Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba (4 page)

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Authors: India Edghill

BOOK: Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba
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It was not the queen’s day to sit in judgment, and so she had claimed the day’s hours for her own. Clad only in a skirt of fine linen, she sat quiet in her garden upon a bench carved of rose-red stone; savored the scents of lilies and lilac, the warmth of the sun upon her unbound hair. Such interludes were rare in Queen Bilqis’s life, so when Khurrami came soft-footed along the garden path with a message, it was with hand outstretched in apology.
“I crave the queen’s pardon for disturbing her peace.”
Bilqis sighed. “You would not do so without reason. Speak.”
“The chief steward asked me to bring word that a king’s emissaries have arrived in Ma’rib and crave audience with the queen.”
And this news could not wait?
She folded the thought away, struggled to show Khurrami a placid face. “Emissaries? They must be important or importunate indeed—”
“To trouble the queen without delay,” Khurrami finished for her, and lifted one smooth shoulder in annoyance. “But we all know what the chief steward is; he swore the matter urgent.”
“Ah, well—” Bilqis smiled in rueful agreement; Shakarib was an excellent master of the court—but he did seem to treat all matters as equally weighty. “Tell me of these urgent envoys.”
“I will tell what I know, which is that they come from a land far to the north—”
A land far to the north … .
Something in those words kindled the queen’s blood, caused her breath to thicken in her throat. A vagrant breeze stroked her, and suddenly she knew it was the Bright Queen’s answer to her ardent prayer. These men from beyond the burning sands somehow held the answer she had sought for so long.
“—so far away that their kingdom lies beyond the great desert itself. Although they did not travel over the sands but voyaged down the Red Sea, in a merchant’s ship—”
As Khurrami spoke, Bilqis fought the temptation to demand the travelers be summoned at once before her; that would be neither kind nor wise. She held up her hand, and Khurrami fell silent.
“I do not care how they came; they are here now. A far land, you say? A long journey, then; give these strangers all they desire, and then, when they are rested, bring them before me and I will question them, and learn why they have come.”
Courtesies satisfied, Khurrami bowed, and Bilqis turned away. Both knew why the men from the north had come so far, and what they would ask. Merchants who dared the journey paid well for Sheban spice—and reaped a hundredfold reward for their daring in their own marketplaces.
Spice lured all the world to Sheba.
A land far to the north
—
in that far land a queen for Sheba waits. Seek, and find
—
Although her very blood craved haste, Bilqis refused to surrender to that pounding urgency.
These men have traveled far and long to reach me and petition for the treasures I hold in my gift. They will not flee for an hour’s wait
—
or a week’s.
Or even a month’s, come to that. No, those who came to bargain for Sheba’s spices waited patiently upon Sheba’s pleasure.
So she made herself wait a day before she told Shakarib that the emissaries from the land to the north might come before the Queen of Sheba’s ivory throne.
My mother reared me to be a queen, although I never knew it until long after the crown was set upon my brow
—
just as I never knew her patience ran deep as a well, her faith strong as stone. I knew nothing of my mother’s true worth until I was a woman grown, and married to the man of my heart’s desiring.
I first saw him when I was a small child and my family dwelt in Mahanaim, a city east of the Jordan. All I remember of my life in that place is that once King David himself lodged there, during the days of Prince Absalom’s rebellion. I remember that when the soldiers marched in, the street was so crowded I looked down from our rooftop and saw bronze helmets moving like a metal stream. And I saw a royal prince, a boy who looked up at me with eyes bright as the sun. I remember that. And I remember that, upon our windowsill, my mother kept a hyacinth in a painted pot.
“A strange thing, to find a land ruled by a woman.” Jotham frowned. “I don’t like it.”
“You never like anything new, Cousin. Why petition to come at all?”
Boaz stared around the rooms they had been given—rooms rich enough even for King Solomon himself
A generous people, these Shebans
—
but they are so wealthy gold means little to them, and silver nothing.
“I am the king’s brother; it is my right and my duty to serve him. Solomon asked me to deal with the Shebans. He forgot to mention I would have to deal with a woman as if she were equal to the king of kings.”
“I forgot you never listen to travelers’ tales.” Boaz lifted a cup and turned it over in his hands. Ibex leapt about the curves of a goblet formed of silver; the beasts’ horns gleamed gold. In most palaces such a costly item would be reserved for the banquet table. “These Shebans must be rich beyond dreams. Look upon this.” He tossed the goblet to Jotham, who caught it easily in one hand.
“Fine work” was all Jotham said, after studying the silver cup for a moment. He set the goblet back upon the table. “I don’t see why your eyes stretch so wide; if Sheba did not possess what all the world desires, we wouldn’t be here.”
