The first petitioner, a gray-haired man with rotten teeth, stepped forward, aimed his crooked finger at the man behind him, and snarled, “That man stole my camel.”
The young woman cowering beside him looked away.
The Old Woman Who Listens leaned forward and sniffed. “The petitioner doesn’t own a camel, your Excellency.” She sniffed again. “But he does have a bowel condition that causes him pain.” She folded her arms. “Are you jealous of him because he can take a shit and you can’t?”
The court burst into howls of laughter. I frowned, hurled a severe look at the Old Woman Who Listens, and silenced the court.
“A thief cannot steal what you do not own,” I told the constipated old man. “What is the real complaint?”
“I told you, that man stole my camel.” He jabbed his finger toward the good-looking accused man.
Shani, standing behind me, whispered in my ear. “That is an old phrase, your Excellency, for saying a man is fucking your wife.”
The young woman standing behind her husband, who was perhaps my age, blushed and dropped her gaze to the floor. Her constipated graying husband was not old, but he was no dashing Kepha either. I could not fault the girl her lust for the younger man. But marriage was a sacred vow. A vow, unfortunately, forced upon young women with no say in the matter.
I spoke to the young wife. “Do you want a divorce?”
Her eyes popped wide with happy surprise. She looked at her young lover and then at her sour-faced husband. “Yes. I want a divorce.”
I shifted my attention to her constipated husband. “Do you consent to the divorce?”
Mumbling under his breath, he looked away.
“A wife who does not love you is worse than none at all,” I said.
“That’s right!” came a voice from the back of the line. “An unhappy woman makes her husband’s life miserable!”
All the men in line muttered their agreement.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “Find another woman, one worthy of your love, protection, and benefits.”
His head swiveled around. “Do you know of such a woman?”
“I’m a queen, not a matchmaker.”
CHAPTER 36
The time had come. Caravans from far-off kingdoms, exotic lands, and remote territories began arriving. I don’t know who was more excited, me or Faiza, the minister of trade.
From a high platform, Faiza stood with her hands on her wide hips, and surveyed the area designed to promote trade. “Aromatic dealers go there.” She pointed to a table with a white canopy. “Our frankincense and myrrh expert will evaluate quality.”
Frankincense was in high demand. Its white fragrant smoke carried our prayers to heaven, cleansed our homes, and cured a plethora of ills.
“Fair prices for genuine goods.” I nodded.
“The cinnamon station is there.” Faiza pointed to a table with a cinnamon-colored canopy.
“Clever.” I gestured to a U-shaped table canopied with skins. “Animals?”
“Yes, rhinoceros horns, tortoise shells, and various skins. Right next door are cages for animals.”
“Where is the exchange?”
“At the entrance gate,” she said. “Traders have the option of paying taxes in our coin, silver, gold, or merchandise. There are two people working at all times and they double-check each other.”
“Is there anything else you need from me?”
Faiza’s head swung from right to left across the Ma’rib trading arena with a mother’s pride. “Not today, your Excellency. I may need more soldiers or tables or canopies, but those are minor things.” She turned to me. “I will be here all day, every day, while the caravans come in.”
“Are there enough food carts?” Traders were hungry and thirsty upon arrival.
“Enough for today.”
“I want a full report at the end of the week. Notify me at once with any unforeseen problems.”
Although Faiza was twice my age, she gazed at me with a reverence that both worried and amazed me. What if my ideas failed? What if Ma’rib stopped prospering? My people looked to me for answers. What if I had none?
“Your Excellency, I must confess, this project, your vision”—Faiza clasped her hands to her pendulous bosom—“has given my life new meaning. I adore my grandchildren but organizing and managing all this fills my soul.” Her eyes shone with excitement. “Once word spreads of the new changes in Ma’rib’s trade policies, every caravan will want to stop here.”
I smiled, my heart warmed at her enthusiasm. “Are you certain you will not accept a salary for your position?”
“I don’t need more wealth,” said Faiza. “I needed a new passion, something that engages my mind and makes my heart pound . . . which is not easy when you’re a middle-aged widow who lost the love of her life.”
