Song of Songs

by Marc Graham

  “Help me with my line,” Yetzer said to the young priest. He pulled the rope—knotted at precise half-cubit intervals—from his satchel and handed one end to the boy. “If Bilkis would enclose this place of the gods, let us do our part to make it worthy of them.”

  “And then we see to the stones?” Natan asked as he took his end of the line.

  Yetzer gave him a smile.

  “And then we see to the stones.”

  44

  Bilkis

  The sun caressed Bilkis’s face. The queen had ordered her servants to carry the thrones to the palace gate for the day’s event, so the people might see her as judge and benefactor. Half a dozen craftsmen had come to claim the privilege of building her temple, two from within Yisrael and the others from neighboring lands. That Bilkis had already sold the honor mattered little. She would be proclaimed the people’s judge, the voice of the gods.

  Elhoreb, a priest from the northern town of Sekhem, had built no temple. Having presided at the high place there, however, he was able to provide the queen with offerings of silk and gold. The other contenders might be better qualified, but the priest of Sekhem had paid well to become the builder of Yah and Havah’s temple.

  “The gods must surely smile upon our endeavors,” Bilkis told the craftsmen and the gathered crowd, “for any one of these men would build a magnificent home for them. As it was my husband’s desire to honor the gods in this manner, it is fitting they should choose the builder. I call upon the prophet Gad to inquire of the ancient ones.”

  Cheers rose from the people. All would have heard of the seer stones. For most, though, this would be their first time to witness the miracle, and it was Bilkis who gave them the privilege.

  Gad approached the throne and the crowd’s excitement grew. The prophet carried the Staff of Havah with its coiled bronze serpent, the bearer of holy wisdom. Gad bowed to the queen and king, closed his eyes then loudly intoned a few nonsensical words.

  Yahtadua had seen this many times before, but still quivered with delight when the prophet opened his eyes to reveal only empty white. Those toward the front of the crowd gasped in awe, and Bilkis waited for the wonder to spread among all the people before she spoke.

  “Let those who would serve the gods present themselves and inquire of the oracle.” She gestured toward the nearest man, a squat foreigner dressed in a striped robe. The man bowed low before the thrones then turned toward Gad.

  “I am Kalhba of Ugaratu, priest of Kothar and initiate of the sacred arts. Shall I build the temple of Yah?”

  Gad slowly raised his pouch and shook it for all to hear the rattle of the stones. He reached into the pouch with his gloved hand—

  And hesitated.

  Lines creased his forehead. His eyes twitched toward Bilkis before rolling back once more. His throat bobbed, then he drew out his hand and revealed the black stone.

  The priest from Ugaratu offered the royal pair a disappointed bow, then stepped back to his place.

  “I am Magon of Tsur, servant of Melkart,” the next man said. “Shall I raise the temple of Yah?”

  The scene repeated itself, with the same negative result. Elhoreb stepped forward, patting Magon’s shoulder as he passed. The priest made his obeisance and loudly proclaimed, “I am Elhoreb, servant of Yah at the holy place of Sekhem. Shall I set my hand to build the god’s temple at Urusalim?”

  Gad’s hand trembled as he reached into the pouch. His hesitation stretched out longer, and Bilkis smiled inwardly at her prophet’s sense for the dramatic. When he withdrew the stone, Bilkis didn’t even bother to look before she clapped her hands together.

  “The gods have spoken,” she said, “and so—”

  “Umma.” Yahtadua tugged on her sleeve. “Umma, no.”

  The queen gave her son an angry glare, but he pointed toward Gad. Bilkis turned her head and her anger redoubled when she saw the black stone in the prophet’s hand.

  “Inquire again, Prophet,” she said, trying and failing to keep her voice even. “Shall Elhoreb of Sekhem build the temple unto Yah and Havah?”

  A trickle of sweat ran down Gad’s cheek, but he replaced the stone, shook the pouch and drew again.

  “No,” Yahtadua said when the black stone was again revealed. “It is not to be Elhoreb.”

