Confessions of a Sheba Queen

by Autumn Bardot

  I stepped outside, breathed in my entourage’s excitement, and climbed into the gold-painted and tasseled howdah.

  The time had come. We had an entrance to make.

  As we plodded forward to Jerusalem, I left open the front drapery to better admire the line of festooned camels, bedecked ministers, garlanded handmaidens, and basket-holding servants.

  A mile from the town, the caravan stopped. Everyone took his or her positions. I drew closed the howdah’s drape and peered out the narrow swath of sheer linen sewn between one panel. I saw out. No one saw in.

  We entered Jerusalem with my best Sabaean acrobats and jugglers performing to the rhythm of twenty drummers. Handmaidens pressed coins into women’s and children’s hands. Servants passed out loaves of honeyed bread and handfuls of figs, walnuts, pistachios, and olives. Following behind and enveloped in fragrant incense came rows of courtiers, ministers, and priests. Behind them, lute players heralded my entrance.

  People crowded the streets; every able-bodied inhabitant had left their home to watch the spectacle. Most trailed alongside our procession. As welcoming as they were, something else captured my attention.

  From behind the beaded and gold-threaded drapes of the howdah I stared amazed at the imposing palace that dominated the city with the grandeur of a mountain.

  For a moment I regretted my decision to ride alone. I would have liked to share my awe with Duvsha. Then again, it was best no one witnessed my trembling hands and open-mouthed amazement. I clasped my hands tight—I refused to be intimidated.

  The palace was constructed of huge axe-cut stones that rose three stories tall, and its flat roof was made of cedar. There were rows of uniformly squared windows. Real windows! Not the false indented squares of Sabaean architecture.

  The Awwām temple with its thirty-foot bull, columns, and ibex friezes was a marvel, but nothing like this. My heart battered against my chest with excitement. Trade negotiations aside, Solomon and I had a lot to discuss. Any reservations I had about making this diplomatic mission vanished like a jinni speeding across the desert.

  The curious crowd thickened as we neared the palace. I lifted the small copper mirror to my face. The jeweled fringe hung becomingly, and the veil concealed just enough of my face. No one must see my face before King Solomon.

  From the other side of the drapery, the Serdar cleared his throat. “Your Excellency, we wait upon your word.”

  I drew in a deep breath and centered my spirit, heart, and inner strength. “I am ready.”

  The drapery parted.

  CHAPTER 45

  Two hundred pairs of judging eyes stared. King Solomon’s welcoming party did not intimidate me. I found it delightful.

  Clasping the Serdar’s outstretched hand, I alighted from the howdah. My handmaidens formed two lines on both sides, each an arm’s length away. This assured that I entered Solomon’s throne room with the space due a queen, and with a sizable entourage. I would not allow the people’s curiosity to in any way diminish my entrance.

  My handmaidens and I ascended the wide white steps with practiced ceremony. They looked ahead, made no eye contact, and wore pride on their faces like a banner. Solomon’s dignitaries and guards backed up, moved aside, and made way, just as I had planned. My veiled face, jeweled appearance, and magnificent entourage left them dazzled and fascinated. I doubted any royal personage ever made such an impressive entrance.

  Ordinarily, I did not walk among a crowd of strangers. But today was an exception. Because diplomacy begins before a single word is uttered, my arrival to Solomon’s palace was staged to convey authority, confidence, and abundance.

  The palace’s opulent interior stole my heart. Marble and alabaster statues adorned the cedar-planked walls. Carvings of fantastical beasts, towering trees, and whimsical winged cherubim lined the wide hallway.

  The crowded throne room stole my breath. Soaring red and brass pillars held up a frescoed ceiling strung with tassels. The walls were gilded and decorated. The floor gleamed, the seams between slabs so tiny it gave the appearance of a single uncut surface. My eyes swept back and forth beneath the veil, though my head remained regally still.

  A host of wives, concubines, lute players, ministers, advisors, and guards crowded the raised gallery. Solomon’s court. All staring at the Sabaean queen. Good. Let them gawk.