“I know the joy that comes from fulfilling your destiny.” But of romantic love, I knew nothing.
The caravans kept coming. No one remembered ever seeing so many. By month’s end, Faiza had asked for an assistant.
Another month passed. Word of Ma’rib’s new trade policies traveled faster than a hawk. Faiza required a second assistant. Goods and wealth flowed into the kingdom like water to a wadi after a rainstorm. New shops and taverns sprung up. The pomegranate-cheeked street vendor who made the world’s best goat stew opened a restaurant. Folks purchased art, jewels, clothes, and expensive furnishings. Our temples were inundated with offerings of gratitude. More lovers married. More babies were born. The poor were fed and clothed. Even some thieves living outside the walls turned away from crime to find lawful work. Or so I was told.
It was a busy time for everyone. I worked from dawn to dusk, taking breaks only to eat, sleep, enjoy Tamsi’s lusty poetry, and check the progress of the temple.
Today’s visit to Awwām temple, however, required an overnight visit. I wanted to confirm the architect’s assurance of the temple’s beauty during sunrise and sunset.
I was reviewing construction changes while lounging on thick pillows in the royal tent at the building site when Duvsha peeked through the tent flap.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I brought you a surprise.”
I waved her in.
Instead, Duvsha stepped away and a giant of a man with hair as orange as flames stooped under the flap and into the tent. The giant crossed the space in several steps and loomed over me.
“Who are you?” I asked.
The redheaded giant got down on his knees and touched his head to the carpet. “Stallion two.”
CHAPTER 37
“My name is Gunnarr Northman.” The flame-haired giant had an unusual accent and a deep voice that sounded like thunder’s rumble.
I cast aside the drawings. “Hello, Gunnarr.”
He was built like a bull, his shoulders as wide as two men, his arms, legs, and chest covered with a downy layer of saffron-colored curls. His hair fell in thick unruly waves to his shoulders. He had a lopsided smirk—half smugness, half playfulness—that matched the amber glint in his deep-set eyes. He looked like a sun god, or what a sun god ought to look like.
“Sit down.” I pointed. “Where are you from?”
He sat cross-legged on the rug opposite me. “From a land of green trees as tall as the sky—trees that change from green to yellow, red, and orange when the winds blow cold. Where snow falls so fast and deep it covers a house. A place where everyone wears more clothes.” He tugged on his kilt. “Lots more clothes.” Gunnarr laughed, a deep rolling vibration from the depths of his belly that made the thousand tiny brown specks on his face jump and wiggle.
“How did you come to be in Saba?” I asked.
Gunnarr’s sigh felt like a rush of warm wind. “I was a masterful warrior in my land. I had everything. Power. Prestige. Wealth. A beautiful wife . . .” He looked away, his golden eyes lost to another time and place.
“Children?”
Gunnarr shook his head, his red mane fluttering like a lion’s. “I
married and took in my wife’s children after her first husband—my best friend—died in battle. Alas, we did not have any of our own. It is my one royal failing.”
“Your cock doesn’t work?”
“Oh, it works, your Excellency. It squirts buckets of cum. But it can’t put a babe in a woman’s belly.”
Perfect.
Gunnarr rubbed his bristled chin. “I was captured in battle.” He lifted his shirt.
I gasped. How had the man survived such a wound? The wide angry scar ran diagonally from his hip to his nipple.
“You’d think this would have killed a man.” He smacked his chest. “Not me. I must have looked dead enough because my men left me on the field with the others cut down that day. The gods did not look favorably on me either. My moans drew the enemy’s attention. They threw me in their cart and sold me to another clan. Eventually I healed.”
Gunnarr thumped his hard fuzzy chest. “Scars are stronger than skin, eh? I was sold again and again, each time moving farther south. By the time I reached this land of sand, my full strength was back. After your Serdar purchased me—paid a lot too—he brought me to this place, where he trained me in your ways and set me to guard the construction of your temple of Awwām.”
