I turned to Fihr. “Tell me about the craftsmen you hired.”
“Experts, every one.” Fihr beamed like a proud father. “The finest engineers, scribes, woodworkers, stonemasons, and sculptors are here. They came from Shabwa, Najrān, Mouza, and Makka when they heard about the project. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime! I turned no one away, your Excellency, because I knew you would not tolerate our falling behind schedule.” Fihr cast a quick nervous glance at the architect. “I’m not going to lie and tell you there haven’t been any problems. Any project this size comes with plenty, but they all get worked out eventually.”
Fihr might look like a fat sweaty man with a bumbling manner, but he had done a good job so far. I had misjudged him. Which set me to worrying about who else I had misjudged.
We returned hours later, weary and dusty. I took my meal with Gunnarr in the tent and asked him about his northern homeland. He regaled me with stories about his god, Odin, and all the lesser gods.
Afterward we watched the sunset and marveled at the play of color and shadow on the temple walls. All too soon, the stars blinked into existence before my imaginings could grasp its future splendor.
Gunnarr nudged my foot. “Let’s bless the purification chamber with your cunt juice, right where that giant copper platter will be. Or do you prefer the comforts of pillows and fur to rock and sand?”
CHAPTER 38
Under a crescent moon we made our way to the purification chamber. We shared a camel. I sat in Gunnarr’s lap, his stiff cock against my back, his large hand splayed across my bosom. I leaned into him, luxuriating in his size and warmth on this cool evening.
“My cock is going deep,” he whispered in my ear. “I’m not going to hold back. You’re getting it all tonight.” His hand moved from my breast and pressed my heated crotch. “I’m going to make you scream so loud any wild beasts will flee for fear. Almaqah himself is going to hear your screams of pleasure. Yeah, that’s right, you’re already wet.” He sniffed. “I can smell you, Bilqīs.” He scraped his teeth across my earlobe.
The sting rushed straight to my cunt.
“Your woman smell is driving me as crazy as a camel in rut.” Gunnarr nipped at my neck. “I’ll be foaming at the mouth by the time we get there.”
“So you’ll be wanting me in the cushing position then?”
Camel mating was an inelegant event, the female kneeling while the bull mated with her.
“I doubt one position will satisfy you.” He wiggled his fingers into my linen-covered folds.
I laughed. Gunnarr’s chatty energy was vastly different from the serious Tamsi, who was always so intent on pleasuring his queen. Both men satisfied. Each in their unique way. Variety was indeed the spice of life.
When we arrived, Gunnarr carried me into the purification room and stalked from corner to corner.
“What are you doing?” I swung my feet back and forth over his arms.
“Looking for snakes, your Excellency. The only snake that’s sinking his teeth into you and sliding into that glorious twat of yours is me.” After a thorough snake check, Gunnarr stepped inside the cordoned marking for the copper platter. “You’re the center of the kingdom, so it’s only fitting you attain your bliss right here.” His parted lips wandered over my face.
Gunnarr kissed me with a fervency that left me no choice but to agree.
“You’re going down, sweet Bilqīs. This giant is going to show you a trick.” He lowered me to the ground, head first, until my forearms propped me up, my palms flat to the ground. “Clasp those gorgeous thighs around my hips.”
I did, my body already anticipating the full thrust of the position.
“Oh sweet Bilqīs, I have the best view of your glorious fat ass. Makes a man want to gobble it up.” His hands gripped my hips as he plunged into me. “I call this the wheelbarrow.” He thrust slow, went deep. Deeper. Deepest.
“I call it heaven,” I moaned, even though my view was the dirt, not the sky.
Gunnarr moved his palms and spread my cheeks. “You’ve got the most beautiful asshole I’ve ever seen.” He blew cool breath over it.
The sensation ricocheted through me, hurled me into a sudden bliss. I lifted my head and grunted like a wild beast, and with the next breath the ground spun under me. Gunnarr kept fucking until my arms could no longer prop me up.
With the gentleness of a mother with a newborn babe, Gunnarr lowered my legs and let me lie cheek to dirt, my body still trembling.