All the world desired Sheba’s fabled spices. Cinnamon, spikenard, pepper; those and others equally precious passed through Sheban hands on their journey from the lands beyond the morning to lusting markets in the kingdoms of the west. But most vital of all was Sheba’s frankincense. Incense to summon gods, incense to pleasure goddesses. Even Israel’s austere god favored incense. The incense trees grew only in the land of Sheba; smoke of Sheban incense drifted across the wide world, more precious than gold, more coveted than rubies.
“Incense beyond price and a queen guarding Sheba’s treasure—is she beautiful, do you think?” Boaz asked.
“I think all men will call her so, whether or not she is fair to look upon. What do I care? I have a good wife waiting for me at home.”
“I’ve heard the queen is a djinn; that no man can resist her. That she chooses men as she does jewels—for a night only. If she beckons to you, do you think you could resist her wiles?”
“I think you should stop guzzling Sheban wine and listening to Sheban gossip. The queen is not important—the spice trade is.”
Boaz regarded Prince Jotham with rueful amusement. “Of all the men King Solomon could have chosen, he sends one unmoved by beauty, unintrigued by mystery, unimpressed by riches.”
“We are not here to lust after beauty, unveil mystery, or covet riches. We are here to seal the spice trade for King Solomon.” Jotham walked across the soft-woven carpet that covered cool marble tiles until he reached the moon-round window. He pushed aside the drift of silver cloth that curtained the opening. “Come and look, Boaz. Feast your eyes upon Sheba now, for when we go before the Spice Queen, we must go clear-eyed and clear-headed.”
Boaz stood beside his cousin and gazed upon a city more dazzling than pearls. Jerusalem, City of David, crowned a rocky hill, an armored guardian of the land around it. But Ma‘rib stretched out freely, its houses circled by gardens, its streets lined with trees. Fields green as emeralds surrounded the city, tangible proof of Ma’rib’s ability to summon water from the desert.
“The Shebans must be great sorcerers, to force the sand to yield crops,” Boaz said, and Jotham laughed.
“The Shebans must be great engineers, to create a dam to channel the only river for a thousand leagues. I may not listen to travelers’ tales of gems and djinns, but I do take heed of our agents’ reports. Now go ask that sly chamberlain just how much longer King Solomon’s envoy must wait before the Queen of Sheba deigns to admit him to her presence.”
Despite the wealth of Sheba, the queen’s throne was a simple thing, formed so long ago that the ivory itself had grown old. Once pale as bone, the chair from which a thousand queens had ruled shone golden as honey; time-burnished. Before the ivory throne hung curtains sewn of leopard skins and embroidered Cathay silk, hiding the queen from those who waited in the great court. When she lifted her hand, the eunuchs whose task it was to shield her would pull upon golden cords, drawing the curtains back to reveal the Queen of Sheba seated like a goddess upon her ancient throne.
An effective image; created to imbue awe in the beholder—and render newcomers to Sheba’s marketplace vulnerable to her merchants. Bilqis had no reason to suppose the waiting men from King Solomon’s court would prove less malleable than any others—
One of the eunuchs cleared his throat, pretended to cough; the small noise drew her attention, and Bilqis realized they had been awaiting her signal to pull back the curtains—a signal she should have given long since. But the wild urgency that had driven her since Khurrami brought her word
of the men from the north had deserted her. Passion had chilled to fear.
For if I look upon these men and listen to their words, and still find no answer—what then?
She lifted her hand, and it seemed to her that never had her own flesh weighed so heavy. The curtains that had concealed her swept back, and she looked at last upon the men who had sailed down the Red Sea from the court of a king called Solomon the Wise.
 
 
The men from the north neither knelt nor bowed. They stared upon her as openly as if she were not a queen whom they must petition, a priestess whom they must propitiate. She had seen such men before, men from lands of men who looked upon a woman and saw only weakness.
Oh, yes, I have seen you all before. You with your scornful eyes and your rough manners, who think that because I am a woman my word is less than law.
Without taking her eyes from the men standing before her throne, she lifted her left hand; as smoothly as sand flowing over a dune, Uhhayat, the royal chamberlain, paced forward and knelt.
“Who seeks the Queen of the South?” Bilqis spoke in the Traders’Tongue, courtesy to her foreign visitors. Ritual must be observed, however roughhewn a guest’s conduct.
“I am—” the group’s leader began; ignoring his words, the royal chamberlain answered, her voice ringing clear over his.
