by H. B. Moore
But how did they all fit together? And how did the seven palms with the seven names lead to her tomb? Feeling more dissatisfied than ever, Omar returned to the computer and typed Tambariah.
Nothing.
Turug.
Turug was a city in Sudan. But what Omar saw next piqued his interest. The Turugs were a people living in Sudan and were responsible for introducing Islam to the region. Then another web page caught Omar’s attention—a press release detailing Turug statues throughout Mongolia.
A message came in on his phone. At last, Mia. Sorry I didn’t make it to dinner. Ran into a glitch.
What happened? Omar typed.
Rabbel is here in Marib.
Omar took a deep breath. What are you doing in Marib?
I’m tracking a lead to AWP headquarters.
By yourself? I thought we were working together on this. Even as he typed the reply, he felt guilty for not keeping Mia informed of all he knew.
Levy wants us to split up now. He’ll be sending you new instructions.
Omar stared at the screen. Something was wrong. He could feel it.
CHAPTER
32
Jerusalem
960 BC
As the caravan traveled the narrow streets, the people fell to the side, bowing before the queen and calling out good wishes. Several threw flowers, littering the streets.
When the caravan rounded the final corner, Nicaula stopped the procession. The king’s palace spread along the green of Mount Moriah. The palace’s nearly white stone foundation supported the great pillars that flanked the entrance, inlaid with gold.
Nicaula’s pulse pounded at the majesty, the greatness. She recovered from her awe and ordered the caravan forward. When they reached the outer courtyard, Nicaula couched her camel and climbed off. Batal moved stiffly at her side as they walked up the polished cedar steps.
The queen had never seen anything so grand in all her years. She lowered the veil on her headdress and nodded to those who bowed to her. The palace was built of cedar and fir trees, and the massive doors were carved with palm trees, cherubim, and flowers, all inlaid with gold. Nicaula and her procession walked through the doors to see an interior that was even more luxurious. Inside was a crystal-blue pool with stone-carved animals, leafed in gold, spouting water in all directions. The cedar floor echoed their footsteps in the sunny enclosure.
The main hall was packed with onlookers. On one side, the women gathered, their colorful robes clinging to their shapely figures. Are these the wives or the concubines? The queen wondered if Azhara was among the women.
On the other side of the room, the men of the court gathered, postures erect in elegant robes, their animated eyes scanning every detail of the queen and her ensemble.
At the end of the hall was the throne. Reverence pierced Nicaula’s heart as she took in the details. Six inlaid-pearl steps rose to the height of the base of the throne. The great chair itself was made from ivory and covered in gold-leaf designs. Two crouching lions etched from stone stood guard, their inanimate teeth ferocious. Several girls sat around the chair, waving palms to cool the air. They were young, perhaps twelve or thirteen, their eyes holding a coyness that encouraged the pleasures of man.
But it was the king who sat upon the throne who was the most arresting of all. Nicaula recognized him immediately—his round, youthful face, copper curls, piercing eyes—all as she had dreamt. As he stood, a rush of energy passed through her body. This was the man whose glory preceded his name across the continents. This was the man she had dreamt about.
The king descended from his throne, the women flanking his sides. He stretched out a jeweled hand in greeting. Yet she kept her hands to her side and merely inclined her head to one side.
His power and confidence were tangible, and the queen took a deep breath before she spoke. “I am Nicaula, queen of the South, ruler of the kingdoms of Ubar and Saba.”
A smile convulsed against his lips, and Nicaula knew that he was surprised at her boldness in speaking first. King or no king, she was royalty in her own right. Although her intentions were friendly, she refused to be subservient to another who was her equal.
“Welcome, Queen of the South.”
The warm timbre of his voice washed over her, sending shivers to her toes.
“Welcome to my city of Jerusalem. Your gifts have been received and pleasure derived from them. I am amazed at the quantity of spices you delivered. Your wealth must be great.”
“My wealth is but plain compared to yours,” Nicaula said.
The king shooed away the doting women, and his gaze returned to Nicaula. “I have waited many weeks for your arrival.” He paused, humor in his eyes. He circled her then stopped in front again. “Tell me what has detained you.”
“I delayed in Eloth to inspect the fine fleet of ships,” Nicaula said, watching the king from the corner of her eye as he walked around her.
He seemed to be deep in thought, but she knew he was assessing her. He stopped, standing very close to her, his russet eyes displaying streaks of gold. “And your family travels with you?”
“My throne is my family.”
A troubled look flitted across his face, but his smile remained warm. “Come and join me. We will eat.”
The people in the hallway beyond murmured in excited voices.
“We will have a feast,” the king called out, and the people cheered. He raised his hands and laughed. Then he looked at Nicaula, his eyes filled with delight. “You may call me Solomon.”
“Hail King Solomon!” the crowd chanted.
Nicaula followed the king into another room, larger than the grand hall. Low tables extended across the entire length, piled with cucumbers, olives, grapes, goat cheese, sour milk, breads, jugs of wine, and steaming meats. Most noticeable of all were the gold cups set at each place.