“Roll over, sweet Bilqīs.”
I did, for no other reason but to see the sky overhead. Gunnarr poured the contents of a water skin over me.
“Not as sophisticated as the waterfall the architect has planned, but it’ll do the trick.”
My wet breasts were heaving, my nipples pointed. “What trick?”
“Fucking is a gritty deed, your Excellency. “Your extravagant temple does not fool Almaqah. He knows you and I—all of humanity—are only clothed savages. Let’s show Almaqah we know—and honor—the savage inside us.” Gunnarr grabbed a fistful of sand and sprinkled it over me.
He covered his face in mud, then painted mud on my forehead, over my nose, and to my chin. “You’re sexy as fuck, Bilqīs. And I’m going to make you dirtier.” He pressed himself on top of me and thrust inside.
Together we rolled in the sand, dirt and grit sticking to our skin, layer upon primal layer coating our bodies. We fucked like savages. I was the earth, the soil my kingdom.
Gunnarr shifted me atop him. I sat on his cock with my back resting against his bent knees. With one hand, Gunnarr slicked his thumb over my clit, with the other he caressed my mud-covered breasts. I climbed to bliss while looking into the starry heavens. Earth and sky united by our lust.
Afterward, Gunnarr threaded his fingers through mine. “Do you have lots of other men?”
His tone was serious. Too serious. Honesty was my only recourse.
“Of course. His name is Tamsi,” I said starring into the twinkling sky. “He lives in the palace. You’ll meet him.”
“How many men do you need?”
“How many orifices do I have?”
Gunnarr grunted his displeasure. “My place is here guarding your temple, your Excellency. Besides, what if I don’t like this Tamsi?”
I lifted my head from his thighs and gave him a hard look. “There is no room in my palace for jealousy.”
“No?” He bucked and threw me off balance. “There seems to be plenty of room for poisoners, a foul-mouthed Magus, and a crazy Oracle.”
I snatched his forefinger, hoisted it into the air, and pointed it at the crescent of celestial silver hanging high above us. “There is Almaqah, the moon god, my god, our god. His rule is never ending. His good deeds, innumerable. He is all-powerful, all knowing, and my truth. He is my question and my answer.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No court or kingdom is without troubles and intrigues. A perfect court is an impossibility and a curse. A trouble-free court will weaken my mind and spirit. A serene court means I have only mindless sycophants. A successful court thrives on diversity, debate, and risk.”
“What about the deceivers who tried to kill you?”
“It worked out for the best. My people believe I am so strong that even powerful poison cannot stop me.”
“A warrior kills his enemies, but you embrace them and find value in their treachery.” He shook his head. “I would make an awful king. I would have ripped out the Magus’s heart by now and strangled the Oracle.”
“Why such violence against them? Have you met them?”
“Not formally. I accompanied the minister of building while he gave them a tour. They did not have kind words for you or this temple of Awwām. Are you certain you don’t want me to kill them for you?” He snapped his fingers twice. “Just like that. Say the word and it will be done.”
It was tempting. Very tempting. The Magus and the Oracle were like a disease in my court, infecting others with their ve
nomous gossip.
Killing them, however, might do more damage than good. Or it might make my devotees immune to their bites.
How easy it would be to get rid of them both.
CHAPTER 39
I stood on the palace rooftop and surveyed the landscape. More than four thousand fertile acres stretched across the valley, many desert crops climbing up the foothills. Beyond, shepherds and goatherds tended their flocks. Nearer, skilled crews kept the dam in good repair. Nearer still, laborers climbed ladders as they added height to Ma’rib’s walls. Life was good.
The number of trade caravans exceeded our expectations. High-quality goods flowed through Ma’rib. My storehouses were bursting, and new ones built and moved offsite to hidden locations. In a few short years, Saba had become the wealthiest kingdom in the world. Ma’rib: a mecca for trade, art, and education. Our streets bustled with prosperity. Any person, if they had only a smidgeon of sense, found a way to benefit from the influx of merchants, tradesmen, and others eager to live in a kingdom with practical rules and a sensible ruler.
