Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba (42 page)

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Authors: India Edghill

BOOK: Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba
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What did she want? What did my father promise her?
The questions pricked at Rehoboam, spoiling his pleasure at being given his choice of the newly weaned colts. The moment his sister arrived at the schooling field, their father had forgotten everything in his haste to indulge her. His brothers had not noticed, of course—
None of my brothers sees that she steals what is mine. I am the heir, not she! This is not Sheba, after all
—
Fear slashed him, sudden ice against his skin. Israel was not Sheba—but his father was besotted with the Sheban queen, and the queen with Baalit. Had the Sheban persuaded his father to exalt Baalit, to set her up as a queen in Israel?
Yes. That would explain everything. His father’s indifference, his half-sister’s refusal to marry him, her arrogant disregard for his wishes.
And today at the stables she spoke of being queen. I heard her
. Rehoboam’s ears were keen, and some of Baalit’s words had cut the air like shining blades.
Yes, that must be what she plans—wait until I tell my mother; she will—
His mother would what? She would be furious, of course; his mother cared only for his welfare, his future.
If my father thinks to set my sister up as a queen—this time Mother will poison her
. The thought warmed Rehoboam; then he frowned. His sister Baalit never suffered from illness or weakness, and if she died suddenly—
Mother might be suspected, and I cannot afford to lose her.
If only his sister had enemies—
But everyone thinks Baalit so clever, so faultless
—
No. Not everyone.
As if his mother stood behind him and whispered in his ear, Rehoboam suddenly knew exactly what he must do to ensure that his half-sister Baalit never again shadowed his future.
 
 
Ahijah was not hard to find on market days; the prophet stood in the porch of the Sheep Gate, lecturing those who passed through as if they were erring children. Rehoboam watched as men came and went, most paying no heed to Ahijah’s words—
For they have heard the old fool too often.
Rehoboam had no patience with Ahijah’s constant rebukes, but at last he saw how they could be useful. So he smiled, and stalked through the crowd of men and beasts until he stood before Ahijah.
“Greetings, O Prophet,” Rehoboam began, and Ahijah glanced down at him, frowned.
“You find Yahweh’s words amusing, Prince?” Ahijah demanded, and Rehoboam swiftly looked solemn.
“No. I was only glad to find you so easily, for I must speak with you. I—I am troubled in my mind, and desire your wise counsel.” There, that should satisfy the prophet’s vanity! All men liked to give advice—
especially to princes!
Irritating though the thought was, Rehoboam kept his face calmly earnest.
Ahijah stared at him as if trying to see behind his eyes; apparently satisfied, the prophet nodded. “Ask then, and receive Yahweh’s wisdom.”
Exulting, Rehoboam gazed for a moment at the dusty stones beneath his feet; it would not serve his need to reveal any emotion other than troubled sorrow.
“Well?” Ahijah demanded, and Rehoboam raised his head.
“I have come to you because a great weight lies upon my heart,” Rehoboam began. “It is a matter of the behavior of—of a woman—”
Ahijah seemed to recoil, as if Rehoboam himself might be unclean. “All women are full of vice; it is the way Yahweh made them.”
Rehoboam didn’t care how the Lord had made women, he cared only that the prophet should listen to him. “Yes—yes, that is so.” Agreeing was the surest way to hold Ahijah’s attention. Now to bend their talk to the subject nearest Rehoboam’s heart. “But my lord Ahijah, are not some women more vile than others?”
“Do not call me ‘lord’; I am only Yahweh’s mouthpiece.” Ahijah’s eyes seemed to burn like coals in his thin face. Still, Rehoboam thought the prophet appeared pleased at a prince’s regard.
“Some women,” Rehoboam said hastily, fearing to lose the prophet’s attention, “some women follow evil ways. What should one do in such an instance?”
Ahijah drew himself up, stiffer than ever—
like a dead cedar,
Rehoboam thought, inwardly smiling. Yes, that was how he would describe the prophet later, when boasting to his friends.
“The Law is clear,” Ahijah declared. “An evil woman must be given to judgment.”
“Even a kinswoman?” Rehoboam asked, thinking himself cunning. Yes, the prophet took an interest in that question! Rehoboam forced himself to pious solemnity; it would not do to appear triumphant.
“Even so. Do you know of such a one? Yes, of course you must, for the king’s house stinks of iniquity. Of pride, and lust, and—”
“Idolatry,” Rehoboam prompted. So easy, he exulted. So easy to sway even a prophet!
Oh, what a king I shall be! All men shall leap at my bidding!
The prophet glanced at him sharply for a moment before agreeing. “Yes, idolatry—the sin Yahweh hates above all others. The sin King Solomon countenances, since his foreign wives delight in it.”
“Not only his foreign wives.” At last Rehoboam could let his sister’s good name fall. “But his daughter too follows after heathen idols. And she is no foreigner. She is a Daughter of the Law. It is not fit that she should be seen in the temples of foreign gods.”
“It is not fit that she be there,” Ahijah agreed, and Rehoboam nodded gravely at the prophet’s repetition of his words. Then Ahijah said, “Have you proof of this?”
Someday
, Rehoboam swore crossly,
this prophet will address me properly. I am a prince, after all!
But at the moment he needed Ahijah’s goodwill, so he said only “I have seen her walk through their doors with my own eyes, my lord prophet. And others have seen her as well.”
“Which temples?” Ahijah asked.
What difference does that make?
Rehoboam studied the tiles at his feet, as if ashamed of the words he uttered. “That of Astoreth, and of Belitis.” He tried hastily to think of others. “And that of Chemosh, and I think—”
“Does she visit the Grove?” Ahijah’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. The Grove—that would mean the princess was not only idolatrous but unchaste as well. Girls had been stoned for less.
“Yes,” Rehoboam said after a moment’s pause, as if he thought hard and long over his words. “Yes, she has visited the Grove.”
 
