Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba (51 page)
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Authors: India Edghill
BOOK: Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba
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He had sworn he would not watch her ride away, and he had lied. Solomon stood upon the highest rooftop of his palace, and there, in the sky garden that had cherished their love, he watched as the Queen of Sheba paused where the road crested the Hill of Olive Trees. Distance and heat-shimmered air turned the queen into an illusion, unreal as a mirage.
One last look, queen of my heart. One last look.
And then, between one indrawn breath and the next, she was gone.
Gone forever. I could have kept you here. I should have kept you here. That is what a great king should have done.
Gone forever. I could have kept you here. I should have kept you here. That is what a great king should have done.
He stared hard at the empty road, but saw only the haze of dust that marked the passage of a great body of men and beasts. Soon that dust would settle back onto the road, and no sign would remain that the Queen of the South had ever passed that way.
A man would have kept her with him, no matter what he had to do to claim her forever. Just once, I wish I could act as a man rather than as a king.
But he knew he never would. Solomon the Wise could not afford such a luxury.
What would Great David have done, had it been King David who looked upon the Queen of Sheba with desire?
Troubled though he was, Solomon smiled. The last and least son, he had been favored by the queen rather than by the king, had seen his glorious father only rarely. It had been the older princes—Amnon, Absalom, Adonijah—who had been granted their father’s attention and love.
Troubled though he was, Solomon smiled. The last and least son, he had been favored by the queen rather than by the king, had seen his glorious father only rarely. It had been the older princes—Amnon, Absalom, Adonijah—who had been granted their father’s attention and love.
Always remember that your father is a king, Solomon. Kings do not love.
That was what Queen Michal had said.
At least not as men and women know love. A king loves what he needs, and only for so long as he needs.
Remember that, Solomon. Carve it upon your heart.
That was what Queen Michal had said.
At least not as men and women know love. A king loves what he needs, and only for so long as he needs.
Remember that, Solomon. Carve it upon your heart.
A harsh judgment—but then, Queen Michal had hated King David. Even as a child, Solomon had known that. What he had never known was why she looked upon the king with cool unyielding eyes. Nor would she tell him, when he once dared to ask.
Past is past, Solomon; those years do not matter. What matters is the future you will build.
Past is past, Solomon; those years do not matter. What matters is the future you will build.
And although when she looked upon David hate lay coiled like a dark serpent behind her eyes, Queen Michal had never once spoken a word against the king.
Not to me. To me, she always spoke in riddles when she spoke of him. Did she think I did not know what she truly felt?
Not to me. To me, she always spoke in riddles when she spoke of him. Did she think I did not know what she truly felt?
Past is past—
Yet if the past did not matter, why did those forgotten years still poison Michal’s heart?
Yet if the past did not matter, why did those forgotten years still poison Michal’s heart?
As he grew, he gleaned knowledge of his father—or rather, knowledge of what others saw when they gazed upon King David in love or in hate. And that vision, bright or dark, changed with each man and each woman.
If King David has a fault, Solomon, it is that he is too softhearted. Even patience must have an end. He should never have forgiven Prince Absalom—of course I am only a woman and do not know all the king knows—but still, I would not have pardoned Absalom thrice over.
Those had been the harshest words Solomon had ever heard his blood-mother, Bathsheba, utter. For Bathsheba’s nature was so sweet that the Lord might have formed her of honey fresh from the comb. Never did she see darkness, only light.
But there was no honey in his foster-mother, Michal, who saw neither light nor dark, but shadows.
She loved my mother, and she loved me. And—
And for all her cold hate, the night Great David died it was Queen Michal who wept long and would not be comforted. Her tears still fell, slow and hard, long after those whose grief flowed easily had dried their eyes. Solomon had not understood then, and still did not, what had lain between David and Michal. All that remained now of King David were his songs, and of Queen Michal—
All that remains of her is bounded by my crown.
Solomon himself was Queen Michal’s legacy. Sometimes he wondered if she had known what she had truly done when she raised him up to be king in her image.
Solomon himself was Queen Michal’s legacy. Sometimes he wondered if she had known what she had truly done when she raised him up to be king in her image.
For she had sought to create a paragon among men, a miracle of human fire and royal ice, of soft love and stern judgment. An impossible union and a heavy burden to place upon any man’s heart. Solomon did not blame her; Queen Michal had sought only to summon a brilliant future.