The queen sat on a pile of cushions between Solomon and Batal. Before the meal began, the king stood and praised his god in quiet, beseeching tones.
When he finished, Nicaula asked, “You do not worship the sun goddess?”
“Yahweh is the god of all—he is the supreme ruler of human, animal, and substance. He created everything a pair of eyes can see.”
Nicaula sensed conviction in his words, but even more, she basked in his radiance, his youth and exuberance, his power and wealth. “Is he a jealous god?”
“Very.” A smile touched Solomon’s lips. He took a swallow of wine. “Have you done something to incur his wrath?”
“Not I,” Nicaula assured him, venturing to smile back.
“The ancient Babylonian god Bel is like a rock compared to the God of Israel, who is a mountain. Yahweh will bless those who worship him, praise him, and believe in him.” Solomon lifted his goblet and tilted his head toward her. “He gives to those who love him.”
Nicaula was taken aback by the king’s powerful statements. It was as if he’d spoken to this god, or this god was a friend. She thought about the image on the tree outside the walls. As the others around her continued to devour their food, she said, “I saw a tree outside the city walls. Incense plates and oil lamps were set around it. Is Yahweh found in the trees of olive? Or do your people worship more than one god?”
Solomon set his goblet down and leaned forward. “Some worship several gods, but in time, they will all be converted to the true God. I do not punish those who wish to worship otherwise. Yahweh is the only one who will save us all. He is the supreme being.”
Nicaula was startled by his sure knowledge, and a deep shudder pierced her soul. The image from the tree emerged in her mind again. “I have seen God’s death.”
A hush fell over those surrounding them, and Solomon placed his cup down.
“On the way into the city, I stopped at an old tree, and I was compelled to approach it.” She closed her eyes and reached out a hand as if mimi
cking what she’d done. “When I touched it, an image passed through my mind. Immediately I knew what I saw was wonderful, even in its awfulness.” The entire crowd was quiet now. “The man I saw was no ordinary man.”
“Was he in a dream, or could you touch his flesh?” Solomon asked.
“I could not touch him, but it was as if I could.” She opened her eyes and brought her fingers to her necklace, absently tracing the engraved design. “His scant garments were soaked with dried blood as he hung upon a cross made of wood.”
“Tell me what else you saw.”
“It was so brief, so sudden.” She placed her fingers to her temples. Suddenly, a burst of knowledge shot through her. “The tree . . . the tree will become the cross from which Yahweh’s son will hang.”
“Show me this tree.”
The queen spent nearly every moment with Solomon for the next several days. He taught her about the one true God, and she told him about life in Arabia—the harvesting of spices, the tribal communities, and the harsh clime. She told him about her father and the brutal way he died. She finished by summarizing the fall of Saba, the rescue of Azhara, and the revenge upon the marauders. Then she told Solomon about the little boy, David, whose mother was badly burned.
At this, Solomon paused in their walk along the perimeter of the temple of Yahweh. “David was only a babe when his mother fled. She thought she’d been cursed and refused to seek treatment within the city walls.”
“Could you not have sent your guards after her?”
“She left word that she was returning to her family.”
“It was only to appease you then.”
They fell into silence for a moment. When they reached the far side of the temple, she showed him the ring on her hand, the intertwining snake and flower, seemingly dependent on each other.
Solomon took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “You entrance me, O Queen of the South.”
Nicaula looked into his dark honey eyes. “I have dreamt of you since the day I heard about you from your son, David.”
He pulled her hand to his chest and placed it over his heart. “You are a prophetess.”
“No.” Nicaula tried to draw away. “I do not hear God’s voice nor see his face.”
Solomon would not release her, but held fast to her hand. “Only a woman such as you, with your knowledge, wealth, and beauty, can rule with a man like me.”
Nicaula’s breath came shallow. What does he mean?
“You are as the lily of the valley that grows near the sweetest water. If I had a woman like you to love—”
Nicaula turned away. It was sudden. But was it not what she’d imagined in those lonely nights of restless sleep? Was it not what she had hoped for? He stood close behind her, his breath on her hair.
“You have suffered much and deserve your joy to return in full. Stay in Jerusalem, and serve as queen by my side.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. She was drawn into his gaze, but it was awe she felt, not love.
In time. No one could help but love such a young, handsome ruler who was more powerful than any throughout all the land.
“Your people can continue the spice trade in your kingdom while you live here in comfort.” He fingered her hair, lifting it gently from her neck. “We can be together always in my city of Jerusalem. Surely our love is stronger than any other—better than wine, better than all the flowers and spices.” He leaned forward, his lips hovering above hers. She could almost taste his sweet scent.
“Come to my bed of spices, and what I have will be yours.” His hand traveled along her neck and then toward her breasts.