  I did not stare back. My eyes searched for one man only. King Solomon.

  His golden throne sat on a raised marble dais beneath a gilded portico supported by carved columns. Twelve life-size gold lions lined the stone steps to his throne.

  King Solomon turned to his Egyptian wife for a moment before rising to meet me. A royal headdress of gold and gems capped his head. The billowy white linen shirt, which draped off his broad shoulders, was tucked into a gold-threaded and patterned kilt that grazed his ankles.

  As though on cue, the crowd blocking my way parted.

  I was about to stride toward him when I saw it—a shallow, crystal-blue pond between his throne and me. How odd. It must be a ritual ablution—a formal cleansing to remove life’s dirt from your feet—required before meeting him.

  King Solomon descended four carpet-covered steps and waited on the other side of the pond.

  King Solomon was taller than most men, broad shouldered, and he walked with the muscular power of an alpha lion. His beard was thick and dark, his eyes deep set, and yet even from this distance I saw their sparkle. He had a strong proud nose with wide nostrils, the kind that flared when angry.

  At the pond’s edge I lifted my dress. Everyone gasped. I was glad the assemblage couldn’t see my amusement beneath the veil. Instead of the hairy legs and cloven feet of a demon, as they had expected, they saw my thin, sugar-waxed calves. I had to admit, it was an inventive way for Solomon’s advisors to find out if I was a demon or not.

  I stepped into the glistening pond.

  The crunch startled me. I looked down and realized the pond was actually a multitude of tiny blue crystals.

  I left behind my kneeling handmaidens and crossed the crushed-gem pond. I knelt down before him as a sign of my respect and humility.

  “Welcome, Queen of Sheba.” He had a strange way of pronouncing the name of my kingdom, but I found I liked the sound of it on his tongue, and I did not correct him. “You honor me with your visit. Arise.” His voice was warm and gracious, its deep timbre smooth and pleasing.

  I stood and lifted the veil.

  His eyes widened. He stared, struck at my beauty. It was an excellent start. A man enamored of a woman was easier to manage. Although beauty was not always a benefit, I reminded myself. Having beauty and grace was like a silver-paved road for a woman, but often a hurdle for a queen. Men’s minds turned to lusty thoughts instead of trade agreements. Beauty often blinded them to a woman’s true nature, to her faults and her strengths. Humankind would be much improved if they valued a person’s spirit more than their skin.

  Today, however, my beauty had to charm him. I lifted my amber eyes to King Solomon’s. He continued to stare, fascinated and overcome.

  “It is an honor to meet the noble King Solomon.” I spoke so only he heard.

  His mouth opened but he said nothing. Is he that awed by a powerful queen? I wondered.

  I smiled, my teeth polished as white as ivory from Shani’s paste of crushed pumice and vinegar. “Your palace is a testament to both your genius and your craftsmen’s skill.”

  Solomon swallowed and found his voice. “Thank you. Intellect and imagination make good builders.” He softly cleared his throat. “I hope you’re hungry. A lavish feast in your honor has been prepared.”

  Our eyes met. The russet flecks in his dark brown eyes were alight with integrity and curiosity. Desire, too, was evident when his gaze traveled the length of my body, as though he imagined the curves beneath my dress.

  It took tremendous control to appear composed, not to smile like a silly young woman smitten by a handsome man. When his appraising eyes returned to my face, our eye
s locked. We couldn’t seem to go beyond merely taking each other’s measure.

  I saw more than a powerful king, a ruler with vast wealth and the love of his people. I saw the man. His raw masculinity ensnared me, dared me to look deeper, to see into his heart. Into his desires. My body warmed and my heart quickened.

  Royal protocols slipped away like a raindrop off a desert rose. We were no longer king and queen. We were man and woman, whose attraction for each other shimmered like a sunlit sea.

  Though we were surrounded by hundreds of gawking people, I saw only Solomon, and he only me, our eyes reflecting each other’s smoldering promises.

  “Thank you for your kind generosity.” I found my voice. “You have my gratitude, as well as that of my hungry entourage.”