  The young king made a gesture of dismissal toward the fuming priest and waved the next candidate forward. This priest, from Dibon in Moab, had shown the audacity to rebuff Bilkis’s suggestion that a goodwill offering to the queen might incline the gods in his favor. When the black stone was revealed for him and the fifth man, Bilkis wondered if the fool Gad had forgotten the white stone.

  Her thoughts raced as she tried to fabricate a justification to petition the gods again on behalf of Elhoreb—perhaps with a change in the moon or after an offering before the Tent of Sanctuary. The schemes fled her heart as the final candidate stepped forward.

  The man was younger than any of the others—perhaps of an age with the queen herself—and might have been thrown on the very pottery wheel of the gods. For stature and beauty, he rivaled even Auriyah. His frame was thicker, more of the laborer’s bulk than the warrior’s slender lines, but he moved with the grace of a lion. About his head he wore a blue scarf, his natural left eye covered by an embroidered one. A tear of golden thread streamed from one corner and met a scar that ran halfway down his cheek.

  “I am Yetzer abi-Huram,” he said in a deep voice that thrummed in the queen’s breast, “a widow’s son of Danu, adept of the mysteries of Amun. Shall I be the one to build a house unto Havah and Yah?”

  Bilkis almost regretted that she would have to turn away the young builder. She mightn’t mind taking him to her couch. Benyahu was adequate as a lover but was more useful to her in keeping Yisrael’s mercenaries and fighting men loyal to the House of Tadua.

  This widow’s son might serve to fill a deeper need. Perhaps, once she’d brought Gad back in line and showed the gods’ approval of Elhoreb as their temple-builder, she might find a way to have Yetzer—

  A great intake of breath from the assembly interrupted her musings. The queen blinked and silently chastised herself for allowing her attention to wander.

  “It’s him,” Yahtadua said excitedly. “Yetzer abi-Huram shall build the temple!”

  Bilkis put a hand on the boy’s arm to stop his clapping, then her eyes drifted to where Gad stood, white stone in the palm of his hand. Rage surged up from her belly, and it took all her strength to hold back a scream. She cared little about who might build the temple, but that this little worm, this false prophet should dare to challenge her will sent fury through her veins.

  The stares of the crowd bore heavily upon her, their anticipation a palpable force. As Gad’s eyes returned to normal, albeit downcast, Bilkis put on a pleasant expression, then looked upon the handsome young builder.

  “Yah and Havah smile upon you, Yetzer of Danu. You will attend us this evening, that we may further discuss the erection of the gods’ house.”

  The young man’s expression was inscrutable, even to the queen who prized her ability to read a man’s heart. Yetzer offered a curt nod then stepped back with the other would-be builders.

  “People of Urusalim, all you Children of Yisrael,” Bilkis said, turning her attention to the crowd, “rejoice, for this day the gods have raised a builder in Tsion. Give thanks, for the dwelling of Yah and Havah shall be among their chosen ones forever.”

  “Do you wish me to give Rahab to another?” Bilkis demanded from her seat in the private audience chamber. “Or have you grown so weary of life that you place your neck beneath my sword?”

  Gad knelt before Bilkis, blood and tears mingling in his beard. Benyahu’s fists had been first messenger of the queen’s displeaure.

  “My lady—”

  “I have given you gold. I have given you food and wine. I would give you the desire of your heart, and you repay my kindness with this betrayal? Speak!”

  “My lady, I don’t know wh
at happened.” Gad’s lies came out mangled by his swollen lips. “You must believe I would never defy you. Something happened to the stones. I couldn’t tell one from the other.”

  “Nonsense,” Bilkis spat. “If there were no difference, in six draws there should have been three black and three white. Instead, you draw black five times in a row, and white only on the final one. Who is this Yetzer of Danu? What is he to you?”

  “My lady, upon my beard, by Yah and by Havah, I don’t know him. I tried to draw for Elhoreb, but I could not tell between the stones.”

  “Then how do you explain this? How does chance favor this one man?”

  Gad opened his mouth, then closed it again, his eyes downcast. He picked dried blood from his beard. When he at last raised his eyes to meet the queen’s, they held a look of woeful conviction.

  “Perhaps the gods have indeed chosen him.”