I was happy, my heart swelling with pride for my people. I was happy…and yet there was a hollow in my heart. Not the Momma-shaped hole that could never be filled. This was an empty space that wealth, success, and sex did not satisfy. I did not obsess over it, nor did I speak to anyone about it. The gods decided in their wisdom not to give me everything, even if I did not know what that everything included. I had more than most people, and dare not mention the indescribable emptiness that sometimes haunted me before falling asleep late at night.
Had it been only five years since I slunk into Ma’rib, a young girl burning with vengeance and simmering to realize a vague destiny?
“Your Excellency.” Duvsha waited by the stairwell on the other end of the roof. “We are ready when you are.”
The Awwām temple was complete. The dedication ceremony was today in concordance with the rising of Almaqah’s crescent moon. Tomorrow, disciples who made pilgrimages from the far reaches of Saba and beyond would pay homage to Almaqah.
I crossed the rooftop and descended the wide stairs that led to my newly renovated second-story bedroom. Although I enjoyed being able to walk into the garden from the ground-floor chambers, I had converted it to a lavish room for personal parties and state meetings. Besides, my bedroom trysts with Tamsi and Gunnarr required more privacy.
Shani stood near the floor-to-ceiling copper mirror that reflected my oversized bed. I stood in front, and as was my habit, stared at my image. It was not vanity, as some gossiped, but how I prepared my demeanor and grounded my spirit for a public appearance.
My people saw only a righteous and confident queen, yet when I looked in the mirror I saw a young woman who still marveled at her incredible fortune, who worried about invading foreign armies, who fretted over the moral and ethical fairness of her verdicts, and who prayed fervently for life-giving rain. The Sabaean queen in the mirror was a regal apparition. Beneath the makeup, gold, and jewels was Bilqīs, a mere woman who had to rely on her wit, charm, and beauty.
Today Shani had made me look like a goddess. My skin was sprinkled in gold dust. My eyes rimmed in shades of gold, my lashes darkened. My hair was braided in the traditional style, pulled back and plaited into a single thick braid to my waist. Shani wove in gilded threads and gem strands, which ended in a jeweled tassel. My simple linen dress was painted gold. I glowed bright as the sun.
I took Shani’s hand. “Thank you.”
After departing my chambers with Shani, Duvsha, and the handmaidens, we were escorted by Ameen and his guards through the halls and out to the front entrance where a long line of festooned camels bearing ministers, priests, handmaidens, and many other members of court waited.
Once I took my seat under the golden howdah, we proceeded slowly through the streets of Ma’rib. Tradesmen, merchants, wives, and children followed. This was a once-in-a-lifetime event. Everyone wanted to be a part of it. And so they accompanied us out of Ma’rib to the drum’s slow beat.
How can I explain the contradictory feelings of pride and humility blazing within me? It was a singular feeling. Like Momma spinning me over her head. Like the sun searing my skin. Like cold wind at my back. Like biting into honey-dipped garlic. Like floating on my back and drowning in water. It was all those things. All at once.
I, Bilqīs, the Sabaean queen, was responsible for the glorious Awwām temple rising in the distance like a mountain peak. And yet, without the architect to design my vision, the engineers to make it possible, and the skill and toil of the multitude of craftsmen and laborers, it would not have been possible. Without them, without my people, I was nothing.
Tears of gratitude poured down my cheeks as I dismounted from the camel, the same old cow who had first carried me to Ma’rib. I removed my simple leather sandals at the one-mile marker. The road’s heat scorched my bare feet but it was important to meet Almaqah humbled by discomfort.
I led the procession, scattering rose petals with each step. My walk as queen should be a fragrance to my people, sweet and beautiful. The high priest followed me. Behind him walked gift-bearing priests and attendants leading the sacrificial animals. Behind them, my court paraded in order of their rank.
Ten drummers marked the rhythm of our slow pace. One does not hurry gratitude, devotion, and ritual. This mile-long road was built to do more than just amaze. It was designed to humble the arrogant, persuade the disbelievers, and tame the wild. Such a change was not done quickly. This mile-long road was the first step toward reflection, healing, and transformation.
