He could not resist watching his Sheban guest, delighting in her rich beauty; a beauty unforced and unpracticed, as if beauty were but a veil she
wore easily and with grace. And often, now, when he came upon the Sheban queen, his daughter too came under his eye. Today he stood in the long gallery above the garden in the women’s palace, and once again he watched both Bilqis and Baalit.
They have become as close as sisters—no, not sisters—they share a different bond.
But he could not yet put a name to whatever bound the two.
Below him in the women’s garden, his daughter sat close beside the Sheban queen—close as a daughter to her own mother. The queen spoke, and his daughter laughed; the queen reached out and touched Baalit’s hair, curled a fire-bright strand about her fingers. Then the queen said something that caused his daughter to smile, and then all expression left her face. For a moment both sat unmoving, and in the rich honey sunlight they seemed caught in amber.
Then Baalit shrugged, and laughed; suddenly weary, Solomon closed his eyes rather than look upon his daughter’s enthralled face any longer.
I am glad to see her so happy. Of course I am glad. But—
But what, O great King?
his inner voice mocked.
But your daughter cares more for this foreign woman than she does for you? Finds more pleasure in another’s company than she does in yours?
And then, with deadly precision, keen as a new-whetted blade,
Did you think to keep her always?
He recoiled from the dark, tempting thought. No, of course he had not thought that! His beloved daughter must have what all women desired: a home, a husband, children of her own. A father’s love must not smother a daughter in its embrace.
But Baalit is so young—
She is near fourteen. Her mother wed you when she was little older than her daughter is now.
Solomon had been trained to look clearly on truth; now he forced himself to gaze again upon the scene unfolding in the women’s garden below. Clearing his mind, he studied Baalit as if his daughter were new to his eyes.
And he looked upon a stranger: a girl grown tall, lithe and slender as a palm; a girl whose once unruly hair had been tamed into smooth coiled braids. A girl whose fine linen gown clung to curving hips and rounding breasts.
She is no longer a child.
Solomon allowed the truth to sink into his heart.
My daughter still—but soon another man’s wife.
In the garden below, the queen spoke on, a passionate intensity radiating from her that Solomon noted without understanding. As if entranced, his
daughter’s eyes never left the foreign queen’s face; his daughter’s eyes shone bright as twin moons—
Ah, Sheba, you have stolen my heart—will you steal hers as well?
For the Spice Queen must, in the end, return to her own far kingdom. Grief would be her parting gift.
Must she return?
the inner voice demanded.
You are king of Israel and of Judah, and of many lands besides—can you not hold one mere woman if you desire her?
No. No, I will not even think that.
Never before had Solomon truly understood how a man could act counter to his own wisdom; in ignorant vanity, he had prided himself upon acting always with cool judgment. Upon doing always what was right, what was just, what was politic, his decisions unpoisoned by folly or passion.
Because I knew not what temptation was
.
Now-now I am repaid for my arrogance
. For the temptation to yield only to his own desires clawed at him, savagely demanding as a leopard.
You are king. Do as you wish.
Temptation hissed like a serpent, coiled beneath his heart.
Do as you wish. Your father King David denied himself nothing. Are you less a king than he?
Yes,
hissed that dark serpent’s voice.
You are less; you know it to be true. A great king would take as pleased him. What matters save your own desires?
Below him in the women’s garden, the queen and the princess sat untroubled beside the fountain, untouched by the darkness calling to him. Baalit spoke, earnest and eager. Bilqis nodded, and listened, and toyed with a handful of small crimson roses that lay in her lap.
You want her, and you are king. Take what you want. Who can deny the king’s desires?
“I can.” Spoken in a whisper, the words echoed against the cool stone walls. “I can,” Solomon repeated.
He closed his eyes against temptation’s brazen light. When at last he dared look again upon the garden below, his daughter and the Sheban queen had gone. All that remained was sunlight upon water, and the rising scent of roses.
Later, when it was too late to call back the words, Bilqis knew she had moved too swiftly, counted too greatly upon Ilat’s gift and promise.
