Duvsha passed me the papyrus. “A hoopoe delivered this letter.”
“The bird? In this rain?” Fihr gestured to the doorway where rain gusted in sheets as thick as tent flaps across the garden.
Emissaries delivered letters, not birds.
Curious and surprised, all eyes watched me unknot the wet string and pull the letter from its watertight pouch.
“That must have been one big hoopoe,” said Zazan, the minister of the treasury.
I unrolled the papyrus. “It’s from King Solomon, the King of Israel.”
Everyone talked at once—amazement, speculation, disbelief, and worry written on their faces and voiced with their words.
I cleared my throat. “In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate; do not act proudly against me, but come to me in humble submission.” I looked at my ministers.
“Odd way to begin a letter,” said Zazan.
The others murmured their agreement.
I continued. “Give up all rebellion—”
“What rebellion?” Duvsha’s face puckered.
“There’s always a rebel uprising somewhere.” The military advisor shrugged. “Our neighbors need constant reminding not to encroach on our territories, and soldiers protect our trade routes.”
The usual military goings-on.
“And submit to my command forthwith.” Frowning, I pushed the letter away.
No one told the Sabaean queen to submit. No one commanded me.
I studied my advisors’ faces. Suspicion. Fear. Excitement. Disgust. Disappointment. Frustration. Each face mirrored my own turbulent thoughts.
“This is a wonderful opportunity.” Faiza fixed her steely gaze on each possible naysayer. “Think of the trade possibilities.”
“I don’t like Solomon’s tone.” Fihr crossed his flabby wide arms over his fat belly.
“His wealth is vast,” said an advisor.
“He has over one thousand wives,” said another.
“Bah!” Kepha flicked his hand at him. “Most are political tokens.”
I grimaced. The ancient custom of forging political alliances by marrying daughters to enemies soured my stomach.
“He does not worship Almaqah or any of our gods.” The high priest of Athtar curled his lip with contempt. He slapped the letter. “He prays only to this . . . this . . . One God.”
Mankind’s troubles were too vast for one god.
“I have no interest in Solomon’s god or religion,” I said. “Besides, we have trade agreements with the pharaoh, who has more gods than we do. If I go, it is to negotiate a trade deal.”
“Maybe it’s a ruse. Once you leave he will attack,” said Fihr.
The military advisor let loose an exasperated grunt. “We’ve heard no rumors of the sort.” His eyes met mine. “But I will contact my informants to make certain.”
I gave him a quick nod, then looked at Duvsha. “Well?”
She winced. “The report you asked for on King Solomon earlier is not complete.”
It seemed that every one held their breath, waited to see how I would handle Duvsha’s mistake. Dismissing it made me appear weak. Criticizing her made me seem unforgiving.
“It will be complete tomorrow?” My airy question was heavy with demand.
Duvsha bobbed her head. “Yes. Tomorrow. After the morning meal.”
“We will reconvene again tomorrow.” I rose from the chair and left the room without looking at Duvsha. A queen was only as efficient as the people around her.
The next morning Duvsha—whose apology the night before left me breathless—sat beside me and read the report to the ministers and advisors.
“King Solomon is the second progeny of King David and Bathsheba. Their first child died—some believe it was their god’s punishment because the child was conceived before they were wed. Solomon has three younger full-blood brothers. It’s unclear how many half brothers and sisters he has, as King David had many lesser wives and concubines. To be clear, Solomon is not his father’s eldest son. Adonijah, an older half brother, proclaimed himself king after David’s death. This, sources tell us, enraged Bathsheba, who claimed David made a promise to her that Solomon was the true and undisputable heir apparent.”
A small smile slipped past my stoic veneer. A king whose rule was not handed to him on a gold platter appealed to the usurper in me. “How old was Solomon when he became king?”
Duvsha dragged her finger down the paper. “Fifteen. With the help of Bathsheba and a court prophet he stole the throne not only from Adonijah but several older half brothers as well.”
“A court prophet?” Like Solomon, the Oracle’s prophecy ended most people’s doubts about my own rule. “Mmph.” I folded my arms, amazed and flustered by our similarities.
