Queen of Sheba (38 page)

Noiselessly he got out of bed and moved behind her. “You realize you have lost the wager,” he said softly. She dropped the goblet and deftly he caught it and placed it on the low stool.

She whirled and stood leaning against the pillar of the bed and looked at him with large, frightened eyes that reminded him of one of his high-strung Egyptian horses. “What will you do?” she asked. “It was just water and I was thirsty.”

“Yes, it was a rather despicable trick. It was not only the salt but to make sure, I told the servants to add hot spices to your food. I wanted to
make sure you’d get thirsty enough to drink my water.”

“Your water?”

“Yes, do you agree? This water isn’t from Marib, it’s from Jerusalem. It’s my water.”

She stood looking at him with questioning, fearful eyes. Once again he realized that somehow she’d been terribly frightened in the past. Perhaps as a queen she had so schooled herself to be aloof that it was difficult to give even a bit of herself to anyone else. She reminded him of some little animals brought in from the wild that need to be tamed.

She glanced at the goblet. “And so now …?”

“Now I ask only that you play a game. A game you will find very pleasant. Haven’t you enjoyed most of the things I’ve planned for you?”

He could see that she was softening, relenting, but her voice was hesitant. “Yes, but is this a game I can win?” she asked.

In the darkness he smiled and moved closer to her, taking her hand. It was small, warm, and very feminine. “You’ll win all the pieces and walk off with the grand prize.”

She pulled her hand away and held her hair back as though to see him better. “I’ll win all the pieces?” she asked. “I can’t imagine such a game played against the all-wise Solomon.”

He could see that she was interested. She obviously liked the idea of winning. “And what do I have to do to play this game?” she asked.

“Each night when the moon comes up you’ll become a woman,” he said. “Perhaps even a simple village woman. For a short time you’ll forget you’re a queen.”

“And who’ll you be?”

“Why, I’ll be a handsome village lad that has fallen madly in love with you.” He could see she was caught up in the magic of the idea, though there was still a skittishness about her.

“I suppose you would be in charge?”

He was a bit taken aback by her abruptness. “Of course. That would be the first rule of the game because you don’t even know how to play.”

She tilted her head to one side and looked skeptical. “I’ve never played a game where I wasn’t in charge and sure to win.”

“Oh you’ll win, even when I’m in charge, and you can be in charge as soon as you learn to play.” That pleased her. A small smile played around
her mouth. “What must one learn to be in charge?”

He took both her hands in his so he could look at her. “You’d have to learn to tell me how much you love me, how handsome I am, and how you want to be close to me and to make me happy.”

“And that is what you would do when you were in charge?”

“Of course, that is the whole nature of the game.”

“Could I stop the game if I didn’t like it?”

“I would say that should be possible, but then you’d have to give me the same privilege when you’re in charge.” She pulled her hands away and stepped back so she could see him in the moonlight. She seemed to be getting used to him as a person, a person invading her very private world. She was deciding with the cold, reasoning side of her mind whether to trust herself to him. She was no longer the light, jovial companion. He could see a real struggle going on. “And you would be in charge?” she asked again.

“Yes, I would be in charge.”

“Until I learned to play …”

He smiled the boyish, amused smile and leaned against the pillar of her bed crossing his arms. “Until you learn to play.”

She picked up the silver goblet and took a long drink, looking at him over the rim, sizing him up. He could tell she was seeing him not as a fearful monster but as the man she had been falling in love with since the first moment she saw him in the garden at Jericho. She set the goblet down and turned to him smiling, her arms outstretched. “All right. I’ll play and you can be in charge, but only while the moon is out.”

“It’s agreed, my love,” he said taking her in his arms and holding her for a moment while he marveled at how fragile she was and how lovely the fragrance of her hair. Then in one swift, sure movement he picked her up and started for his bed.

“Your bed?” she asked. “Not mine?”

“It’s my bed when I’m in charge.”

“And when I learn to be in charge it will be mine?” He stopped and looked down at her; she was soft and yielding, no longer frightened and aloof. “Of course when you’re in charge, you choose.”

The next morning she lay in his arms running one finger across his eyebrows and around his well-shaped beard, and looking at him with soft, loving eyes. “I’ve decided to let you be in charge, but just at night when the moon is up.”

He pulled her closer to him and kissed her eagerly until she laughed and pulled away. “And what is the grand prize that I’m to win?” she asked.

He was immediately sobered, and when he spoke it was with an emotion she hadn’t seen before. She thought she detected tears in his eyes. “The prize is our son. You’ll have a son. He’ll be my favorite son but you’ll carry him with you back to your country and he’ll always remind you of me. I’ll be left with nothing but a memory of great joy.”

She sat up and her hands flew to her slender, slightly rounded stomach. “I’ll have a son? You’re sure?”