  Bilkis reached behind her for the cushion. She thought to do unto Gad as she’d done to Abdi-Havah. Certainly the man’s betrayal merited no less. Instead, she hurled the pillow at the prophet, hitting him squarely in his battered face.

  “Get out,” she screamed. “Take your lying, faithless stones and go. And next time you stand before me, you’d best have found a way to bend them once more to my will.”

  The door opened before the startled Gad could rise.

  “Is everything well, Lady?” Benyahu asked from the doorway, drawn sword in his hand.

  “Take him from my sight,” Bilkis ordered her general. “Do him no more harm but send him away.”

  Benyahu stepped forward and jerked the seer up by his arm.

  “As you say, my lady.” The warrior pulled Gad toward the door, then looked briefly back. “Eliam, Natan, and the builder have come to speak with you.”

  “Fine,” Bilkis snapped. “Is the king with them?”

  “Yes, Lady,” Benyahu said.

  “Very well. Rid the palace of this rubbish, then return. Order food and wine for our guests.”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  “And close the door.”

  The general made no reply, but pulled the door shut after he chivvied the prophet from the room.

  Bilkis pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and took several deep breaths. Pain spread from the back of her neck throughout her skull, but with effort she managed to clear her thoughts. She practiced her welcoming smile a few times before she rose and moved to the door.

  “Will there be a ladder to reach the gods?” Yahtadua said as Bilkis entered the audience hall.

  “No,” came the rich-toned reply. “We approach the gods with our hearts. The temple serves to free us of earthly burdens so that our hearts may ascend to the heavens.”

  The boy frowned and propped his cheeks upon his fists. “I wanted to climb there.”

  “A king doesn’t climb,” Bilkis said in a mock-scolding tone. “He has chosen warriors to climb for him.”

  “Ah, my child,” Eliam said, and bowed low before the queen.

  Natan went to his knees, while the builder bowed his head but remained standing.

  “My father,” Bilkis said as she took the merchant by the hand and bade him stand. “Your travels take you too long from us.”

  She embraced Eliam then turned to Natan.

  “And you, young priest, must not become so distracted that you fail to attend us at the palace.”

  Bilkis kissed the boy on the cheek.

  “Yes, my lady,” the child said.

  Bilkis turned to the final visitor and, with effort, kept a stutter from her breathing. The man’s one eye was the color of the first buds of spring, his expression at once open and guarded. She offered her hand and the man took it with his callused fingers, his grip firm, gentle, as one comfortable with his strength. He touched his forehead to the back of her hand, then looked Bilkis in the eye with a gaze that seemed to penetrate to her very core.

  “Allow me to present Yetzer abi-Huram,” Eliam said after clearing his throat.

  Bilkis pulled her hand back, and only then recognized the long moment of silence just passed.

  “You are welcome,” Bilkis said when she found her tongue. “I congratulate you on your selection.”

  “It was the will of the gods,” Yetzer said. “I am humbled to have been chosen, and only hope to prove worthy of the honor.”

  Bilkis narrowed her eyes at that. Such pious responses belonged only to charlatans or fools. She gave the builder a neutral nod, then turned and stepped to the dais.

  “And when do you expect to begin this great work?” she asked as she took her seat beside Yahtadua.

  “I have only just begun planning,” Yetzer said as he patted a leather satchel hung from his shoulder. “There is still the final size to be agreed upon, then workmen to be selected, provisions and shelter made for them, the site leveled, roads built. It may be a year before the first stone is laid.”

  “A year?” Yahtadua demanded.

  “How many slaves do you require?” Bilkis asked. The coldness of Yetzer’s expression sent a shudder along her spine.

  “I will have no slaves.” The builder’s voice rumbled like distant thunder. “The gods’ house will be established by free hands, bound to the work only by oath.”

  “How many men will you need?” Bilkis corrected herself, too abashed to respond with anger.

  “That depends on many things.” The threat eased from Yetzer’s voice. “In principle, two men could do the work, but it would take many lifetimes to complete. Permit me to think upon the work another day or two, and I will have a counting of men, animals, material, and all else that will be needful.”