“O Queen, Light of our Days, Lady of the Morning, those who seek wisdom and favor of the Daughter of the Sun would approach.” Uhhayat’s face remained as bland as her voice, but her glance at the foreigners cut like a blade. The leader’s face darkened; whether with shame at his ill-conduct or with anger at Uhhayat’s contempt the queen could not tell.
In the silence that followed Uhhayat’s words, Bilqis sat quiet and counted heartbeats. At last, when the men behind the leader shifted, restless, she spoke the time-honed response.
“Those who seek the queen’s wisdom and the queen’s favor may approach.”
Without waiting for Lady Uhhayat to summon them forward, the men strode forward.
No grace, and no manners.
And their garments were well-woven but lacked style.
Just before the first step to the throne, the group’s leader stopped, standing proud and gazing straight into her face. She recognized the gleam of curiosity mirrored in his dark eyes—and the glint of contempt ill-hidden. Well, Sheba would teach him better manners, at least.
If you wish my spices, you must bend before my will.
So thinking, she smiled, and saw the leader’s face change; caution replaced curiosity.
“The Queen of the South greets you, men from the north.” She gestured to the three broad steps that led up to Sheba’s ivory throne. “Sit, and speak. Tell us all that is in your hearts.”
A graceful gesture; a signal honor not to be refused. But once accepted, that honor ensured that the man sat awkwardly at her feet, as if he were a babe playing before his nurse.
Now make your speech, little man. Spread your king’s demands before us and see us laugh.
But however scornful, the man at least was no fool; seated, he looked up, past her jeweled feet and silk-clad thighs, past the girdle of pearls circling her waist, the ropes of amber falling over her breasts, until he stared once more at her face. “I, Prince Jotham of Judah, thank you, O Queen, for this sign of your favor. May it herald a prosperous outcome to our journey.”
Very good, Prince Jotham of Judah.
Many men had sat where he sat now, and some could not tear their eyes away from the sheer cloth clinging to her legs, the shadows hinting at the secret garden hidden between her thighs. She smiled again.
“May it herald prosperity indeed. Now tell us where your land may be found, Prince Jotham of Judah, and what men call it, and who rules over it—and you.”
“My land lies north, past the great empty desert. My king is Solomon the Wise, son of Great David, who rules all the land from Dan to Beersheba, and more besides.”
Much more, apparently; building upon his father’s conquests, King Solomon now ruled an empire—or so his envoy claimed. “No man travels between the Great Sea and the Great Desert, between Egypt and Damascus, without paying toll to King Solomon the Wise.”
King Solomon the Wise; a noble title. Is he wise in truth, or only in men’s flattery?
One never could be sure; did not men still call her Bilqis the Beautiful?
The true question is whether this King Solomon owns the wisdom to know he is flattered
—
or whether he is deluded by gilded words.
“A great realm indeed. And what does King Solomon the Wise wish of Bilqis, Queen of the lands of Sheba?”
“Her goodwill and her friendship.” Prince Jotham’s gaze never wavered. “And her spices.”
Unable to resist, she permitted herself to laugh. “Your king has sent an able advocate indeed! It has taken some men a month of audiences before they dared utter those words!”
For a breath, dismay flooded his face, then he shrugged. “What else does a man come to the land of Sheba to gain but her spices? Why not say so?”
“Why not indeed?” Her amusement encouraged her courtiers to smiles and low laughter at this brazen truth. “Tell me, Prince Jotham, does King Solomon the Wise desire nothing more of Sheba?”
This time he hesitated before speaking, but still his words were as blunt as before. “My brother King Solomon would enter into agreements with Sheba. Trade must continue, spices flow safe along the Incense Road. A pact between our kingdoms is what King Solomon desires.”
“And what does the king your brother offer that Sheba does not already possess? What does King Solomon own that Sheba lacks?” Something seemed to arouse her as she uttered the words; an intangible caress slid like perfumed smoke across her skin.
“I do not know,” Prince Jotham said, “but I have brought scrolls from the king, and a scribe who has memorized all the scrolls say. Doubtless my brother has thought of something.”
Does King Solomon know what manner of men carry his words? Still, such crude speech has saved us all endless hours of deference and debate before even beginning our bargaining. In exchange, I will turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to their blunt manner.
For did she not also wish something of them—although they did not yet know it?
“Rise, Prince Jotham of Judah, and know you are Sheba’s guest. And know also that the Queen of Sheba will speak with King Solomon’s scribe, but the queen alone can promise nothing.”
As King Solomon’s envoy rose ungracefully to his feet, plainly baffled, she raised her hand. “The queen will consult our Mother Ilat in this matter; the queen will act as the goddess advises.” With that, she nodded, and the court eunuchs released the heavy golden cords; the curtains of leopard and embroidered silk fell before the ivory throne, hiding her from the court. A good ending, she thought, rising from the throne, and a decision
no one could quarrel with. A decision that committed her to nothing.