  Solomon beamed with pleasure, his thousand-sun smile honest and warm. I couldn’t help but to return it. He stirred something deep within me that I could not yet name.

  “Come.” Solomon left his pretty Egyptian wife alone on the dais as he escorted me through the crowd, which parted like water around a boulder as he led me across the room.

  We departed the throne room, our host of dignitaries and attendants falling into position directly behind us. With but the briefest look from Solomon over his shoulder, they held back, and did not resume the procession until Solomon and I were halfway down the vast hallway. So intent were they on eavesdropping, the only sound was their sandaled footsteps.

  “Your palace is exquisite.” I lowered my voice. “Its elegant beauty dazzles and surprises.” I gestured to an intricately carved winged lion statue.

  Solomon moved close, his face mere inches from mine. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  “You flatter me.”

  His brow quirked, baffled. “Self-seeking grovelers flatter. Not kings. Certainly not me. I speak the truth. Your beauty is beyond compare.”

  “Are you always so easily enamored?” I teased. “Is that why you have six hundred wives and three hundred concubines?”

  “Diplomacy requires a few concessions.” His mouth twitched into an impish grin.

  “Agreed. Thankfully a queen is spared such extravagant concessions during negotiations.”

  His eyes narrowed. Was I serious? Teasing? He wasn’t sure. That pleased me.

  “I think,” he said, “you enjoy another kind of extravagance.” His eyes sparkled.

  What was he implying? Now I was off balance. And enjoying it immensely.

  Solomon chuckled, a warm rich sound that nuzzled my neck. “Tell me, how do you assure alliances without procuring a husband?”

  “With wisdom and prudence.”

  “And I make alliances with wives and concubines,” he said with an enchanting mixture of respect and humor. He paused as two displaying peacocks crossed the hallway in front of us. “Does your god Almaqah expect celibacy from his high priestess?”

  I swallowed my laughter. He thought me chaste? Evidently, his spying hoopoe bird had not witnessed my orgy with Tamsi, Gunnarr, and Raz.

  I wondered, if Solomon had almost a thousand women to serve his needs, would my wanton nature surprise him? Delight him? Or dismay his royal sensibilities?

  A little mystery was in order. “My god expects prayer and sacrifice,” I said.

  Solomon sidled close, his breath warm on my ear. “Does that include sacrificing pleasures of the flesh? Because the glint in your eye suggests a much different form of worship.” He inhaled. “Denial is pointless. I smell your desire.”

  CHAPTER 46

  I inhaled. He might smell my cunt. Or he might be testing my reaction to his lewd statement. I had become moist just imagining his naked body, his taste, and the size of his royal cock.

  “How naughty and improper of you,” I said. “Any such fragrance must stem from the multitude of women in your harem.”

  King Solomon blinked, a smile dancing on his face. “I? Improper? Never. Naughty?” His eyes twinkled. “My enemies call me a tyrant. My people, a prophet and magician. Several claim I’m a sinner.” He shrugged. “A few even call me an exorcist, but no one has ever called me naughty.” He stroked his beard. “Is a naughty king appealing to you?”

  This stallion needed a lesson in patience.

  My smile dissolved into an indifferent curve. “Not when negotiating a trade deal.”

  “The reports are true then. The beautiful Queen of Sheba is a master of negotiations and diplomacy.”

  “More compliments. I will take them and add my own. My reports are true as well—you are a masterful politician.” I moved my arms such that my mantle brushed against his. “Do not stand on ceremony, you have my permission to call me Bilqīs.”

  The spacious, opulent room we entered was filled with cushions around low tables, which were crowded with heaping dishes of fish, chickpeas, lamb, almonds, olives, bread, honey-dipped pastries, and herbed labneh.

  “I’m Sol to my closest friends.” Solomon mounted the steps to a raised platform set with a single table. Our table afforded an elevated view of the room. It also offered us a chance to conduct private conversation.

  “Do you have many friends?”

  Solomon sat on a cushion with jeweled tassels. “A few, but that is all a king requires.”

  “Good friends, trustworthy friends, are more valuable than the purest gold. I’m fortunate to have several.”