“Once crowned, Solomon purged most of his father’s court. Much like you, your Excellency,” said Duvsha. “He immediately established more trade with his neighbors.” She glanced down the papyrus. “One of them you know, King Hiram, the Phoenician.”
King Hiram traded in peacocks—several of which wandered our gardens—in addition to ivory, pearls, and a strange creature called an ape, whose expressive face and mannerisms appeared unsettlingly human.
Duvsha continued. “King Solomon wrote several books on wisdom and many poems.”
A king, a philosopher, and a poet?
“Several sources confirm that he has seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines.”
The high priest of Almaqah laughed himself into a coughing fit.
Duvsha rolled her eyes and waited for the priest to quiet. “King Solomon is a lover of luxury and a disciple of wisdom. He enjoys solving riddles, the more intellectually challenging the better. He is also a prodigious builder.”
Yet another trait we had in common.
“A portion of his palace is presently under construction.”
My own palace was always undergoing some sort of renovation. Today, workers were busy adding a sixth floor.
Faiza’s lips skewed and her impatient fingers drummed the table. “Does your report include the other thing about Solomon and his building projects?”
“What other thing?” My gaze leapt from Duvsha to Faiza like a leopard pursuing prey.
Faiza glanced at Kepha—they had long since become lovers—and frowned, her jaw pinched with dread. “It might only be gossip, your Excellency, but as much as I want you to negotiate a trade deal with King Solomon, I am obligated to report what is whispered in the trade arena.”
My belly knotted with foreboding. “What is it?”
CHAPTER 43
Faiza scratched her finger across her knuckles in an odd nervous gesture, so unlike the confident woman who managed thousands of traders and ten thousand details.
The knot in my stomach tightened. “Speak plainly. No honey-coating.”
Faiza closed her eyes and blew loudly out her pursed lips. “Solomon claims to control jinn.”
Every gaze turned toward me.
My stomach twisted like laundry being wrung. I tasted bile. Not from fear, but from fury. This sounded familiar. And then I remembered when the Oracle told me about her Hawbas-induced vision. What had she said? Something about a grand palace and a king that controls jinn. I had scoffed at her then. Now I drummed my fingers on the table. So this wise King Solomon was another jinn hater!
Duvsha, seeing anger simmering beneath my calm face, asked the question I should have asked myself. “How does he control them?”
“They work as his soldiers, quarrymen, and builders.” Faiza shrugged. “Whether it is gossip or truth I do not know.”
My inner fire turned to ash at such an absurd impossibility. “A pretty fiction I would not believe without seeing it with my own sober eyes.”
The head priest coughed. “Your Excellency, I too heard some gossip…”
I rubbed my throbbing temple. “I’m listening.”
“Solomon learned about your reign from a traveling merchant who boasted of your wealth,
beauty, and . . . parentage.”
I lifted one eyebrow. “The jinn half.”
The head priest nodded. “Solomon is eager to discover the extent of your jinn traits because he does not believe you are a real jinni. He thinks you are a strange eastern devil, with hairy legs and cloven hooves.”
The ministers shivered, and the priests grew ashen, glancing around as though mentioning such a thing were a magical summons.
“I heard he sent his hoopoe bird to confirm the merchant’s account of your vast wealth,” said another priest.
My gaze shot to Duvsha.
That bird, she mouthed.
That bird was Solomon’s eavesdropping hoopoe!
“Any other gossip to share?” I addressed all present.
He has a magic ring.
I heard it is a key.
A magician cleaves rocks for his palace.
He rides to the heavens on a throne of air.
Fowl and beasts come to his kitchen unbidden and sacrifice themselves for his supper.
He controls every creature on the earth.
“Enough. Stop.” I held up my hand. “Solomon is mortal not a g—”
“Do you know who I am? Let me in!” demanded a loud angry voice from the vestibule.
I leaned toward Duvsha. “Let him in.”
The Magus’s jutting chin entered first. “Your Excellency, forgive my lateness but someone neglected to inform me of this most important meeting.”