Before Nicaula could decide whether she’d accept his kisses, the sound of voices reached them. The queen drew away just as a group of women rounded the corner of the temple. There were seven of them, all dressed in fine linen and wearing bracelets and necklaces of gold. Two of them wore nose rings. They cast longing eyes at Solomon, and he smiled in return.
After they passed, Nicaula asked, “Wives?”
“Oh no, concubines. My wives stay in their homes with their children.”
Nicaula turned toward the temple, thinking about this man and his vast arsenal of women. It was fascinating, yet dismaying at the same time.
He reached for her again. “We are meant for each other, beautiful Queen of the South. None of my wives can claim to be my queen. Only you will have that honor.”
A small smile reached Nicaula’s lips as she let him move closer, his hands settling at her waist. Pleasure shot through her and collided with the hot envy at the other women. An image of every woman she’d seen since arriving in the city flashed through her mind. They all looked at the king the same way. He was a man who would bring them pleasure and wealth.
His attentions to her were nothing real. Nothing to be valued. She was just another woman in the line of hundreds of women to be seduced by the king.
The day she’d arrived in Jerusalem, she might have agreed that she and Solomon should marry. After all, what did all the dreams mean? Weren’t she and Solomon destined for each other?
“I will build you your own palace,” Solomon said in her ear, his body pressing against hers, “and every luxury will be at your disposal.”
Nicaula’s pulse raced. The only other man she’d been this close to was Batal . . . but that had been so brief, and he had been far less knowledgeable in the ways of women. Solomon’s hands had no such reservations. His fingers moved up her back, and his lips pressed against her neck.
Wild thoughts tumbled through her mind, confusing what she was feeling for the moment with the man who was touching her. It would be so easy to let him take her here . . . now . . . But what would happen after? How many women were waiting their turn?
Her passion turned to irritation. She wasn’t sure about Solomon. Not anymore. She placed her hands on his chest, pushing him away. “And how often will I see my husband? Once a year, when he can fit me in between his other wives and concubines? A man such as you has no need for love from another woman. You will choke and die on so much affection.”
Solomon chuckled and caught her hand, pulling her against him. “You cannot mean what you say,” he said, his breath hot on her face. “Remember your dreams, your visions. I am king of Jerusalem.”
“Yes, but you are not my king.” She pried his arms from her, and he released her, stepping back. “I am but a trinket in your eyes,” she continued, “something to be gained so that you can boast of your success to your playmates.”
Solomon’s face reddened. “What you say is treason. I will not be denied my wish.”
They stared at each other for a moment, anger pulsing between them. “Nor I,” she said. “As soon as the next harem comes by, you can soothe your wounded soul.” She turned away and left the king standing alone.
“You will return to a desert with nothing,” Solomon called after her. “In Jerusalem, you can have everything, and I will dispel your loneliness.”
Heat spread to her neck as she continued to walk. “Dispel? Is that all I deserve? Even a slave earns the right for more.” Nicaula hurried from the temple. If she could not have a king to herself, did she really want one?
But still she doubted. There were no other men of equal rank whom she could marry. His power intrigued her. He would not bow to her as a lamb, but would fight with her like a lion. Her heart thudded as she thought about what a union between her and the greatest king might mean. Her children would have their pick of which lands to rule. Just because he had so many wives and concubines did not mean she would not always get her wishes fulfilled. She would still be a queen—just not his only love.
She felt her legs weaken as she descended the hillside. A couple of her servants rushed to her side. “Go find Azhara,” she commanded.
The men scurried away to fulfill the mission. Nicaula refused to turn to see if Solomon
still stood near the temple, although she was certain he watched her.
She made it to her quarters and found Azhara waiting for her. The girl was dressed in a fine robe of silk, her black hair neatly plaited, gold earrings on her ears.
“Welcome, O Queen,” the servant said, bowing to the floor.
“Rise.” The queen gazed at the girl before her. Something was different, and it wasn’t her clothing. “Where have you been?”
“I heard of your arrival while I was in the city of Megiddo. I started traveling immediately.”
“Why were you in Megiddo?”
“In the weeks that separated us, I met a man who wants to marry me.” She lowered her head. “I have given him no promise because my first loyalty is to you.”
“Does he know you are a slave?”
“Yes, but he promised to buy my freedom. I’ve come to ask the price.”
The queen walked to her bed and sat down. “Do you want to leave me?”
“No. I wish to serve you, but I also love Tambariah.”
“Who is this Tambariah?”
“A great man. He is strong and acts as governor of Megiddo. Many say that he should have taken the throne after the death of King David.”
Nicaula looked at her slave in surprise. “Who is this man to make such a claim?”
“He is Solomon’s cousin. He served as one of David’s closest advisors and was trained in law and government long before Solomon inherited the throne,” Azhara said, looking away.
Nicaula knew Azhara wasn’t telling her everything. The woman trembled more than one should after confessing to have a lover. “Azhara, tell me what is troubling you.”
Azhara looked up, her face twisted with indecision.
“I am still your queen, am I not?” Nicaula pressed. “Your loyalty is to me first.”