Our Mother promised the girl, revealed her to me. But it is I—I who must obtain her. Did I think Ilat would waft the girl from Jerusalem to Sheba in Her arms?
She had been overjoyed and overconfident—
But had I not been both—ah, had I been as wise as I thought myself, I never would have lain in King Solomon’s arms.
She had looked upon Jerusalem from afar and from its streets; she had seen all the riches the king could spread before her. She had even been permitted to view the Great Temple that crowned the high hill, to walk its outer court and gaze upon the brazen sea resting on the backs of a dozen bronze bulls, and to look upon the two pillars that held up the doorway to the Temple itself
But of all the riches Jerusalem held, it was within the palace she had found the greatest prize. A pearl of such great price that she had permitted her greed for the treasure to overrule her reason, asked too much too soon. Ever after, when haste tempted her, she would sing that small story to herself, a silent warning.
She had thought herself patient as time, subtle as desert sands. For once she had seen Baalit, she had waited, smiling and serene, as if the king’s daughter held no more interest than did the great palace, or the golden Temple, or the grand marketplace in which merchants offered up treasures from lands beyond counting.
But at last it seemed the king had spread before her all that Jerusalem had to offer, and he himself gave her the chance she had sought. That day they had ridden to the valley north of Jerusalem so Solomon might show her his famous stables. She had admired the vast horse farm and the fine horses bred there; King Solomon’s horses were prized by generals and kings.
Upon the ride home, they had talked of horses, arguing whether size and strength were more to be valued than speed and suppleness. At last she had said, “Perhaps one could breed a horse possessing all these virtues. When I return to Sheba, I shall choose three of Shams’s colts to send you. Put them to your largest, strongest mares—”
“—and in time, we shall see if such a breeding produces that ideal horse. I will accept such a gift eagerly.” Solomon had leaned over to touch Shams’s arched neck. “I have coveted your horse since I set eyes upon him; now I shall have such a beast for my own pleasure.”
She had laughed; they had ridden back along the Jerusalem road well pleased with one another.
Once they had returned to the city, and to the king’s house, Solomon had escorted her back to the Little Palace. At its gate he said, “Now you
have at last seen all my treasures, O Queen of Queens.” He smiled. “Tell me your thoughts. Is my kingdom as great as yours?”
Warmed by the undertone of laughter in his voice, she smiled back. “Your kingdom is great indeed. But true treasure is a companion whose wit matches one’s own.”
“Yes; laughing at my own jests grows tiresome.”
“What, do your courtiers not laugh when their king smiles?”
“Too much. Do you not know that I am wise and given to clever jests?”
“And so they laugh at whatever words come from your mouth.” Mocking, she shook her head. “How sad, that your reputation causes all men to laugh at you!”
Solomon turned and took her hand. “But you do not laugh, or frown, save as my words truly move you. You are right; you yourself are your kingdom’s treasure.” A moment’s silence, then he added, very softly, “I wish your kingdom’s treasure were mine.”
“You flatter me, O King; I am old enough to be your mother.”
“What does that matter? Your mind matches mine; what more could I desire?”
“A great deal,” she said, and laughed. “But you are right that our minds match, for while you wish my kingdom’s treasure, I in turn desire yours.” She kept her tone jesting light. She had lured him to this point with care; he must not withdraw his words now.
“What can King Solomon possess that the Queen of Sheba could possibly covet?” His tone matched hers; the hint of dark longing had vanished. “Whatever it is, it is yours.”
“Do you not wish first to know what it is I will ask of you?”
“Greed is not in your nature.” Solomon smiled again. “Ask.”
This was the moment, she felt it in her bones. “King Solomon has sworn to grant me all I desire. Yet of all his treasures, there is only one that I would have.”
“Whatever treasure Queen Bilqis names shall be hers. Although what Israel can grant that Sheba does not already possess is a true riddle.” Solomon’s voice was tolerant, amused, as if he waited to hear what trinket had taken her fancy.
