Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba (26 page)

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Authors: India Edghill

BOOK: Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba
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Now that she had looked upon the prize, the fulfillment of Hat’s promise, Bilqis forced herself to remain outwardly calm, cool as water in a deep untroubled well. Her exultation, her joy, her relief—those she must conceal.
Another riddle: how to hide one’s heart?
But hide her desire she must, until the time was ripe. And that would be soon; she sensed a turning point had been reached and passed in the garden of King Solomon’s women.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will begin a riddle game that only I shall know
I
play. And I shall win. I must.
The next morning Bilqis retraced the web of palace halls that King Solomon had led her down, until she stood once more in the king’s gallery, looking down into the queens’ garden. There she watched, and told over what she knew of this kingdom to which she had been summoned. For it was folly to act rashly; her goal was too vital to risk losing by moving too swiftly in this royal game.
So I stand here, where the king stands—
not often, I think. But sometimes.
Her host struck her as an odd man to rule over such stiff-necked, unruly subjects.
However smooth his face, however evenhanded his judgments, his eyes betray a troubled mind.
This kingdom was no easy one for any man to rule—
let alone one who thinks too much and feels too deeply.
For herself, Israel’s court was a revelation, and not a pleasant one. Oh, she had always known Sheba was of a different world, a world in which women and men joined as partners in life’s dance. She had known that beyond the northern sands men ruled by force rather than by right. But until she saw for herself, she had not known what that truly meant.
Here no woman governed her own life. Always it was given in charge—to a father, a brother, a husband. A son, if he were the only man alive to command her. Nothing belonged to her; all her riches were granted her as a gift—no, as a loan, a loan which must be constantly repaid with labor and obedience.
Worst of all, her children were not her own. In defiance of all sense, all decency, in this land a woman’s children belonged to the man who claimed her as chattel.
As if the mere scatterer of seed has more claim than the woman who conceives and bears the fruit!
But that was law here; the father’s right prevailed. As if any man could truly know he had sired a child! Always, always there was the possibility of doubt: a woman might be unfaithful, or merely mistaken. Only a mother could be claimed beyond any doubt.
She leaned her forehead upon the cool stone latticework and looked down into the harem garden. Today only half-a-dozen of the king’s women sat there, chattering to each other and trying on trinkets. One, more industrious than the rest, stitched spangles to a garment; the cloth flashed as thin gold disks caught sunlight.
How can they be content with their lives?They do nothing, their words count for nothing.
These northern women were less free than chained slaves, for their shackles were invisible—
And so they swear they wear none.
A chill slid over her skin.
I would rather wear fetters openly. How can they live so, weighing each word to please a man, never setting a foot where man forbids it?
And yet these women were happy enough—or, if they were not, were unhappy for other reasons.
My desires are not theirs, nor theirs mine.
She stared down at the women in the garden. Now one of them leaned close to her neighbor, whispered in her ear; they both laughed. For a moment Bilqis envied them, so placid, so content.
They have so few worries!
There were two sides to any wall. While no woman here was truly free, their men were also bound—bound to care for the women they had entrapped.
Pity the man who owns too many women; he will know no peace in this life unless they choose to grant it.
Now the women rose and drifted off into the shadows of the harem. Only the diligent seamstress remained. She did not sit long alone; a woman carrying a baby upon her hip and leading a small boy by the hand entered the garden. The seamstress set aside her cloth and held out her arms, and the boy flung himself into them. Bilqis sighed and turned away.
That young mother would never bear the weight of a kingdom upon her shoulders, never make a choice greater than that between one jewel and another. She would never be treated as an equal. But she would be cared for, spared the harsh freedom of choice.
Perhaps she has made a fair exchange.
Bilqis knew such thoughts sprang from weariness and fear. She could not live as such women did; she would die.
just as they would recoil in horror if told they must rule their own lives.
She alone ruled hers—and so must govern herself more harshly than another would. She chained and veiled herself with law, with duty, with honor. Never could she think only of herself and her desires.
These women are not free because they are chattel. I am not free because I am queen.
She set her hands against the cool unyielding stone curtain and thought of what she must do before she might see home again, and be released from these dark thoughts, these troubling doubts. What she must do, and what she must persuade King Solomon to do.
What we both must do, whether we will or no.
In the end, no woman was ever free. And no man either.