“You were not invited,” I said.
The vein in the Magus’s forehead popped out. “Why not? The priests are here. Your chief cupbearer, your ministers, your advisors.” He swept his arm about. “Do they harness the power of invisible forces? Do any of them see the unseen? Can they hear the voices in the wind?”
Of course not. This was a meeting about a trade mission. Had I known the gossip surrounding King Solomon I would have invited the Magus.
I extended my hand. “Join us. What do you know about Solomon, King of Israel?”
The Magus paled and clutched at the amulets hanging from his neck. “I heard he has a magic chest of gold that contains all the secret powers of his One God. He controls the wind and weather, and wrote a book about controlling demons. He also has a magic ring that forces demons to divulge their secrets.”
More nonsense.
“He sounds more like a sorcerer than a king,” I said.
“He may have a ring but I have these.” The Magus pulled a small satchel from his leather pouch. He held the satchel over his head and shook. Next he leveled the satchel in four directions, each time turning it over. Then the Magus drew it to his mouth and muttered in a strange language.
The Magus upended the satchel. Small bleached bones scattered across the table. Everyone stared as though they could make sense of the arrangement. The room grew quiet as the Magus’s eyes glazed into a trance.
After several tense moments, he roused himself. “The bones say you must not go to Solomon. Danger waits for you there.”
I gestured to the bones. “What kind of danger?”
“Grave danger.” The Magus lifted his haughty chin. “The kind that changes destinies.”
Faiza cleared her throat. “Do those bones say anything more specific?”
The Magus’s vein turned purple. “No.”
I stood. “I will consider everything I heard today and give you my answer tomorrow.”
That night my fur-soft bed provided no comfort. My mind did not sleep. It ran a marathon, leapt over hurdles, skidded around corners. My racing thoughts had no finishing line.
I shrugged on a thick mantle and ascended the narrow stairwell to the sixth floor, which was under construction, the outer wall only waist high. Above me, infinite stars crowded the inky sky.
King Solomon’s kingdom intrigued me. Despite his rude summons. Despite reports of his controlling jinn. Despite the myriad of stories of powers too fantastical to believe.
Traveling appealed to me. Yes, the journey would be long and arduous, but it would provide perspective and appreciation for the countless miles made by trade caravans.
Momma came to me on a breeze that caressed my cheek.
Why didn’t you show me the world, Momma? Why didn’t you fly me to every corner and curve of the earth? Why did you neglect that part of my education?
Momma did not answer.
The stars spoke instead.
Some journeys must be taken only when the traveler is ready. When the consequences of such a journey is theirs alone. Good or bad.
I weighed both.
A new understanding of a foreign people was good. A mutually beneficial trade deal was better.
Kowtowing to a foreign king was bad. Leaving Saba open for invasion was worse.
King Solomon summoned me. Me! He obviously did not know whom he was dealing with! I had to turn his bold summons around. I must make answering it a show of my superior strength and wealth.
“Almaqah,” I whispered into the cool air. “I seek your guidance.”
Almaqah was silent.
CHAPTER 44
Rolling desert hills stretched before me like a sea of sand. Hazy mirages wavered in the distance under a brilliant sun. A thousand camels plodded ahead in rows. Thousands more walked behind. Each bore expensive goods and extravagant gifts as proof of my kingdom’s wealth and abundance, and as evidence of my desire to negotiate a trade agreement. King Solomon must be nothing less than awed and dazzled by Saba’s display of riches.
Seven days I had spent in prayer at Awwām to reach the decision. Without Gunnarr’s giant-sized remedy to ease my worries. I prayed, burned offerings, and chanted devotions, and yet Almaqah was silent. Even the life-size bull in the holiest of sanctums felt oddly passive.
I decided Almaqah’s silence meant his approval. It had to, because surely my favorite god would have given me a sign advising me against the trip.
I sent yet another prayer to Almaqah as the searing sun seeped through the howdah and sheened my brow with sweat. I was anxious, but I kept this to myself. The six-month journey was dangerous, the terrain treacherous. And although my military was ever vigilant, the fifteen-hundred-mile trek passed through bandit-plagued terrain.