But did it never occur to her that I saw what she did to make me king? Saw how she gathered up each incautious word, each unwary glance, as if they were threads for her loom? Just as King David carved the world to his desire, so Queen Michal wove it to her own pattern.
In the end, they were very much alike. King or Queen, all must bow to need. Love, honor, duty—even wisdom, in the end, must yield to that.
For what was wisdom, after all, but the grace to bow before the inevitable?
So this is the wisdom of Solomon. The wisest king in the world.
So men called him; perhaps it was how history would remember him.
If I am remembered. Yet what profit will my kingdom have from my vaunted wisdom if an unwise king follows me? Perhaps it is time to have done with kings, to return to the ways of our fathers.
So men called him; perhaps it was how history would remember him.
If I am remembered. Yet what profit will my kingdom have from my vaunted wisdom if an unwise king follows me? Perhaps it is time to have done with kings, to return to the ways of our fathers.
At the wistful thought, Solomon found himself smiling; from the royal road there was no peaceful return. Long ago, before he became king, before Great David became king, before even Saul became king, a man had foretold what treasure a king would bring as gift to the Lord’s people.
Taxation and conscription; regimentation and slavery. The worst slavery of all, its chains formed by men’s own lusts for riches, for power, for peace.
Perhaps the price of kingship is too high.
He stared south; dust still hung rich and golden in the air, sign of the Queen of Sheba’s passage. Her coming had shattered his hard-won serenity, tested his wisdom. And in the end, what was left?
Honor, Solomon. Honor and duty
.
.
He knew Bilqis was right; for a king, those two virtues came before all
others. Honor demanded he do what was best for his kingdom and its people.
That is a king’s duty. But what is best?
others. Honor demanded he do what was best for his kingdom and its people.
That is a king’s duty. But what is best?
For all his life, he had thought peace the highest good. For all the years he had reigned as king, he had labored towards that goal. And he had sought to raise up a son who would follow the path he had laid out: the path to peace and tranquillity.
And he had been deliberately blind.
“My eldest son will be king after me.”
So he had sworn, to keep peace in the king’s house and the crown passing easily from his head to his heir’s. When he had made it, that vow had seemed wisdom.
So he had sworn, to keep peace in the king’s house and the crown passing easily from his head to his heir’s. When he had made it, that vow had seemed wisdom.
But his eldest son was not fit to be king. At last Solomon faced that fact squarely.
Truth is truth.
The admission hurt; Rehoboam was his child, after all.
Truth is truth.
The admission hurt; Rehoboam was his child, after all.
Rehoboam would be a bad king—
and would that be so ill a thing?
A startling thought, but kings were new to Israel and Judah; Solomon himself was only the third to be crowned and to sit on a golden throne. And none of those three had been eldest son of the king who came before him.
and would that be so ill a thing?
A startling thought, but kings were new to Israel and Judah; Solomon himself was only the third to be crowned and to sit on a golden throne. And none of those three had been eldest son of the king who came before him.
Watching the dust settle slowly in the south, Solomon silently set futures in the scales.
If Rehoboam becomes king, he will not sit long upon the throne. He will breed quarrels; quarrels will breed battles. Rehoboam will not speak soft when he must, tread gently when prudence demands it. He will sow resentment, and his harvest will be rebellion.
King Rehoboam would shatter the kingdom.
King Rehoboam would shatter the kingdom.
So where did wisdom lie now? In a peace dearly bought and easy lost?
I cannot now declare another of my sons heir in Rehoboam’s stead; he would not survive from new moon to full.
Naamah would see to that, even if her son did not.
I cannot now declare another of my sons heir in Rehoboam’s stead; he would not survive from new moon to full.
Naamah would see to that, even if her son did not.
So I will give the kingdom what I have already sworn to give: Prince Rehoboam as next king. I will do so knowing he will bring down the crown—and I will do so because I think it best for the land and the people that it be so. Because I wish it.
Why not? Was it not what his own foster-mother had done, after all?
I was the youngest, yet it was I who became king—because Queen Michal wished it.
I was the youngest, yet it was I who became king—because Queen Michal wished it.
Michal had acted in the great tradition of the matriarchs; often in the past a woman had grasped the succession in her own hands, had spun a new future into being. Rebekah deceiving her husband Isaac to gain his blessing for Jacob, her favorite son; widowed Tamar tricking her father-in-law Judah into lying with her to conceive the child he had unlawfully denied her—they had lifted up sons
they
chose.
they
chose.