  Duvsha. Kepha. Shani. Three people I could count on to tell me the truth. Even if I didn’t like it.

  Despite the distracting sounds of hundreds of people preparing to eat, Solomon’s attention was fixed on me. “What makes a friend a friend? Compatible personalities? A common goal? Like-mindedness?”

  “It cannot be analyzed. Friendship is felt.” I patted my heart. “Here.”

  “What about love?”

  I did not know love. I knew ardent friendship. I knew lust. But love . . .

  Love made a queen vulnerable. I refused to take such a risk. I loved the Sabaeans. That was enough. “Love does not confine itself and is felt fully in mind, body, and soul.”

  “You’re a philosopher,” said Solomon without a trace of sarcasm.

  “A consequence of ruling, I think.”

  “Indeed, it is. I had no interest in philosophy as a child.” He set down his goblet. “Which leads to my next question. There are many unbelievable stories about how you became the Queen of Sheba. I should like to know the truth.”

  “I will tell you.” I shifted on the cushion and adjusted my sleeve. A good story must never be rushed. “It began before my birth.”

  “Ah, destiny is everything.”

  “My mother, Ismenie from Ethiopia, was a jinni.”

  Solomon swallowed. The rumor that I was a daughter of fire and smoke was now confirmed.

  “She and the king’s advisor fell in love and had a scandalous affair.” I repeated one of Momma’s many stories. “So enraptured was he by her beauty and exotic skills in the sensual arts, he devoted all his time to pleasure and little to affairs of state.”

  Solomon’s eyes widened. “Exotic skills?”

  I shrugged. “Female jinn are gifted in this.” I paused to select a spiced olive. “We know the ancient secrets of…” I flicked my tongue across the olive.

  Solomon focused on my mouth. “Secrets of…”

  “The flesh, in ways that cause men to . . .” I nibbled on the olive.

  “Men to what?” His eyes were glazed with imagined decadences.

  “Experience such heightened rapture that they soar godlike on wings of ecstasy, their bodies and souls united in euphoria.”

  Solomon was impressed, his exhalation long and low. “What about a half jinni? Do they inherit the same skill?”

  “Our essence and the magic within is grafted into our bones and infused in our blood.” I pulled up my sleeve, exposed my wrist, and tapped a vein. “But I digress. You asked how I became queen.” I tugged down my sleeve. “I was born far from court in a small home near a village with a forgettable name.”

&n
bsp; “Your mother hid you.”

  “I think it was she who hid,” I said. “Momma provided a happy and simple life for me. One day, we met a woman fleeing Ma’rib. She told us about the new king, an evil man with no regard for his people. He levied exorbitant taxes and administered unjust punishments.”

  “I’ve known too many like him.”

  I pressed my hand to my heart. “I had to do something, so one night I stole into his palace and—”

  “You leave out important details.” One elbow on the table, Solomon rested his chin on his fist, his astonished gaze intent. “How does a young woman simply walk into a palace?”

  “With the right attitude.” I grinned. “And the right jewels.”

  “I’d say the attitude more than the jewels gained your entrance. Then what?” His brows lifted.

  “I seduced the king. Told him I was the Gift.”

  “Just not his gift, I assume. Nicely played,” he purred with admiration.

  “The king could not resist me. He suckled on my breasts. I sucked his cock. I discovered his secret desire.” I rubbed my hands together. “And I gave it to him.”

  “He married you?”

  I dragged my teeth over my lower lip. “I stabbed him as he orgasmed.”

  “Beautiful and deadly.” Solomon’s brows arched with amazement. “But slaying a king does not make you a queen.”

  “No, but entering the throne room with his head and sword to proclaim myself queen did.”

  His eyes shone, his gaze equal parts respect and arousal. “I’ve never met such a courageous, fierce, and enticing woman before.” His mouth hovered over my ear. “My cock is hard just listening to you.”

  I pressed my lips together, pleasantly surprised to discover his taste for powerful women.

  Solomon cleared his throat, clapped, and nodded to an advisor at a nearby table. It was time for the presentation of the gifts.