Pomegranate Seed
The hardest task I faced in the king’s house was hiding my true heart. I had been brought to Jerusalem to minister to Prince Solomon’s father. That the prince and I loved swift and hot as fire did not matter. I knew that, even as I listened to Queen Michal tell over my duties to the old king—
and to the new. For she made it clear that Solomon was to be king, when Great David at last abandoned his grasp on life and throne. And King Solomon would need loyal hearts about him
—and who more loyal than I, who already loved him more than life?
I would become a legacy from the old king to the new. I was promised to King Solomon in his turn—
Oh, Queen Michal knew how to sway one to her wishes; she was guileful as a serpent. Even then, I knew a queen needed such talents. I admired her skill.
Later, when she told me all that was in her heart, I knew that Queen Bilqis had hunted her quarry soft-footed, courted and seduced my mind. I do not blame her; how could I? For she set nothing in my mind or heart that had not lain sleeping there like a shy bird, awaiting a morning upon which it might awake, and spread its wings—and fly.
But at the start, I knew only that the Queen of Sheba sought my company, and that flattered me. To my credit, I did wonder at her attention, but then I thought,
She sees my father favors me, and wishes to please him.
Well, that, too, was true enough.
It began simply enough, those first steps upon the path the queen wished me to tread. She would send for me, and I would go to the Little Palace, entering Sheba’s kingdom as I passed through the gates, for all within the Little Palace was done as it was in the Morning Land. And I would watch, and listen, and talk with the queen and her servants. No hardship; I sought knowledge even then, gathering facts as other girls might flowers.
The Shebans had created a world within a world, one exotic and compelling. The women moved within it as freely as men—“Or at least, as freely as we can, here in this strange land,” the queen’s handmaiden Khurrami told me on one of those first visits, as I awaited the queen in the small courtyard that had once been King David’s private sanctuary. “How do you endure it, Princess, trapped always within these walls?”
I slid my eyes aside, not yet trusting enough to reveal to her that I slipped custom’s bonds as I wished—something even my father did not know. “I am accustomed to it, I suppose,” I answered, and Khurrami said, “Of course,” but her eyes seemed to regard me keenly.
“And the men here are so—” Irsiya sought for a word that would express her feelings without harshness; unlike Khurrami, bright and sharp, Irsiya was as softly pretty as her name, which meant “rainbow.” “So rough and hard. Have they no—”
“Manners? No, they have not,” Khurrami finished, and Irsiya glanced at me; Khurrami laughed. “Oh, the princess does not mind plain speaking, and truth is truth.”
“Our manners and customs here are not those of Sheba.” I kept my voice smooth, for while the Shebans were guests here, I still did not like to hear my own people mocked.
“A good answer.” The queen came forward into the little courtyard, and we all bowed. She beckoned to Khurrami and Irsiya, and smiled at me. “Forgive me, Baalit, but I must give these idle girls of mine some tasks to perform for me.” She took them aside and spoke softly to them while I waited beside the small pool, watching dragonflies dart over the water’s surface. The day was warm, the queen’s voice a murmur blending with the buzz of insects seeking sun and flowers.
“And Irsiya, set out my jewels, for I dine with the king. Khurrami, take Moonwind out to run.” The queen’s voice rose for me to hear these last orders; she turned and walked towards me, smiling. “There, that is done.
Now I may rest and amuse myself for an hour. Come and sit with me, Baalit, that we may talk.”
I did not know what I could say to amuse the Queen of Sheba, but I sat beside her on the garden bench. As she did not begin to speak, merely smiling at me and waiting, I said, “I hope your visit to my father’s court goes well?”
“Oh, yes. We have much in common, he and I, and I think Israel and Sheba will be good friends in years to come.”
“With good trade,” I said, and she laughed softly.
“Of course. If I succeed here, Israel shall be Sheba’s most favored market.”
“That will please my father greatly. And our kingdom itself? I know it is very different from Sheba; our ways must be very strange to you.”
“I will not deny that—just as our ways are strange to you. But if you dwelt in Sheba, you would easily learn to live as we do.” She turned her gaze to the flashes of green and gold skimming the pool’s surface. “But not all is strange. We have such insects in our gardens in Sheba. And Jerusalem is magnificent, its Temple one of the world’s wonders. When I rode up the Hill of Olive Trees and first looked upon it shining under the sky, it so filled my eyes I could not speak. I had not thought so much gold existed in all the world. And when the noonday sun strikes it, the whole city seems to blaze with the Temple’s fire.”