 
As soon as he was out of the prophet’s sight, Rehoboam permitted himself to smile.
I’ve done it, I’ve done it!
He’d sworn his half-sister would be sorry she had ever thwarted him. Now she would be. The prophet Ahijah would make sure of that.
Now my father will have to turn to me. I’m his heir, after all, and she—she’s only a girl
. Still smiling, Rehoboam ran off down the king’s great courtyard—one day to be
his
great court. Someday in his bright future, when he was king.
Yahweh has granted my prayers; my god has delivered mine enemy into my hand
. The thought came slow, weighted with its import; Ahijah was gratified to discover he did not exult at what he now must do. Nor did he shrink from the task ahead.
Yahweh’s will must be done.
And since the king refused to see the sin dwelling under his roof—and since the high priest refused to act at all—it was Ahijah himself who must act as king and priest would not.
I shall cleanse the king’s house of evil
, And then, when the people saw that even their king could not evade Yahweh’s Law, they, too, would abandon their evil ways and return to the path of righteousness.
Ahijah began to consider how to bring Solomon to account. There must be no error, no crack through which King Solomon’s serpent-mind might crawl to safety. The evil must be exposed in the king’s own great court, to which any man or woman might come and demand justice before the throne.
Solomon is soft and weak. I am neither. I will do whatever I must to bring him down to judgment. Even the king is not above the Law!
The sacrifices had gone well; the worshippers had been numerous and generous. As always after the ritual had been properly carried out, Zadok departed
in a glow of satisfied peace. The serene procession of the ceremony of sacrifice and worship reaffirmed the steadiness of the world and his own place in it. Today the rituals had flowed even more smoothly than usual. His hand had been steady on the knife, the sacrifice had been swift and faultless; his voice strong, the prayers chanted without flaw.
And to think only yesterday I worried that I grew too old to serve!
So thinking, Zadok bowed to the Holy of Holies and withdrew from the Sanctuary. Serenely contemplating the day’s blessings, he did not notice the figure awaiting him just beyond the Temple door until it was too late to retreat. The prophet Ahijah had seen him.
Zadok’s serenity vanished like dew under desert sun. Bad enough when Ahijah cornered him in his own house—but this was a thousand times worse. A confrontation at the Temple door, with all eyes upon them and all ears stretched to hear whatever they might say—
How have I offended, Lord?
Zadok wailed silently. But he managed to smile upon Ahijah, and even to greet the prophet pleasantly, although he knew his efforts would be in vain.
“Welcome to the Lord’s House, Ahijah; we are honored by your presence.”
“So as well as having no name, Yahweh now dwells within walls, does He?” Ahijah demanded, and Zadok valiantly tried to smile as if Ahijah jested.
“Of course He does not—but are we to grant Him no honors because of that? Come, walk with me to my own house and be welcomed there.” Zadok knew he would regret bringing Ahijah under his roof, but at least then the verbal lashing the prophet was sure to deliver would take place in private, rather than before the eyes of half Jerusalem.
Ahijah regarded Zadok with scorn. “Like Yahweh, I need no house, and no walls can stop the truth of my words. Listen, Zadok, High Priest of King Solomon’s Temple; listen and heed.”
“I listen, Prophet.” There was little else Zadok could do; Ahijah stood between Zadok and the steps down into the Temple court.
“Then for once you show wisdom. Mark my words, for I shall say them once only. This city, once a citadel of holy purity, a woman chaste, now is no better than a painted harlot. Idols pollute the streets; false gods seduce all who pass by. And what is the source of this filth, this iniquity?”
