Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba (16 page)

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Authors: India Edghill

BOOK: Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba
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“How dare you attack me, you viper?” Rehoboam glared at me and waved the makeshift torch. Warily, he remained at arm’s length. I still had strands of his hair clutched in my fists.
“How dare you torment the Lady Nefret’s cat?” I demanded; I thought of spitting at him, but he was too far away for it to do any good.
“The beast’s an abomination; the prophet Ahijah says so.” Rehoboam waved the torch. “It should be burnt.”
Ahijah did rage against the Egyptian queen’s cats, but that was not why Rehoboam wished to kill this one. The prophet’s decree was only an excuse; Rehoboam delighted in cruelty. “You are vile, and if you harm the Lady Nefret’s cat, our father will punish you.”
“He won’t know.”
“Oh, yes he will, for I will tell him.” Rehoboam could not prevent that, even if he beat me—and while I knew it would please Rehoboam greatly to beat me, I doubted he would dare. Our father loathed cruelty; Rehoboam had gone too far, and should have had the wit to know it.
He hesitated; the burning brand’s fire turned smoky. One day, wit and caution would not suffice to restrain his darker desires—but today those chains still held. Rehoboam scowled and flung the torch aside.
“Oh, go away, you—you
girl!”
But it was Rehoboam who stormed off, followed by his uneasy sycophants.
I waited until I could no longer hear them rampaging down the corridor, then walked quietly to the corner. The boys were out of sight, and the noise of their passage had faded away.
I went back and lifted down the quivering Egyptian cat; the little animal hissed but permitted me to hold her and stroke her soft golden brown fur. Gradually her trembling ceased, and I carried her back to Queen Nefret’s courtyard. There I handed the cat over to one of the Egyptian maidservants who served the queen, and who was horrified to learn her favorite cat had roamed so far from the safety of Nefret’s quarters.
“The Lady Nefret will be most grateful.” The Egyptian maid shuddered, cradling the cat to her breast. “Think what would have happened had someone else found her! This is a cruel land—why, upon the streets I have seen men throw stones and sticks at cats and dogs! Barbarians!”
While I did not wish to agree that my own people were barbarians, I also did not think they should torment animals that had done them no harm. So I said nothing, save that I was glad to restore Queen Nefret’s pet to her.
“The Lady Nefret will wish to thank you, Princess. If you will wait here, I shall tell her of your kindness.”
I shrugged this off; then it did not occur to me that one should never refuse a potential ally. It did not occur to me that the Princess Baalit, King Solomon’s favored child, needed allies.
“It does not matter.” I found the Egyptian queen cool and distant,
exquisite as Minoan glass. Her quiet elegance made me feel uncouth and unkempt at the best of times; cat or no cat, I preferred to meet the Lady Nefret only when I looked more like a king’s daughter and less like a street tumbler.
So before Nefret’s servant could delay me, I ran off to repair the damage my struggle with Rehoboam had done to my garments and my person.
And to decide whether I should tell my father what had passed between my brother and me today. No matter what Rehoboam did, he remained my father’s eldest son, his proclaimed heir. It would only trouble my father’s mind and wound his heart if he knew what Rehoboam were truly like.
So by the time I reached my own rooms, I had settled in my mind that I would say nothing of the affair of the Lady Nefret’s cat. Nothing had happened to the cat, after all—
—and perhaps Rehoboam will improve and become a good king after all. Someday perhaps we shall even be friends.
I was young enough still to be foolishly optimistic.
That little bitch!
Rehoboam swore inwardly as he led his followers away from his sister and her fiery temper, for it would not do for his companions to hear the king’s heir vilify the king’s overly-indulged daughter. One of the boys would be sure to run and tell the nearest officious servant, who would tell his father, who would call Rehoboam to him for a somber lecture on the behavior expected of his son.
As if princes had no privileges, only duties!
But Rehoboam was too conscious of the precarious nature of his position to utter those rebellious words; his mother had lectured him too often on the need for caution.
