival, but she had kept the more serious trouble to herself until she was sure of all the details. Now it was time to speak if disaster was to be averted.

She took the jeweled scepter from the page and followed him back up the dark, winding stairs to the king’s pavilion. It was part of Solomon’s new palace; in fact, this was the only really comfortable, casually elegant part of Solomon’s new quarters. The rest was such a mixture of stark Egyptian and Phoenician opulence that Bathsheba never felt at home in any of the rooms. Black ebony couches with actual heads and tails of wild animals carved into their sides, small tables of gleaming mother-of-pearl, and stools and chairs all richly carved but vastly uncomfortable were placed according to some unfamiliar pattern on the marble floors.

The curtain parted and she saw her son before he saw her. She was shocked to notice how dejected, even sad, he looked. His hair was closely cropped, his beard trimmed. His crown was glinting and gleaming in the dim light. He wore a tunic that seemed to be belted with huge jewels that made his short sword seem smaller than it actually was. His legs were laced with otter skin and the thongs of his sandals were washed in gold; he was the very image of health and success, all that she had imagined he might
become and yet he was obviously far from happy.

She sighed. She had no good news to impart and she regretted having to tell him anything that would burden him further.

She cleared her throat so he would know she had arrived and then swept toward him holding the golden scepter in her right hand. He turned, and seeing her, smiled. He took the scepter and tossed it into the cushions beside the makeshift dais and throne. “My mother,” he said, leading her to a seat on the low mats next to the dais, “is it good news or bad that brings you out at this time of night?”

She didn’t answer at once but let the servant help arrange the pillows behind her and bring an armrest for both her and her son. He had dropped down rather informally beside her and she noticed with astonishment that his arm leaning on the rest was circled above the elbow with a large, jeweled serpent. She drew back and stared at the ugly thing with its gleaming eyes and golden fangs. “What’s this that seems to have taken the place of your phylacteries?” she said, leaning away from the creature.

Solomon looked to see what she was pointing at. “Oh,” he laughed, “it is a gift from Tipti. She said it would bring me untold power, help me to read the minds of my enemies, and make me irresistible to women.”

“But, a serpent! An ugly serpent! You probably would eat the forbidden fruit if Tipti gave it to you.”

“Don’t be so worried. I wear my phylacteries at prayer time, but they depress Tipti. She can’t understand why they have to be black and so, so ordinary.”

“I wanted more than anything for you to be king and to marry a princess and now you have it all and …”

“And what?”

“This isn’t the way I had imagined it would be.”

Solomon grew serious. “I know. Nothing is ever the way we imagined it. Sometimes it’s better, but most of the time it’s worse.”

“I hear you have been depressed and moody.”

“You’ve talked to Nathan.”

“Not only that. Everyone watches a king. If you should not eat as usual, if you want to be alone, if you have added beautiful girls to the harem and then haven’t called them …”

Solomon raised his hand. “Enough. I know. I can imagine. I hate being watched all the time.”

“You didn’t used to mind it.”

“I didn’t used to have anything to hide. I didn’t care what they said because I was busy and happy.”

“And now you aren’t?”

“Let’s forget about me. I don’t want to talk about it. What did you want to tell me?”

Bathsheba’s face grew pensive. “There are several things, but the most serious involves your beloved Tipti.”

“Tipti? Do you mean about the cat and the stolen sacrifice? I already know about that.”

“No. This is something more subtle, more dangerous.”

Solomon braced himself for whatever revelation his mother had come to bring. She came to see him at night only if there was need for secrecy. “You think she’s a spy for the pharaoh.”

“I know she’s a spy. There’s proof now, and it’s more dangerous than even I had suspected.”

Solomon looked away. His face seemed to harden as though he was preparing himself for the worst. “You know she’s a spy?” he asked at last. “Tell me. I’m ready to hear whatever it is.”

“It’s not only Tipti, but your favorite young friend Jeroboam.”

“Jeroboam!” Solomon exclaimed with utter disbelief. “He’s like my right arm. He’s organized the work crews, stood up to my enemies, even smoothed over the problem with Tipti and the cat.”

“Exactly. He could smooth over the problem with Tipti because he is in league with her. He’s one of the main sources of her information.”

Solomon almost jumped to his feet. “He wouldn’t do that. What benefit would it be to him?”

“Listen, my son. This is important. Jeroboam is of the tribe of Ephraim. Now think. The father of that tribe was Joseph and the mother of the tribe was an Egyptian woman named Asenath, the daughter of the priest of On. I am told that Tipti has been telling Jeroboam of the glories of Egypt and convincing him that he must not ignore his Egyptian blood. When he went to Egypt he visited On and enquired of the priests. They told him some amazing things that have made him proud and defiant. He now says he sees nothing wrong in worshiping the bull as a visible symbol of Yahweh.”

“He’s young and Tipti can be quite convincing.”

“Solomon, it’s not his faith I’m worried about.”

“Then what are you worried about? I thought that was the concern.”

“No. That’s bad enough, but worse is that he’s critical of you and is telling his friends of an Egyptian plot to rob your treasury and the temple, take over the country, and put him in charge.”

“Impossible. Why would Shishak devise such a thing? Why Jeroboam?”

“Don’t you see? Jeroboam is a good servant but not a leader. He would do just as Shishak ordered. If Shishak told him not to carry out plans for a trade route going down the Red Sea, Jeroboam would listen. You won’t.”

“So it’s the trade route that has the pharaoh all stirred up. I did tell Tipti about it. A king can be ruined by the foolish use of his own tongue. I know that.”

“It’s not just the pharaoh. He’s gathered all your neighbors. They’re all coming to surprise you.”

“Who?”

“Prince Hadad of Edom for one, Rezon of Damascus for another, and now it is rumored that they have joined with the new queen of Sheba. All of them are angry about your bypassing the old trade route and starting your own sea route.”

“Why not attack my ships? Why come to Jerusalem?”

“My son, don’t you see? They’ve heard of your wealth and the beauty of your new temple and the palace. Pharaoh is secretly telling them that it would take years of gathering tribute to glean as much gold as could be had in one raid on Jerusalem.”

“The old goat. He’s really jealous.” Solomon threw back his head and laughed.

Bathsheba hadn’t heard him laugh in a long time, but she didn’t join him. Instead she clutched his arm. “It isn’t funny. Of course he’s jealous and he’s also greedy. He’ll do just what he’s planned if you don’t take quick action.”

Solomon grew serious. He pushed his crown back on his head and locked his fingers around his short sword. “Are you sure this is right? Who told you?”

“I have a very clever maid who waits on Tipti. She hears everything and reports to me.”

“I suppose she also reports on the visits of your son to the princess.”

Bathsheba blushed and dropped her eyes. She was embarrassed. “Yes, yes, there have been times, but most of the time it is concerning her other contacts and activities.”

“What interesting listening that must be. It must provide you with endless entertainment.” Solomon’s voice had that sharp edge to it that warned her of the dangerous ground she was treading.

“Not entertainment, my son. It’s for you. I don’t trust her.”

“Well, it seems she can’t be trusted. I don’t know what I will do, but I assure you I will be guarded in my speech when I’m around her.”

Bathsheba knew it was late and she had accomplished her purpose. She let him lead her back to the curtained doorway a short distance from his guards. He was looking down at her with an amused, almost puzzled look. “Were we to part and you have no bad news to report of Naamah, the queen of insults and dark, evil plots?”

“I wasn’t going to bother you.”

“Come, come, we must hear the latest.”

“She’s invoked a curse against Tipti. She says it’s now in the hands of Chemosh, and Chemosh will defeat Bastet, Tipti’s cat god and Tipti will die.”