The Serdar was smart. Gunnarr’s height and girth would deter most thieves. Why, Gunnar’s arms were the size of most men’s thighs.
Gunnarr, seeing where my eyes wandered, curled his arm.
Holy Almaqah! The man could probably lift a camel over his head. Even though I had romped with Tamsi two days ago, my cunt twitched with desire. Was he big everywhere else?
My cunt moistened. “How do you like my kingdom?”
“Your sun makes my skin red and it’s too hot and dry for my liking. But your wild beasts are far better than ours. In my land, I had achieved some renown for sword making. One slice”—he pantomimed the movement—“chopped a bear in two.”
“What’s a bear?”
Gunnarr beamed. “Your Excellency, it is a massive hairy beast that runs on four legs and walks on two. Its head is the size of the pillow you sit on and its mouth is—”
“Bigger than a lion’s?”
Gunnarr roared with laughter. “I suppose that’s why folks love pitting lions against bears. It’s a well-matched fight, each beast with its own advantages. But this land has many more ferocious beasts than mine. The leopard is my favorite. Such an elegant predator.”
“I have one.”
“I heard.” Gunnarr’s gaze swept over the room.
On cue, Nasreen lifted her sleepy head from the large pillow in the corner of the tent. She yawned wide and stood up, her spine curving upward, her hindquarters in the air as she stretched her front legs. A pampered, well-fed life made Nasreen much bigger than wild leopards.
Gunnarr whistled long and low. “Beautiful and impressive.” He swung his head back to me. “Like the Sabaean queen.” His eyes locked with mine.
“That’s where our similarities end. Nasreen sleeps away the day and prefers to prowl at night.”
“When do you do your hunting, your Excellency?” Gunnar quirked an eyebrow.
“Anytime I want.” I blushed. Gunnarr’s sheer size, the width of his chest and the bulk of his muscles, made me giddy with desire.
“Tell me, beautiful queen, if I kiss you right now, would Nasreen attack me?”
“Only if I screamed.” My bosom heaved, ready for the kiss.
“Oh, that’s too bad, I was planning on it.” Gunnarr pounced on me like a leopard. Agile and fast as one too.
I squealed with surprise.
Gunnarr, on all fours over me, pinned both my hands with his large one. “My cock’s been bursting since I walked in here.” He attacked my mouth, kissing me deeply, devouring my breath.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, this flame-maned giant sweeping me into his exuberance. His tongue ravaged my mouth. I could not keep up.
Gunnarr lifted his head. “One thing I do like about this land is how easy it is to get out of your clothes.” He ripped off his short kilt and reared back to sit on his haunches. “Like what you see?”
My mouth dropped open. Gunnarr’s heavy cock was as big as my forearm.
“Some women say it’s too big.” He laughed.
“It’s perfect.” I grabbed it, wrapped my hand around its smooth expanse. I wanted that gorgeous cock in me right now!
“Mmmmm,” Gunnarr purred. “A woman who knows what she likes.” He untied the silver-threaded belt, then tore my dress in two.
“Big tits!” Gunnarr stared at my naked body. “Fucking perfection.” He lowered his head and supped on my breasts, licking and sucking until they were wet and my nipples were pointed and raw. “A man like me needs a woman with big tits and a succulent ass.” His hand wedged under me and squeezed a cheek. “You might be a little wisp of a queen, but your parts are goddess sized.”
“You’re pretty god sized yourself.” I yanked on his cock.
“Then let’s fuck like gods.”
“How do gods fuck?”
“Like this.” Gunnarr lapped at my stomach and worked downward, nibbling on my hips and gnawing on my thighs.
I moved under him, writhing with impatience for his cock. I was clay in his hands, my limbs molded around him. Gunnarr took charge. If I pushed his head toward my cunt, he laughed and sank his teeth into my thigh and sucked hard.
I finally gave in, surrendered all control, and let him do as he wanted. Submission freed and excited me, my body responding instead of anticipating. I stopped thinking, felt only the sensation of his touch on my skin.
Gunnarr spread my sex and sank his tongue into my heat. I grabbed his mane and let him indulge.