He pulled her down to him and held her as though he never wanted her to go. “Yes, you’ll have a son. Such loving can only produce a son, and he’ll rule justly and wisely when we’re both gone.”

She was overwhelmed. The thing she wanted most, the impossible desire of her heart was to come about through this man whom she found so utterly irresistible. “But you’ll come to visit Sheba?”

“I’d like to think that I could, but in my heart I know it will never happen. But we’ll be partners, and our son, when he is old enough, can come and visit me. He must come back to be instructed further in our faith.”

“And what if you don’t recognize him?”

“Not recognize our son!” He almost laughed, then grew serious. “You’re right. He must have proof, not for me but for my subjects. Here’s my ring. It’s the only thing I own that was my father’s other than the crown. I treasure it above all else. The one that holds this ring holds my heart. Take it. Never let it from your sight, and when the time comes, send it back with our son.”

She took the ring and held it to the light, then fitted it on each of her fingers. It was obvious they were all too small. It was a large, rather crudely formed setting with a lion on each side of a flat, luminous stone etched with the crossed pyramids that made the six-pointed star. She knew this was the symbol most often used on Israel’s banners and hangings and the lions were the symbol of the tribe of Judah.

Solomon lay back among the cushions and watched her. “As he wears
this ring,” he said, “he’ll always remember that he’s of the tribe of Judah and his symbol is the king of beasts—the lion.”

She leaned back in his arms and turned to look at him. “What sort of man will he be, this son of the leopard queen and the lion of Judah?”

“He’ll be a king we can both be proud of. Maybe his kingdom will last longer than mine. I pray that it will.”

“We’ll call him David in memory of your father.”

“In our language David means beloved, and this son will truly be beloved.”

Later that day when the feasting was almost over and many gifts had been exchanged, the queen asked to make an announcement. Solomon was amused and curious, but he quickly gave her permission. She stood up before the happy revelers, and waiting until everyone was quiet, said, “We’ve opened the treasure houses of Arabia and spread them at your feet. We’ve brought our gold, our perfume, and our incense. But there is one gift yet to be given—a gift that expresses my own affection for your king. It is a gift too precious to be bought, it is only given to those we choose to honor above all others.” With that she called Tamrin to her and ordered him to have the gift brought into the hall.

No one spoke as all eyes turned to the great bronze doors though which Tamrin had disappeared. Suddenly there was the rolling thunder of drums, the high trilling of singers, and the pounding of dancing feet as a glorious procession entered the hall. Women dressed in diaphanous gowns of bright colors with jangling ankle, bracelets, silver armbands, rings, and toe rings sang and beat their small finger drums while others with leopard skins thrown over their shoulders and cinched at the waist carried gold incense burners that quickly filled the room with the fragrance of sandalwood. Drummers dressed only in leopard skins came next and trumpeters, acrobats, jugglers, and dancers all paraded into the room.

Last of all Tamrin appeared in the door with a white Arabian horse that was simply but elegantly adorned with golden bridle and woven trappings. The way parted before him as he came slowly and majestically toward the throne.

Solomon was deeply moved. He came down the steps of his throne
and, ignoring Tamrin, took the bridle and began talking softly and persuasively to the horse. For a moment the horse veered to one side, tossed her head, shook her magnificent mane, and bared her teeth. Tamrin moved as though to help and the queen hurried down the steps, but Solomon continued to talk softly to the horse.

Everyone in the room waited in fearful anticipation of some disaster. They knew how their king had wanted just such a horse, and they all feared this could prove to be an abysmal disappointment if the horse rejected him.

Only Solomon seemed confident. He continued to talk, and very tentatively the horse seemed to be listening. Then to everyone’s amazement, Solomon started to back in a circle and the horse followed him. He moved up and down the hall, and the horse moved with him as though there were some special communication only the two of them understood. “See,” the people said, “it’s true, just as we’ve heard. The king knows the language of the animals.”

From that day on the white Arabian horse and the king were inseparable. A bond developed between them that brought the king much happiness, more happiness than any of the other animals he had adopted over the years. This horse, whose name remained Zad el-Rukab, just as the queen had named her, gained a reputation for flying over the ground with her hoofs barely touching, and for loyalty to her master of an unusual degree.

The time passed quickly and the day came when the queen had to leave. It had been decided that she would go to Solomon’s port of Ezion-Geber and sail in one of his vessels as far as Ethiopia. Here she would go ashore and check the feasibility of actually moving her capital to this coastal site before returning home to Marib. “I would like to move, to start all over again; to found a city on the new principles I’ve learned and worship the God I now believe in.”

Solomon had decided to travel with her down to the Red Sea. He hated saying goodbye and wanted to be with her as long as possible.

They went first to Jericho where they reviewed all that had happened to them since her arrival. They laughed again at Solomon’s fear that she might have the feet of a donkey and her wonder at the story of the winds
being held in control under his throne. They left regretting that the magical time would soon come to an end.