I was not immune to this divine power, despite having traveled this road many times. In fact, I’d walked it a week ago in preparation for today’s celebration. But today, each breath I drew was mindful and filled with gratitude as I chanted: “Almaqah, moon god, progenitor of Saba, son of Athtar, daughter of Hawbas, ruler of heavens, husband of Shamsu, kinsman of Talab and Athtar the morning star; you are my light, my guide, my inspiration, my strength, and my hope.”
The eight towering pillars came into sharp focus, their stark beauty imposing against the darkening blue of the cloudless sky.
I headed toward the four-sided peristyle hall where rows of flawlessly carved ibex heads emerged from the stone walls. A colossal bronze bull with flared nostrils guarded the entrance where it was flanked by bronze statues of horses, warriors, and women. Thirty-two pillars surrounded the chamber whose walls were etched in brilliant red with poems and stories of our people and of Almaqah’s glory. I paused to admire a masterful lifelike bronze of a soldier wearing a headdress, weapons, and lion cape.
A thousand years would not be enough time to study the artistry, plaques, and inscriptions carved into the walls. A thousand years would not be enough time to marvel at the ingenious designs of the gem-encrusted doors. A thousand years was not long enough to grasp the complex nuances of the costly aromatics wafting in the air.
I arrived in the purification room and gasped. What a wonder! The feat of engineering that had caused so many delays left me speechless. A steady stream of water fell like heaven’s raindrops from the tall ceiling into the magnificent copper platter.
I stepped into the copper basin. Using a gold pitcher with an ibex-headed spout, the high priest poured water over my body and soaked my dress.
Behind me, the crowd issued a collective gasp. The water illuminated the gold glitter on my body. In the oil lamp’s glow, I sparkled, my gilded dress clinging, my figure transformed into a gold statue. I stepped from the copper platter, leaving behind the entourage, and proceeded to the outer sanctum where alabaster eagles and griffins lined the walls.
With a queen’s brave face but a young woman’s trembling, I crossed the room to where the red-robed priests who guarded the holiest of sanctums pulled back the thick drapery.
Was I worthy? Would I feel Almaqah’s presence? Would he speak to me? Disclose a special request?
Lit by fifty gold oil lamps, the jeweled walls sparkled and glowed, the alabaste
r friezes of ibex and eagles appearing to dance as though alive. Behind the altar stood a life-size bull. Each muscle defined. Each fold of skin pronounced. Had it not been unmoving, one would mistake the bull for an incarnation of Almaqah. I half expected to hear the bull snort and bellow.
I prostrated myself on the floor in complete subservience and veneration to the god who had bestowed so many blessings upon me.
CHAPTER 40
I sat in the raised chair while Shani primped me for the celebration commemorating the seven-year anniversary of my ascent to the throne. My curve-hugging dress shone like liquid silver and a multitude of colored gems glittered in my elaborate braided hairstyle.
“You’re fidgeting.” Shani pressed silvery shadow onto my lids.
I was fidgety. This year, as in years past, inadequacy smoldered in my stomach. Another year of peace and prosperity was not enough. Not enough for me. Not enough for my people. My reign lacked one vital element.
An heir.
“That was a heavy sigh. What’s troubling you?” Shani fussed with the slant of my eyeliner, her arm brushing against my breasts.
Only one remedy relieved my worries. At least temporarily.
“Shani…” My lust-filled eyes captured hers.
Shani hummed her agreement and set down the coal pot and brush.
I hitched up my dress and spread my thighs.
Shani lifted her skirt, her cock needy, and pushed into my wetness.
My fingers sunk into her femaleness as we kissed. All problems faded, Shani’s dual sexuality a quick cure for my problems.
I must confess, we used each other for our own selfish purposes. I used her to satisfy my urgent appetites. She pretended our fucking meant more than it did. I respected and adored Shani. But I did not love her—at least not the kind of selfless love that makes a happy relationship. Shani loved me that way too much. And sometimes this guilt pricked at my heart. Not today though.
Confessions of a Sheba Queen Page 19