“Yes, you are the eldest; yes, the king has sworn you are his heir. But always remember, Rehoboam, my dear son, that this kingdom is not like others, that it has no history, no tradition. King Solomon may change his mind and choose another to be king after him. Always remember that, my son, and tread cautiously. When you are king, then you may do as pleases you. But until then …”
Until then, Prince Rehoboam must behave himself. Rehoboam’s mouth twisted in an angry smile. His mother was right; he knew she was right. He must cage his nature. But he didn’t have to like it.
He stopped, turned to his followers. Half-a-dozen boys, sons of servants and concubines, boys hoping loyalty to the crown prince would bring favors
when he was king. Boys who would obey his orders, tolerate his whims—and report on him to their fathers or their mothers.
I can’t trust anyone,
Rehoboam thought fretfully. Except his mother, of course.
He studied his companions; they regarded him with bright eager interest, seeking to learn what would placate, what would please. But not because they loved him; Rehoboam had not needed his mother’s warnings to know
that.
A king’s heir had no friends, only flatterers.
They do not like me; they wish to ensure their places in my favor when I am king.
“Shall we find you another cat, Prince?” Lahad offered, but Rehoboam shook his head. Another cat would not be Queen Nefret’s cat; Rehoboam had hoped to make his mother’s rival suffer.
“No,” he said. “No more cats today.”
“No more sisters,” Oreb said, and snickered.
Vowing Oreb would regret mocking him, Rehoboam forced himself to laugh. “Who cares what she does? She’s only a girl. Come, let’s visit the stables. My father the king has promised me a new team for my chariot. I am to have my choice of the new horses.”
The appreciative envy on their faces warmed Rehoboam.
“Your father the king is generous,” Pelaliah said.
“I am the heir,” Rehoboam reminded them. He did not reveal that his father had also promised a new team of horses to all the royal princes who were old enough to handle the reins. At least the king had decreed that Rehoboam should choose first.
But I am Crown Prince. He should treat me better than all the others.
As if sensing Rehoboam’s resentment, Pelaliah said, “You will choose the best, my prince. Have patience, for someday you will be greater than all men.” Pelaliah always had the right words ready to his tongue. Rehoboam suspected his mother coached him. But Pelaliah was right.
Someday …
Rehoboam’s eyes gleamed as he contemplated the shining future. Someday he would be king. Someday he would rule over all men.
And someday—ah, someday his sister Baalit would be sorry.
In my rooms, Rivkah pounced upon me, demanding to know how I had managed to tangle my hair and ruin my new fringed scarf so swiftly. “You are too old to run wild like a boy, Princess; look at you!” Rivkah thrust my
silver mirror towards me. “Now all my hard work to do over again—and what’s that upon your gown?”
“Cat hair and claw marks.”
Rivkah swelled with indignation. “Cats and claws! And what would your father the king say, if he saw you looking like this?”
“You are a puff adder of righteousness, Rivkah. My father would say nothing, once I explained. I saved the Lady Nefret’s cat from my brother Rehoboam.”
“That boy.” Rivkah’s tone of rueful indulgence brought a frown to my brow, and Rivkah smiled, equally indulgent of my foibles. “Now, I know you don’t like him, Princess, but brothers and sisters always quarrel. It means nothing.”
I thought of saying that I didn’t quarrel with my half-brothers Saul and Jonathan, or with Abner and Joab, or Ishbaal and Eliazar—or that Jerioth and Samuel disliked Rehoboam as hotly as I. But I knew such plain speaking would do no good and might do harm, so I closed my lips tightly over the words.
“Now sit down here and let me comb out those tangles.” Rivkah did not ask, she commanded. But she rewarded as well, for Rivkah, who had once served my mother, gave me my mother’s life as a harpers’ tale to ease dull tasks.
“Do not wriggle, child, or we will be here all day. Never have I seen such hair for tangles. Your mother’s hair was like silk. So was mine, come to that. We were the prettiest girls in Shunem, Abishag and I.”
