Queen of Sheba (6 page)

She raised her arms to Dhat Hamym and then bowed down before her. “Please don’t be jealous if the leopard goddess of Sheba chooses Ilumquh rather than a mortal.”

There was no answer. Dhat Hamym neither hid her shining face behind a cloud nor frowned. Instead there was the encouraging warmth of her rays. Bilqis waited, but there was no change and finally she said, “I’ll choose the god Ilumquh. It’s better I surrender to a god than to a man who will try to take my throne.”

She motioned to her Nubian eunuchs and immediately the howdah was brought and she was helped into it. She was not happy about her decision, but she was determined to end the frustration and this seemed to be the only way.

Back at the palace she was told the High Priest was waiting for her in her private reception room. She turned toward her own rooms. “Let him wait,” she said to the astonishment of those standing nearby. “It’s he that is doing the fishing, not me.”

“Bring the Egyptian,” she ordered as she entered her rooms, snatched up a brass mirror, and sank down onto an ebony stool.

The Egyptian came and with her all the women of the bed chamber. They had heard that the High Priest was waiting, and they were curious to see what Bilqis would do. “I will go to the priest in mourning wearing no makeup and no jewelry,” she said.

There was a gasp of astonishment that Bilqis enjoyed thoroughly. She tossed her head and glanced at them pleased to see that they were all cringing in awe of her.

When she finally appeared in the reception room, she was composed and sure of herself. She noticed with satisfaction that the High Priest could hardly recognize her. She saw his eyes travel over the black robes
she wore and then linger on the lovely crown of Sheba. Again and again his eyes returned to her face, which was painted with the chalk white of mourning and to the veil that covered the lower part of her face leaving only her eyes free. This veil was worn usually when talking with foreigners or dignitaries of another tribe, and it was now meant as a quiet affront to the High Priest and her own tribesmen.

He, for his part, was dressed in his most ornate robes, and his long fingers were covered with rings. She noticed this because he kept fingering the fur trim on his robe and pulling at his short beard. His priestly turban sat well down on his forehead, making his nose seem enormous and his eyes protrude.

He was surrounded by dignitaries. Among them she immediately recognized her own chief counselor, her uncle, and her cousin Rydan, the young man they all wanted her to marry. She noticed that Rydan stood with his chin jutting out and a look of injured defiance about him. It was obvious they expected her to agree to marry him, and he was ready to accept her.

For a moment she stood with her head thrown back looking at the High Priest and he returned her gaze with an almost imperceptible smirk. There was no doubt that all of them had come to see how she would take defeat. They wanted to see her forced to choose the cousin she had rejected, and even the High Priest she had viewed as a friend was defiantly gloating over his power.

The High Priest raised both hands above his head and clapped for the scribes, who came running with their reeds, inks, and parchment. “We have the papers all drawn up your highness,” he said, as he bowed slightly and picked up one of the parchment rolls. “We need only the royal seal here.” The High Priest was pointing with one finger at a space near the bottom.

Bilqis looked down at the parchment and noticed only that the High Priest wore a ring on his finger fashioned like a snake with the eyes made of small red rubies. She was standing close enough to smell the heavy odor of stale incense that she always associated with the house of Ilumquh. She looked up into those intense, protruding eyes and realized he had not a doubt in the world that she would stamp the parchment with her seal and marry her cousin.

With one quick movement she reached out and snatched the parchment
from the High Priest, then quickly rolling it into its original cylinder, dropped it into the scribe’s lap. “We’ll not need that,” she said. “I’ve decided against it. For many reasons it isn’t wise.”

At first there was a shocked silence and then an uproar. Everyone tried to talk at once. The High Priest finally raised his hands again and clapped for attention. “But the stars and the goat’s liver all agree. It is dangerous to go against such signs.”

“I’ve no intention of going against such signs or of bringing needless hardship on my people.” She paused for a moment to enjoy their look of puzzlement. They were obviously taken aback. Her uncle had wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and her cousin no longer had the bored look on his face. Instead he had crossed his arms and lowered his head so that he looked at her through mere slits.

“I’ve decided to become the bride of Ilumquh.”

She stepped back and watched their mouths drop open with surprise, and then a look of awe took its place as one by one they fell to their knees. Most of them were afraid of Ilumquh. To them he was the raging bull with bloodshot eyes, pawing the earth and snorting fire. None of them would dare go near his pillared dwelling place. It was all they could do to stand in the oval of the great assembly and observe the offerings and sometimes add to the chanting.

It was obvious they could hardly imagine a frail woman like their queen being strong enough and fearless enough to invite an encounter with the god. What would happen they couldn’t imagine. She could lose her mind or be burned by his brightness.

Only the High Priest remained standing and showed no emotion. “The decision has been made,” he said in sonorous tones. “At the height of Ilumquh’s strength during the full moon, the queen will come to his pavilion. Let her make every preparation for her meeting with the great and terrible Ilumquh.” With that he turned and walked from the room.

Bilqis had enjoyed the whole episode. Seeing the High Priest’s puzzlement at her dress and then his sureness that she would stamp the parchment with her seal was exciting, but not half as exciting as seeing the horror and awe on her uncle’s face when she had said she would marry the god Ilumquh. And her cousin, he had looked bored and impatient when she entered the room, but he had been one of the first to fall on his knees.

She didn’t wait for them to recover their senses and rise, but lifted her skirt and hurried from the room with all of her women following behind. She had proposed something more daring than the bravest men of Sheba even imagined. There was no turning back now; she would have to go through with the venture.