Our entourage was large: Duvsha, Shani, several ministers, their wives, accountants, a historian, my herbalist Gula, handmaids, servants, the Serdar, and a contingent of soldiers and personal guardsman. My leopard Nasreen rode atop a camel in a special cage.
Tamsi, Gunnarr, and Raz tagged along as well. Tamsi would write poems and stories about the momentous meeting of two renowned rulers. Gunnarr would study their weapons and armaments. Raz would study Israel’s soil and rocks.
At first, I forbade them to join me. Why risk their fleshly temptation? Solomon had spies eager to report my unbridled sexual appetite. But each of my three stallions had pleaded to come and I’d relented at the last minute.
I’d also changed my mind about the Oracle and the Magus. Better those two joined my entourage than stir up mischief in a queen-less court.
I left my kingdom in the capable hands of Kepha and my most trusted ministers.
“You have a faraway look,” said Duvsha, sitting beside me in the howdah.
“That’s because I’m thinking of the vast distance we’ve traveled from Saba and, more importantly, the distance yet to go.” I gave her a pointed look.
“Do you refer to negotiating a trade deal with King Solomon?”
“It must be successful, Duvsha.”
“If he’s as wise as the gossip suggests, how can he not see the benefits of trading with you?”
“Is he so wise? The gossip seems exaggerated.” I dabbed at the sweat trickling down my cheek. “But gossip about me isn’t all that different, is it? I suppose people want their rulers to be more than human.”
“More like superhuman. But the claim that Solomon controls jinn is outlandish. I mean, if anyone could control jinn it should be you.”
“Jinn submit to no one, king or queen.” I
thought of Momma’s indomitable spirit.
Duvsha nudged me. “Solomon’s eavesdropping hoopoe is pretty impressive.”
“True,” I nodded. “I need one of those birds.” Maybe then I might learn what happened to Momma’s head and discover the identity of the five murderers.
Three days later the Serdar rode up alongside me. “Your Excellency, Jerusalem.” He pointed in the distance.
I squinted at the city’s silhouette, wavering mirage-like under the blazing heat and sizzling sun. “Make camp at the next well and send a messenger to announce our arrival.”
My entrance into Jerusalem must be a royal exhibition for the ages. With pageantry, beauty, and ceremony the likes of which King Solomon had never seen and would never see again. His people must see for themselves the supremacy of the Sabaean queen. That I came not because he summoned me, but because I chose to grace him with my presence.
Once we made camp the real work began. We reviewed protocols and memorized local greetings. Everyone was told to bathe, prepare their finest clothes, eat a good meal, and rest. We would enter Jerusalem looking as though the journey had been an hour, not six months.
The following morning I bathed and washed my hair in rose-water. Shani worked her makeup magic, transforming me from a queen to a goddess. She lined my amber eyes with black coal and brushed my lids with shimmering crushed amethyst. She dabbed a pink gloss made from berry juice on my lips and intensified my brows to draw attention to my almond-shaped eyes.
Strings of small gemstones and golden ribbon wove through my braids, forming a sparkling jeweled tassel at the tips. A wreath of rubies, pearls, and diamonds hung low across my forehead, strands of gems hanging like fringe across my brows and skimming the bridge of my nose. A thin white linen covered this opulence. My face-covering veil was a royal nod to modesty and humility.
I sucked on a lemon while Duvsha helped me into my clothes, a long dress woven with gold, silver, and gems. Shani tied three belts around me. The first wide sash accentuated my waist. The other two were multiple strands of amethysts and rubies that draped and defined the curve of my hips.
Except for one single ruby teardrop-shaped pendant on a thin gold chain, my décolleté was bare. The ruby lay in a place no man could ignore, the cleft between my breasts. From head to polished toes peeking out of jeweled sandals, there was no doubt that the Sabaean queen bowed to no one but her own fanciful whims.
Confessions of a Sheba Queen Page 21