He lifted his head, a wolfish grin on his face, and smacked his lips. “No women in my country tastes like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like honeyed raisins and . . . you’re going to laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“Beer.”
I burst out laughing until Gunnarr’s ministrations had me whooping with pleasure. He pushed my hands from his head and pinned them down. I was powerless again, all focus centered on his head in my cunt. His tongue, plunging fingers, heated breath, massive size, and the tickle of his hair on my thighs threw me like a rag doll into orgasm. While he had me weighed down and held prisoner, he did not relent, and sent me soaring twice more.
“That was too easy.” Gunnarr closed my thighs and rolled me on my stomach. His hands slid under me and grabbed each breast, working my nipples while he licked my ass.
The giant made me cum again just from that.
“Ready for my cock, your Excellency?” He did not wait for my answer and glided into my sopping joy.
Gunnarr fucked like he sucked. With a warrior’s need to conquer. He hammered into me from behind first, then flipped me over and rammed into me while holding my ankles together over my head. He trounced me at angles only possible because of his size and strength. He bellowed like a bull when he came and pumped me full of cum.
“Is that how all men fuck where you’re from?” I asked as he blew cool air on my burning cunt.
Gunnarr lifted his head. “Just me.”
My cunt was sore; I needed a cool bath.
Gunnarr lay down beside me. “I have an idea for next time.” He wrapped a tendril of my hair around his finger. “I think you’ll like it.”
“Will I have a choice?” I touched the brown speckles scattered over his cheeks. “Are these battle scars?”
Gunnarr howled with glee. “Those are freckles, your Excellency. Freckles. Goes with this pale skin and red hair.”
“Does everyone have them?”
“Only the most handsome fuckers.” Gunnarr sat up. “I’m mighty thirsty, your Excellency.”
I pointed to the pitcher of beer on the table. He leapt up and quaffed the entire pitcher. He downed the plate of fruit on the table as well. “Well? What next?”
No postcoital nap for Gunnarr. He was burs
ting with energy.
“Accompany me on a tour of the site.” I slipped a dress over my head.
Gunnarr held up his linen kilt. “Naked or clothed?”
I walked laughing out of the tent to find Duvsha waiting under an awning.
“He’s wonderful,” I whispered. “Playful as a kitten and hung like a camel.”
Duvsha giggled. “Not so curved I hope?” A camel phallus curved like a sickle.
“Well, it might have during some of his acrobatics.”
We were hooting with glee when the architect and Fihr, the minister of building, hurried toward us.
“Ah, your Excellency,” said the architect as he waved the plans, “how wonderful to see you again. I must say your dedication to making sure the temple adheres to your every specification is a joyful burden. Are you ready to see the progress?” The architect’s eyes shifted behind me when Gunnarr stepped out of my tent. “I see you have already met with our chief security officer. I don’t know what we would do without him. We haven’t had any problems with bandits since the Serdar assigned him to this post.”
“Best deterrent ever,” said the rotund Fihr, mopping his sweaty brow with a cloth. “Even those workers with sticky fingers are afraid of him.”
There was no mistaking the architect’s veiled plea. Do not take our giant.
Except I wanted Gunnarr for myself. I glanced at Gunnarr. What did he want?
Gunnarr folded his arms, his biceps bulging, and gave no indication of his preference. A stoic warrior through and through.
We toured the site on camelback, dismounting several times so the architect could show me the location of a door or secret passage. During one such stop, we entered a vast space marked by twine tied around small sticks.
“This is the purification room.” The architect threw his hands into the air. “Imagine water falling from the height of an old sycamore tree and”—with a theatric flourish, he pointed to the stake-marked circle—“into a gigantic copper platter where Almaqah’s worshippers begin the purification ritual.”
It was difficult to envision—the floor was packed dirt and the walls no taller than me. Anxiety lodged in my belly and gnawed at my confidence. This was my first building project. Had I chosen the right architect? Was the minister of building capable? Was my vision too grand? Too overreaching?
Confessions of a Sheba Queen Page 18