S
olomon had spent the hours after the early morning sacrifice sitting on the throne that projected from the eastern wall of the temple area out into the court of the women. The throne was originally built so he could watch the construction of first the temple and then his own house. It was a pleasant place with pigeons fluttering down to strut about on the pavement or settle on the king’s arm. He loved the openness and had been known to summon a pet raven by a simple gesture.

Now it was rumored that he came here to be closer to his people and deal with disputes more casually than was possible in the great judgment hall.

He had just settled the last case for the morning when one of the pages came pushing his way through the crowd and fell at his feet.

“My lord, your servant the builder Jeroboam must speak with you.”

“He knows where I am,” Solomon said impatiently. “Why has he not come himself instead of sending this … this message?”

“There is trouble at the house of the Egyptian princess, my lord. He dares not leave.”

“He is asking me to come to him?”

“There is trouble, my lord. It’s the princess.”

“And what does my builder have to do with the princess, my queen?”

“I don’t know, my lord.”

A look of frustration and then anger crossed Solomon’s face. They all knew he dared not ignore any hint of trouble that involved the Egyptian princess. Though he had built a beautiful, small palace for her next to his own and had indulged her every whim, there always seemed to be some unfortunate problem involving this beautiful woman.

First there had been the difficulty of her dress. The people of Jerusalem made a show of hiding their faces when she appeared with her scanty robes that left one breast bare. “Harlot! An Egyptian harlot!” they
whispered at first and then shouted as they threw stones or spit whenever they passed her house.

Then there had been the shrine for her cat god, Bastet. She’d had it built beside the steps that led up to Solomon’s new temple. To make matters worse, she had insisted on bringing fifty priests to chant and sing, rattle sistrums, and beat drums just at sunrise when the men of Israel were gathered in the temple courtyard for the morning sacrifice.

Finally, when it was realized that her priests and she herself faced the rising sun greeting it as a god, while the priests and men of Israel stood with their backs to the sun facing the Lord Jehovah’s sanctuary, there was almost a riot.

Solomon had been able to settle most of the disputes amicably. He loved this princess, with her dark twined hair and long fringed lashes framing the cool blue eyes that were so alien to her dark skin. He could refuse her nothing and took her side against all criticism.

“She’s a spy for her brother Shishak,” his brother Nathan had told him more than once. But he waved him aside impatiently. He found her both distracting and charming. He could not bring himself to believe she did not love him devotedly.

Now as he neared her small but exquisite palace he could hear screaming and crying as though not only the princess but all of her priests and servants were terribly upset. He quickened his pace. With such an uproar the princess herself must have somehow been hurt.

He hurried down the marble steps with his counselors, scribes, and pages following behind, all trying to keep up. Never had they seen Solomon so upset nor had they seen him throw aside his kingly dignity so easily. “He loves her more than all the others,” they concluded.

He found Jeroboam, his tall, handsome foreman waiting in the doorway. “My lord, I thought I should warn you. A terrible thing has happened.”

“Not the princess!” Solomon’s eyes were dark and questioning.

“No, no, not the princess. It’s the cat. Her sacred cat. The cat she and all her people worship as a god.”

“I know, I know, but what has that to do with the princess?”

“My lord, the priests of Yahweh have killed the Egyptian cat.”

“Killed her cat?” Solomon immediately realized the seriousness of the situation. “Why … How?”

“It was unfortunate. The cat escaped and ran to the temple area. The priests say he was running away with part of the holy sacrifice. There was nothing to do but kill him.”

“And now?” Solomon wanted to learn as much as possible before he faced the accusations and recriminations he knew were inevitable.

“I knew at once the problem was serious. I quickly had the cat washed and wrapped in fine linen. I sent a messenger to warn her of the tragedy, then I myself brought her the cat.”

“And?”

“It’s as though her only child had died. She’s sitting beside the lily pond rocking back and forth holding the cat and weeping.”

“I must go to her,” Solomon said as he grasped Jeroboam’s arm in grateful approval.

“Stay here,” he ordered his men as he turned and went through the ornate arches into the darkness of the fresco-decorated entryway. In spite of his agitation and concern, he was immediately aware of the delicate scent of jasmine in the air and the wailing seemed to be accompanied by the beating of great hollow drums that made the very air vibrate with some high tragedy.

The moment the princess had moved in, this palace had taken on the aspect of a small segment of Egypt. Everything he remembered from the trip he had made as a young man was captured here in miniature. The walls had been painted meticulously with hunting scenes of the delta and bordered with lotus blossoms. Her bed was of teakwood inlaid with ivory, while on a small tray sat a marvelous array of delicate boxes holding the secret beauty ointments she used to produce the eternal illusion of health and youth.

He paused for a moment at the doorway leading out into a courtyard. Here a fountain usually splashed and behind it fitted into the far wall rather unobtrusively was the shrine encasing the ebony cat goddess. Solomon looked through the gauze curtains and saw the doors of the shrine hanging open, and the great cat image seemed to glare down in anger at the scene around the pool.

The princess sat by the lily pool and clung to a swaddled bundle. Her cheek rested on it as though she were comforting a crying child, while her ornate wig of shoulder-length hair fell down on one side obscuring her
face. It was impossible to tell if the princess was crying, as the noise of the drums and screams of her maidens and priests were deafening.

Solomon had never quite gotten used to the unabashed nakedness of her serving girls. Their breasts were always exposed, and now in their anguish some wore nothing but a woven girdle.

Solomon squared his shoulders and pulled aside the gauze curtain, and immediately the drums were silent. The frantic whirling of the priests slowed and stopped while the young serving girls froze in place as though they had seen an apparition. Only the princess didn’t notice the king and now her sobs could be clearly heard.