I tried hard to sit still; Rivkah had a gift with words. “Tell me,” I said. “I will be still, I swear it.”
Rivkah ran her hands over my hair and sighed. “If only I could curl this, rather than braid it! It is strong and would curl well.”
“Comb me curls, then.” I had never worn my hair styled in such a fashion—although Amyntor of Caphtor had told me, once, that I should wear it so.
“No point in trying to be what you’re not. No, let it curl as it wills—I vow you’d look as charming as the ladies painted upon the old palace walls, back when Knossos ruled the waves.”
What would I look like, with my hair coiled long down my back?
“It would not be seemly for the king’s daughter. No, it must be tamed and braided. Now, where was I?”
“You were the prettiest girls in Shunem,” I reminded her, and Rivkah laughed softly.
“Yes, we were, but that was long ago. Shall I tell you how your mother first saw your father?”
I began to nod, recalling in time that I had been bidden to remain still. “Yes,” I said, “tell that.” Rivkah had told me the story many times, but she liked to tell it, and I to hear it.
“The day was long and hot,” Rivkah began, and I settled to listen to words I could have recited in my sleep. “Abishag and I had walked to the well and tarried there, for the sun was harsh and the road dusty, and we were loath to return home, where all that awaited us—”
“Was the task of pulling weeds in the kitchen garden!”
“Who tells this tale, you or I?” She tugged my hair gently and continued smoothly. “So instead of filling our water jars at once, we lingered at the well, and as we rested there, a man approached. He was a stranger, and he was hot and tired, and dust coated his garments—but we saw at once that his clothes were of fine cloth. And his manners were as fine as his clothing, for when he saw us standing by the well, he bowed and would have turned away, but Abishag lifted her voice and offered to draw him water from the well.”
“Like Rebekah and Abraham’s servant,” I added. “Have you not finished combing out my hair yet?”
“Your hair must be combed well or not at all, and if not at all, then you must be sheared like a sheep. Be patient, and I will braid gold flowers in your hair, or silver bells.” Rivkah continued pulling the sandalwood comb through my hair as she spoke. “Of course, if my tale bores you—”
I hastily denied that and begged her to continue. Although I knew the story by heart, and could have recited word for word along with Rivkah, it was a comfort to hear her tell it. I sat quiet as stone as Rivkah subdued my unruly hair and told again how my mother had drawn water for a stranger at the well, and taken him home to her mother, where he revealed he had come from King David’s great city, Jerusalem—and that he sought a fair maid to serve King David’s queen, Michal.
“Well, who would refuse such a chance? Our Abishag was sent off to Jerusalem with as great a dowry as if she went as a bride. I went too, as her handmaiden; in palaces, even slaves have slaves! We traveled in such great state one would have thought Abishag and I were queens ourselves! And then we came to Jerusalem.
“We were taken to the women’s quarters of the palace—King David’s palace, then. There were fewer women; King David did not marry as often as your father! Where King David warred, King Solomon marries, as they say. So the women’s quarters were smaller then—there has been so much built since!”
“That is not part of the story.” I had no wish to hear about all the buildings that my father had raised; he was always building something new. “You were taken to a garden—”
“Oh, yes. We were taken to a garden. And there a young man waited for us. He was so good to look upon, so richly garbed, that I knew he must be one of King David’s sons—”
“And it was Prince Solomon! And when he and my mother looked upon one another, their eyes turned to stars. Was my father as handsome as the Lord Amyntor, do you think?”
“If you wish to tell the tale to yourself, say so.” Rivkah tugged the comb against my hair, a silent reproof, before continuing. “Well, then he took Abishag to speak with Queen Michal, and so there was our Abishag tending old King David, sleeping in his bedchamber too. To say plain, I was troubled in my heart for her. ‘You’re not even his concubine; what will you do when the king’s dead and you branded a harlot?’ And do you know what she did?”
“She laughed,” I said.