The prophet paused, as if awaiting reply, but Zadok knew better than to speak. Words from him would only be oil poured upon the open flame of Ahijah’s loathing.
“From one who should be Yahweh’s vessel.” Ahijah turned from Zadok to face the courtyard. “The king. The king’s palace is a sinkhole of lust and idolatry. And the king tolerates the sin beneath his roof—no, worse, he revels in such vile deeds. Solomon takes strange women to his bed, he worships at their shrines. And his children follow his footsteps through the mud.
“Does not the king flaunt a pagan queen before us all? Does he not bend low before her and grant her all she desires? Do not his own women frequent the brothels of the Queen of Heaven?”
As Ahijah spoke, Zadok grew increasingly uneasy. True, the prophet often raved against the court’s vices—but this was the first time Ahijah had dared proclaim them so publicly.
And on the very steps of the Temple, and before me, in the sight of all men.
Zadok faced a dilemma he must solve, and swiftly, if disaster were not to crash down upon his blameless head. For Ahijah spoke treason.
If I do not rebuke him, I condone bis words
. And if Zadok did rebuke the prophet—
All Israel knows Solomon permits his wives their own gods. If I rebuke Ahijah, I publicly condone idolatry.
Ahijah had fallen silent and turned back to face Zadok, waiting. When Zadok did not speak at once, Ahijah said, “Well, High Priest? What is the Law? For a daughter of Yahweh who consorts wanton in the Grove, what does the Law ordain?”
With those words, Ahijah’s true snare lay revealed.
He speaks of the king’s women—but the one he truly accuses is the Princess Baalit. Yes, that is the way to kill Solomon’s heart
. Zadok knew he was not a clever man, but suddenly the words he must say flowed smoothly from his tongue.
“For such a one, death; death by stones.”
You know that, Prophet, as do all in the Temple court who listen to your poisoned words. Well, I too have words for you
. Zadok drew himself up, filled with an odd sense of power, as if for once he were Ahijah’s equal in all things. “But for so grave a charge there must be proof. There must be witnesses—witnesses of untarnished motive. Have you such proof, Prophet? Have you such witnesses?”
“There will be proof,” Ahijah said. “There will be witnesses. And then you must uphold the Law, High Priest—no matter who the transgressor may be.”
“Bring me such proof, and such witnesses, and I will uphold the Law.” Unflinching, Zadok looked into the prophet’s eyes. “But remember, Ahijah, that there is another sin the Lord our god hates.”
Zadok paused, as Ahijah had before, waiting. At last Ahijah asked, slowly, as if the words were being forced from his mouth. “And what is that, Zadok?”
“False witness,” Zadok said. “Be careful, Prophet. Be very, very careful. For I am High Priest, and I will uphold the Law. The Lord’s Law, Prophet. Not yours.”
Still exalted by that uncanny strength, Zadok stared into the prophet’s eyes. And for the first time since Zadok had known him, it was Ahijah who first looked away.
 
 
Zadok did not remember how he got home; doubtless the Lord—or long habit—had guided his steps. Once there, he collapsed upon his bed; his body trembled as if with cold. The fiery power that had upheld him as he confronted the prophet Ahijah had vanished. And it had taken all Zadok’s own small power with it, leaving him weak and shaken.
Was that the power of Yahweh, of the Lord?
Zadok did not know; he knew only that for a shining moment he had burned stronger than the angry prophet. But that moment was gone. Zadok did not know why he had been granted that brief glory, and he was too weary to try to understand.
But there was one thing more left to do.
I must warn King Solomon.
Zadok swallowed the hot spiced wine his wife brought him and held the bowl out for more.
Yes, I must warn the king. As soon as I am able, I will go to King Solomon.

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