Of course the Temple was a wonder, but I had grown up seeing it always; I was accustomed to its fiery grandeur. I tried to think what setting eyes upon it for the first time must be like.
Yes, to come over the hills and see the Temple shining upon the high hill—
that must be wondrous.
“Jerusalem is a city of temples.” The queen leaned to trail her fingertips across the pool’s serene surface. “A holy city indeed.”
“It is only the Lord’s Temple that matters.” I was not sure if I sought to warn the queen or myself. “The other temples are full of priestesses and idols and—” I stopped; better to say nothing more, lest I betray too much knowledge of what lay within those houses of strange gods and goddesses.
“And incense,” the queen finished, “which is why Sheba is so fortunate a kingdom. Nothing else so pleases the gods—even your Lord Yahweh.”
That was true; every god and goddess I had ever heard of craved the perfumes of frankincense and roses, nard and cinnamon and myrrh. And blood. Even the Lord accepted blood offerings.
“So that is all you know of the temples in Jerusalem? That they are good
markets for frankincense?” Queen Bilqis turned her serene gaze from the dragonflies to me, and suddenly I knew that when she had taken her handmaidens aside, it had been to hear what they had learned of me. And I remembered Khurrami’s keen assessing eyes.
Khurrami guessed and told; I betrayed to her that the palace walls do not imprison me.
I sat silent; I would not lie to the queen—and I dared not speak the truth. That King Solomon’s daughter had so much as set her feet upon the doorsills of those temples would cause a scandal to rock Jerusalem’s hills. But as the queen continued to regard me with steady cool eyes, I found myself speaking, as if her gaze drew words from my mouth. Few men or women can keep their lips closed when another waits upon their words, a useful trick to know
“It is forbidden for the Lord’s daughters to set foot in the houses of alien gods.”
“That is truth,” she said, “but not the whole truth. So you choose to think for yourself. Like your father, you seek wisdom.”
“Is there any virtue in that, for a woman?” My life was spread before me, fixed as a pattern carved in stone. King Solomon’s daughter was a prize playing-piece in the great game of politics. Already men strove for that prize, knowing any man might win me should he seize the king’s favor. Had not King Solomon’s own father married a king’s daughter when he himself had been nothing but a plain warrior?
“There is virtue in all things, Baalit.”
Something in her calm acceptance of my unruliest utterances drew uncautious words from me; I spoke, and she listened as if I, too, were a great queen, and her equal. Her approval was heady as strong wine, and when at last I left the queen, I walked slowly, as if afraid to jar my unsettled thoughts. And later still, when my handmaidens had unclasped my jewels and unbound my braided hair, I stood upon my balcony and stared out over the city, gazing towards the far horizon. A world waited there, beyond the palace gate, beyond the city walls, beyond the life ordained for me.
Perhaps my future was not immutable after all.
Although she had found the girl, Bilqis knew she was still far from gaining the prize she had crossed the world to seek.
Ilat promised I would find Sheba’s
next queen. Now it is my task to win her.
To win Sheba’s future. For that, she needed time.
And time I have.
She disliked Israel’s customs, its harsh laws, its contempt for women—but no one could dislike King Solomon. The most gracious of hosts, the king proved himself a witty and charming companion as well.
He is too good for the kingdom he rules. I cherish his virtues even if his own people do not. “Ah, yes, Solomon is a good wise king—but what a pity you did not visit Israel when David ruled the land! Now there was a king!”
Her spies had heard that wistful chant forty times over since the day she had ridden into Jerusalem—still called the City of David. “King David’s Day” had become a jest to her handmaidens, a catchphrase to her servants. “That water jug would not have broken if David still ruled!” “If David were king, grapes would be sweeter this year!” “This wine stain would wash out if David sat upon the throne!”
She had laughed herself, the first time she heard it. She no longer laughed.
No matter what he achieves, still the people sigh for David’s time. Poor Solomon.
Solomon ruled a people unused to dominion, to edicts, to taxation—to the daily demands of a government that oversaw an empire.
He gives them roads and peace, and they long for the disorder if a day long past.
And distance lent enchantment to fading memory; transmuted chaos into sweet freedom. Bilqis sighed, and set aside thoughts of Solomon. It was not the king but the king’s daughter that she must lure to her.