“That’s right, she laughed at me, and said, ‘When one king dies, another rises!’ and went off to sit with Queen Michal, who had taken a great fancy to her. Sometimes I thought Abishag spent more time with Queen Michal than she did with King David!”
When Rivkah told her tales, I felt myself there, as close as if I were my mother’s shadow. Now I waited, but Rivkah’s fingers were busy knotting the ends of my braids, and she seemed to have forgotten to continue her story.
“And then King David lay dying,” I prompted, but Rivkah had finished persuading my hair into tidiness and now said only “There, that looks well. Mind you do not catch your braids and pull out the bells; you are too careless, Baalit.” Rivkah held up a mirror so that I might admire her handiwork. I sighed, knowing I would not hear the end of the tale today.
But I remembered to thank Rivkah for her careful work, praising her skill. It was not as if I did not know all my mother’s life by heart, after all.
Sometimes it seemed to me that Rivkah no longer cared to dwell upon that part of the tale, of the days between the time Great David lay dying and the time King Solomon stood beneath the wedding canopy and claimed fair Abishag as his queen. And when she did speak of those days now, Rivkah’s words held an undertone of censure, as if she no longer thought so well of Abishag’s part in that fall and rise of princes.
I was sorry for that, for those hot swift days were what I most loved to hear Rivkah tell. But I would never lose their memory—for so I thought of those images, although I was not born until long after that reckless year. Sometimes, indeed, it seemed I had been there, had watched and listened as my mother had …
… listened as Prince Adonijah knelt at his father’s bedside and begged the dying king to attend a great banquet “in your honor, Father. In King David’s honor—all men may walk through my gate and feast in your name. All the princes and all the great men of the kingdom will be there to praise you.”
“To praise me?” The king’s eyes, death-pale, seemed to shift: for a breath they glinted keen as blades. “All the great men?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Abiathar? The high priest Abiathar?”
Prince Adonijah nodded. “Yes, and—”
“And the high priest Zadok? And Benaiah? Nathan, the prophet Nathan—does he await me at your great feast?”
A pause; Adonijah’s gaze slid away from his father’s face. “They have not come—not yet. But they will.”
“And Joab? My war-chief? Does Joab sit at your table, Adonijah, my son?”
“Yes.” Adonijah straightened, smiling now. “Yes, Joab sits at my table, Father.”
Then King David smiled too. “Come closer, Adonijah.” And when the prince did as his father commanded, the king laid his hands upon Adonijah’s sleek hair, in silent blessing. Then King David slanted his eyes towards Abishag. “Adonijah will make a fine king, will he not, girl?”
And Abishag bowed her head and murmured, “As my lord the king says.” Then she rose and took the king’s water jug away to fill it again with sweet water, pausing only to speak with Prince Adonijah’s servant, who awaited his master in the king’s courtyard. From the prince’s servant, she gleaned bright grains of news, news she carried swiftly to Queen Michal. And when Queen Michal heard Abishag’s tale, the queen kissed her and sent her back to King David.
Abisbag had learned King David’s palace well, could walk its labyrinth of halls and gardens
blindfolded if need be. She returned to the king’s side and sat there until Queen Michal came, and when Queen Michal left again, carrying the king’s ring with her, Abishag slipped back into her place beside the king. All that long afternoon Abishag sat patient, as if she had never stirred from her post. And while Abishag waited, Prince Solomon set the king’s ring upon his finger and the crown upon his head, and rode forth … .
That was how my father had been crowned king. Without my mother’s warning and Queen Michal’s swift act, Prince Adonijah undoubtedly would have seized the crown for himself.
I was almost as old as my mother had been when she helped make a king of my father. I longed to do some daring, important deed, as she had done. But I knew I yearned to catch the moon, for under my father’s wise rule, the twin kingdoms lay peaceful under a serene sky. Nor was there any doubt of who would be king after him. There was little chance I would be called upon to perform great deeds.
No, there was nothing for me to do but wait—wait until my father arranged my marriage.
What else could a girl—even a princess—do?

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