  Eliam stepped forward, a broad smile upon his face and a small box in his hands. “In the meantime, child,” he said, “allow me to aid the funding of this grand labor.”

  A SONG OF JOINING TOGETHER

  45

  Yetzer

  For six months Yetzer refined his design while workmen gathered to clear the temple site. Following the harvest, while the fields rested, the laborers scraped and leveled the ground around Havah’s rock. They dug the trench that would hold the temple’s foundation, then smoothed the earth with tools of granite as Yetzer had smoothed the seer stone.

  Eliam purchased land upon the hillside west of the city. Yetzer set up his work camp there, a tiny nation within the borders of Yisrael itself, a nation sworn to the work of the temple.

  The queen had forbidden the use of any metal tools upon the temple mount, lest their noise disturb her in the palace. Yetzer tried to reason with her, but to no avail. When his workers returned to their fields, the builder and a handful of skilled masons from Tsur and Hatti and Kemet set their picks to the limestone beneath the northern edge of Havah’s mountain.

  And it came to pass, after the fields had again been sown, on the twelfth day of Ziv, in the fourth year of Yahtadua’s reign, Yetzer donned his finest robe and put over it the apron his mother had fashioned for him. Made of lambskin and trimmed with blue silk, the apron bore in its center an embroidered triangle set around the Udjat, the eye of Haru. In its pupil was the Kenahni letter yod, the first letter of Yetzer’s name, but also that of Yah-Havah, and of yetzirah, formation.

  Yetzer’s men wore similar aprons. Along with their families, they followed the Master of Masons up the long path from the quarry to the temple site. They filled the skies with their songs of praise and thanksgiving to the newly risen sun, to Havah, to Yah, and to the divine craftsman Kothar.

  Priests and elders, nobles and peasants lined the way and waved palm branches in celebration. Yetzer received the adulation with cool detachment until he crested the hill and saw his mother with her new husband, Eliam.

  This was the sort of reception, the recognition she’d always wanted for Huram, Yetzer’s father. But in Kemet, where one would be hard pressed to swing a sacred cat without hitting some temple or shrine, even the greatest builder’s work might easily go without notice. Yetzer’s vision misted at Dvora’s gleam of joy. This was
the honor Huram had earned several times over. Now it fell to his son to restore to this people their gods and their dwelling place.

  Yetzer smiled at his mother, then led the masons to what would become the great court of the temple, east of the grand portico that would daily receive the rising sun. Upon a wooden platform the queen and her young king awaited Yetzer.

  Bilkis had not been idle during the period of Yetzer’s labors. While he had set his skill to preparing the temple, the queen’s energy had been spent in diplomacy. A dozen brides had been chosen for Yahtadua, taken from each of the land-holding tribes of Yisrael. Three more had recently been added from the neighboring lands of Edom, Moab, and Ammon, and all of Yahtadua’s consorts now gathered behind their husband.

  The men’s song came to an end as Yetzer reached the dais. He offered his customary bow to king and queen. Bilkis returned a cool greeting, while Yahtadua’s smile outshone the midday sun. The six-score workmen formed an arc about the court, their families behind them. A pair of Yetzer’s overseers left the group and climbed into a great oaken treadwheel. Two more led a team of oxen to the northeast corner of the foundation. Their sledge, burdened with Yetzer’s tool chest and the heavy cornerstone, grated upon the rocky surface of the mount. While the men fastened hoisting clamps to the stone, Yetzer turned to face the assembly.

  “From time past remembering,” he said, using the tone of voice that could fill a quarry, “since the first builder fashioned a tool and thought to reshape the world about him, man has been a co-creator with the gods, tasked to finish the work they began. Across the nations, beyond the rising and falling of kingdoms, the builder’s art strives to emulate the perfection of nature, and to raise before the eyes of men temples that echo the dwellings of the ancient ones.

  “We gather here on ground made holy,” he continued, with a broad gesture that encompassed the hilltop. “Holy, not because man has made it so, but because the gods have willed it. In such places where the veil between the mortal and the eternal wears thin, we raise our altars and shrines and temples as markers to tell the wanderer that here the gods have spoken, and here they might again be heard.”