Once more veiled from all but her intimates, she beckoned to the chief eunuch. And when he drew near, and bowed low, she smiled. “I have a task for you, Tamrin. Bring Prince Jotham of Judah to my garden.”
“At once, Sun of our Days.” But however humble Tamrin’s words, however deep his bow, Bilqis clearly understood his deep disapproval.
If the gods would grant me one wish
—
other than a queen for Sheba
—I
would ask for handmaidens and servants and eunuchs who had not tended me since before I grew breasts!
Sometimes their care nearly stifled her—and their meticulous solicitude curbed most wild impulses almost before she uttered them.
“Oh, it need not be at once,” she said, restraining her desire to remind Tamrin that she, not he, ruled as Queen of Sheba—even if he
had
served her mother. “But I must speak with him—I wish to learn more of this King Solomon than I shall hear in a public audience. And whatever you can learn …”
“Of course, my queen. You may trust me for that.”
Smiling, she laid her hand softly upon his bowed head. “I do. I trust you to bring me words that tell what sort of man King Solomon is—or at least, the sort of man his subjects think him.”
Pleased still to be of such import, Tamrin bowed even lower, lifting the tassel of her girdle to his lips. “Light of our Eyes, you shall have what you desire. My slaves will glean knowledge from those uncouth barbarians until even King Solomon’s own mother shall know him less well than you.”
 
 
In some acts, haste never prospered; if a Queen of Sheba mastered nothing else as she trained for the day the sun-crown would rest upon her hair, she learned to command patience.
Fools battled life’s hungers, and in the end lost all.
So Bilqis had been taught; so she ruled her own life. She had waited three full days, and now she would learn what sort of man King Solomon had sent to plead for him.
And I will learn what sort of man King Solomon is
—
or seems to be to his trusted servant.
She smiled, and spread the peacock feathers of her fan across the bench beside her. For this meeting, she had chosen to seem what men of other nations called womanly, and displayed her body like a prize. A gown rich with gold fringe wrapped her; sheer cloth molded the
curves of breast and hip and thigh. A dozen bracelets adorned each wrist, chimed with each movement of her hands. Carmine painted her mouth, so that her lips flamed hot and red.
Unless this man from the north is dead, or a eunuch, he will succumb.
A man dazzled by a woman’s charms was a man easier to bargain with.
 
 
Prince Jotham of Judah seethed with impatience; his mouth was set in a thin line and his body moved stiffly, like a clay doll’s. Bilqis smiled as he approached, and extended her hand, palm up, so that her hennaed skin glowed rose in the sun.
“The Queen of Sheba greets King Solomon’s emissary. She is eager to speak with him again.” Swiftly gauging his temper, she added, “No, do not kneel; you may sit before me.”
Plainly Prince Jotham had not even thought of bending his knee to her; her careless dismissal of that protocol seemed to startle him into noticing he should pay her more homage than a scowl. “Thank you, Highness,” he said. “But I will stand.”
Bilqis laughed softly. “Stand then, but I fear you will grow weary, for I long to hear all you have to tell me of your land and your king. So when you tire of standing, I give you leave to sit at your ease so that we may talk as friends.”
King Solomon’s emissary regarded her cautiously, as if she were a venomous serpent he had found drowsing before him. Again Bilqis smiled; faced with a woman of power, this man of action found himself at a loss. “Now,” said the Queen of Sheba, “speak to me of King Solomon.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“Why, whatever you wish to tell me, of course. That he is a great king, wise and powerful—that I will grant. Are not all kings so described?” She lifted the peacock fan and began slowly waving the brilliant feathers, creating the smallest of breezes across her skin. “And that he wishes to gain my spices—that too is common to all kings.”
“Then what can I tell you that you do not already know?” Jotham demanded. “Your ministers have read the king’s scrolls by now. Have they not told you what they say?”
Gently, Bilqis lowered the peacock fan, rested it across her thighs. Plainly
Jotham of Judah prided himself on blunt speaking and held women in light regard. Time, Bilqis thought, to invoke the Mother to rule him, bring him to heel.
“I have read the scrolls, young man, and yes, I know what they say. Now I shall give you some advice, Jotham. It would be wise of you to remember that you are here not for yourself but for your king. And it would be even wiser of you to remember one thing more.”
“And what is that?” he asked after a moment, filling the silence, as she had known he would.
She noted with satisfaction that his face had flushed with chagrin and rising anger.
Ah, and now he expects me to fling my power in his face, to threaten.
She smiled, and once again lifted her peacock fan.

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