“What Israel can grant is what Sheba can no longer provide,” she said. “The riddle’s answer is the Princess Baalit.”
Silence; the golden amity shattered as the air between them turned cold and hard, and she knew that she had erred. Too soon; I asked too soon—
“I do not understand,” he said at last, plainly offering her the chance to soften her desire.
But that she could not do; she must have Baalit. Sheba must have Baalit. “You know why I have come so far, and what I seek. Now I have found her. All I ask of you is one girl—”
“I am no Jephthah, to sacrifice my only daughter.”
“Sacrifice? To you, to your people, she is only a girl-what life will she have here? In Sheba, she will be queen, Solomon; she will rule Sheba after me.”
For a moment he said nothing, his mouth closed tight over harsh words. But when he replied, his voice was flat, his calm worse than anger. “No, O Queen, she will not. She is my only daughter, my kingdom’s only princess. She will not be sent to a land half a year away.”
“She must leave you someday, O King.” She kept her voice as level, as calm, as his. “She will go to a husband, or to a temple. You cannot chain her to childhood; even Solomon the Wise cannot command time itself.”
“That is someday, not now. And as you say, she is only a girl. This is not the Morning Land, this is the land of the Lord’s Law. Here, girls are not raised up to rule over men.”
“No. But even your girls can learn. They raise up the men who rule the kingdom, after all.” But her words did not move him; she sensed his withdrawal. And when he claimed urgent tasks demanded him elsewhere, she knew she must concede defeat for the moment. “Of course,” she said, and smiled, and before she returned through the gate into the Little Palace, she held her hand out to him as if they had spoken only sweet words, shared only laughter.
But it was the first time he had left her before she ended their encounter; that alone told her how much her request had troubled him.
So much so that he revoked his king’s word—whatsoever I desired—
Suddenly weary, she leaned against the window, its stone cool against her cheek. Whatsoever she desired-
Men say such things easily, and kings more easily still.
Granting her desire would cost Solomon dearly; she did not deny that, even to herself.
But I have been promised that girl, and if King Solomon denies her, his refusal will cost him more dearly still,
Therefore he must not refuse, must grant what she desired of him.
I must bend him to my will. But how?
Suddenly she laughed, gay as a girl; how could she have forgotten?
Is not the king a man, and the queen a woman?
Men were ruled by their bodies-and by women’s bodies. Even Solomon the Wise was no exception, cool and passionless as he might think himself, for he was ruled by the memory of a woman’s body, by the shadow of his beloved, his Abishag.
I must battle a ghost for Solomon’s heart
. Far easier to fight a living rival- Sober again, Bilqis stood before her mirror, judging herself in the polished silver.
How best to entice him?
Shall I let him catch me bathing in the sunlight, as his father did his mother?
No; that was a young woman’s trick. She was beautiful still, but she was no longer young; the sun no longer stroked her kindly, promising her lover fire’s passion. The Sun Goddess had fulfilled Her promise by guiding her here, to this land ruled by men.
So I must seek the blessings of the Moon God, now
. Shadow, and moonlight, and her own skilled desire-these would bring Solomon to her.
So much will be easy. To gain the promise of his daughter, his Abishag’s child
—That would prove difficult.
But not impossible.
It cannot be impossible. Our Mother led me here, set the girl before me. She would not have promised me what I could not achieve.
To win her battle, she needed weapons, and those she could forge only when she knew her rival as well as she did herself. Bilqis sent her maidservants and eunuchs to glean old tales from the harem women and the palace servants. She winnowed ancient gossip and rumor, seeking truths she could wield against Solomon’s cool armor.
“Abishag? A pretty enough girl, but too quiet.”
“Almost a foreigner—I am sure she had foreign blood.”
“She was kind, and her voice was soft”
“She bewitched him. There were a dozen more comely than she!”
“She laughed a great deal.”
“No modest woman walks as she did-like a cat in heat. And she wore bells about her ankles; she did not learn that trick from a decent woman!”
“Abishag? I remember her; she smelled of cinnamon. Of cinnamon and roses.