Solomon would do the same. The throne would not last; Rehoboam would shatter it.
We are not a people for kings. Royalty rots us. I will create a truth, and that truth will set the kingdom free—Ah, once again I grow pompous. Well, no matter. Like any other man, I strive to do the best I can. No man can do more, unless he be a hero.
A hero, like his father, King David. David the warrior, David the harper, David the golden king, the lodestone for all who would follow after.
David the hero.
David the hero.
But this time, the bitterness that always followed that dazzling image of his father did not come. Solomon summoned up his father’s memory, and felt only a wistful admiration for a man who could so easily win all hearts and minds save those of his own queen and the prince she raised up in Great David’s shadow.
Now I know why Ahijah burns; what is the prophet Ahijah weighed against the great prophet Samuel? As I am shadowed by King David, so Ahijah is by Samuel.
He waited for the welling of the familiar resentment at the constant comparison between himself and his shining father, but that corrosive passion no longer burned.
He is dead and I alive. He is the past, I the present—and the future too. It is time to free my father’s ghost.
He is dead and I alive. He is the past, I the present—and the future too. It is time to free my father’s ghost.
And it was time for other things as well.
If I am to summon any future at all, I must make amends to my wives.
If I am to summon any future at all, I must make amends to my wives.
Bilqis had spread his own well-meant folly before him; Baalit had struck him in the face with that folly, a blow to—
To my pride.
To his pride, when it should have been a blow to his heart. And long ago, Abishag had tried to warn him.
To my pride.
To his pride, when it should have been a blow to his heart. And long ago, Abishag had tried to warn him.
“Solomon, you must promise me something.” As another pain rippled through her, Abishag gripped his hand; he felt his bones press together.
“Anything, my dove. You have only to ask.”
“Should I die—”
“You will not die, Abishag. All women think so, when their time comes—”
“And many are right. No, do not shake your head, and do not say again that I shall not.” She gasped as another pain gripped her, then managed to smile. “Were you king of all the world, Solomon, that you still could not promise me.”
“You must not think such things. Abishag, you are my rose, my lily, my only beloved. You
will live and our son also.” He had spoken strongly, willing her belief; Abishag had only smiled.
will live and our son also.” He had spoken strongly, willing her belief; Abishag had only smiled.
“Perhaps, and perhaps not. And I must think such things, king of my heart, for you are only a man and close your eyes to darkness as well as light.” Another gasp, and again, to his amazement, she smiled once more. “Ah, soon. And soon, king or no, my mother will order you from the room. And you will go, because you are only a man, and this is woman’s work.” She gazed at him with eyes dark as a shadowed well. “Promise me, Solomon, that should I die bearing our child, you will set another in my place. Either Nefret or Naamah—either or another—your heart is not so weak you can love once and once only—”
She had spoken the last words in panting gasps, and then her mother came into the room and ordered Solomon out of it. “Go, fight some man’s battle. This battle is Abishag’s, and she must wage it without you.”
Already Abishag seemed to forget he was there; she clung to her mother and cried out for her handmaiden Rivkah. Suddenly women crowded the room, and Solomon realized that in the face of this enemy, he was helpless. “But how can I help? What can I do? There must be something!”
“There is.” Queen Michal’s cool voice cut through the heat and fuss like a keen blade. Of course she had come; adept at midwifery, Queen Michal had aided many king’s sons into the world—and long ago had delivered Solomon himself, claiming him from death by her skill.
“What may I do? Tell me”
“Go away and drink a great deal of wine,” Queen Michal said, “and do not return to Abishag’s door until I send for you.”
And as Solomon gaped at her, Queen Michal and Abishag’s mother Zhurleen exchanged glances of utter understanding … .
He had not drunk wine, but he had been sent for—suddenly and urgently, reaching Abishag only to hold her hand as her skin grew cold and she left him to journey alone into endless night … .
And as he stared into her lightless eyes, all he could think was that he had not sworn to do as she had asked, in those last moments that had been theirs to cherish—and that he was glad he had not bound himself to that promise. For he knew he could not do it.
No other woman can take your place, beloved. No one, no one but you, ever.
No other woman can take your place, beloved. No one, no one but you, ever.
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