I do not think that will be hard to do; already she flexes her wings. This land cannot hold her—not and let her remain what she is.
Then she set her thoughts of Baalit, too, aside. Even here, a thousand miles from Sheba, its queen must work. Bilqis cleared her mind and called her scribe to her; a morning’s work meant an afternoon’s freedom for her—and for Baalit.
 
 
When she had earned her liberty, Bilqis called a slave to her and told him that she wished word sent to the princess; the eunuch smiled. “Easily done, Sun of our Days. Princess Baalit awaits you in the room of the blue monkeys. Shall I send her to you?”
“No, I shall go to her.” Bilqis walked through the line of rooms that led to the one in which Baalit waited. In the doorway she paused, watched
Baalit pace before the long wall painted with blue monkeys plucking yellow crocuses. As she passed each monkey, Baalit reached out and stroked its painted tail.
“Old-fashioned, but pretty,” Bilqis said, and Baalit stopped and turned. Bilqis was pleased to note that the girl did not blush or attempt to explain away her idle gesture.
“Yes. Are there really blue monkeys somewhere?”
“Only upon painted walls.”
“So many things exist only in dreams.”
“Yes—but many things exist in this world. We need only reach out and accept what the gods give.”
Baalit set her hand upon the wall, traced the curving line of a monkey’s upturned tail. “Truly? And if we are given nothing?”
Ah, she begins to see what awaits her here.
Knowing she must spread her net with care, Bilqis said, “Nothing? You have youth and health and high rank—and that is not a small thing in this world. And you rejoice in the best of fathers.”
Baalit shrugged. “Oh, I know my father loves me—but sometimes I think he loves me too well. And sometimes I think he fears to love me at all.”
As Baalit stared at the painted monkeys, Bilqis remained still, fearing an ill-chosen word would silence the girl.
After a moment, Baalit sighed, and came and knelt beside her. “You see, he loved my mother greatly—she was his first wife, queen of his heart.”
“And she died.”
“Died bearing me. He lost her, and in exchange received only a girl.”
“You think he would have grieved for his wife less had you been born a boy? You do your father’s love for her no justice.”
“At least a boy, a prince, could hope to be king.” Baalit hesitated, then said, “I know my father swore his eldest son would be king, but—”
“But he thought his first wife would bear him his first son,” Bilqis said, “and even when she did not, kings have changed their minds before. Yes, had you been a boy, Baalit, I think it very likely you would have been king in your turn. But you are a girl, and you can never rule here.” She stroked Baalit’s close-braided hair. “You are the first wife’s child, you are the wisest child—”
And you are the oldest girl, the only girl, but that counts for nothing here.
“—and your father’s favorite. Yet—”
“It is Rehoboam who is heir. That scorpion! He will rend the kingdom
like a rotten rag.” Baalit’s eyes stared, cloud pale, into some future she alone could see. “And I—I shall be married to some pompous official who will be so awed at wedding the granddaughter of King David that he will not even beat me!”
The disgust in the girl’s voice made Sheba laugh. “Do you wish to be beaten, then? An odd desire!”
“No—but—”
“But you will be tied to a man who regards you as a prize, rather than as a woman. Why do you fear this? You are a princess; surely King Solomon plans a royal match for you.”
“He wishes to keep me close—and we do not marry our women to uncircumcised outlanders.” She shook her head, smiling wistfully. “If I were wed to a foreign king, I think I should not mind so much, for I would live far from Jerusalem, in a strange land, and—”
“And you would be one wife among many, wed to a man too old and too tired to be of use to even one woman.”
“Oh, I know that. But no one there would have known me since I was in swaddling clothes—and there are ways men may be of use other than in bed!”
“So, you would be queen and run affairs—and your husband—to suit yourself,” Bilqis said, and Baalit laughed.
“I know these are a child’s fancies; you must forget them.” Baalit rose to her feet, adjusting her bracelets as if they were her only care in the world. Sheba was not fooled; Baalit’s will burned fiercely bright; Solomon’s daughter would not prove an easy pawn to play.
But in some ways, Baalit was a child still, as she herself had just claimed; Bilqis smiled and offered a new temptation, one held in reserve until she knew the girl could judge new things fairly. “A child’s fancies are easily forgotten. Now come—child—for I have someone for you to meet, and something new for you to try, if you dare.”

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