by Marc Graham
A rider descended from the Tower Gate and, before long, the flawless blue sky became sullied with the dust of the earth as it dared rise to the heavens.
Bilkis turned away, her throat made ragged by the mere sight of so much dust. Once her temple was complete, once her fame and glory spread among the nations, she would welcome the caravans with their offerings and tributes. Until then, she craved only the arrival of Kemeti gold, perhaps more. The queen sat beneath her awning, poured a cup of wine, and freed her thoughts of the dirty caravan from the south.
56
Makeda
I grimaced as my camel lurched upon a patch of uneven ground. My craftsmen had fashioned a magnificent saddle for me, shaped and supported and padded to provide comfort on my travels. No amount of skill, however, could ease the burden of sitting atop a camel for the better part of every daylight hour over a span of six months.
The camel brayed, and I reached forward to pat the beast’s neck. “Yes, Dhahbas, yes,” I said in a placating tone. “You’re a wonderful companion, much better than some donkey.”
The camel twitched her ears and jangled her harness as she plodded along the northward trail. I shifted my weight to find a less painful position. I knew not how women had managed on earlier caravans, carried by donkeys that took twice as long to cover great distances. The gods had blessed me with beasts ideally suited to this journey, but I longed to give my bones rest.
“My lady.” A gruff voice spoke and raised my thoughts above my aching backside. I turned to see Hazar, captain of my guard, as he brought his mount even with mine. “A rider,” the warrior said, and pointed toward the horizon.
I squinted in the indicated direction. I could just make out something that might be a dust cloud but that could just as well be a shimmering of air. “Very well,” I told him.
The sun was halfway to her zenith before the cloud drew close enough for me to pick out the shape of a rider amid the dust. Hazar signaled to his nearest men to form a protective screen around me.
As had happened several times during our journey, the approaching horse shied as it neared the camels, and the shout of its rider echoed across the plain. Camels were not uncommon in the lands about the great eastern desert, but mostly traveled in wild herds, or occasionally driven by Bedou herdsmen.
Before this journey, I’d never imagined a caravan of laden camels, let alone mounted by riders. From the reactions we received along the way, it seemed a safe guess that no one else had either.
After a short discussion with Hazar, the rider turned his horse back along the northern track, and the captain returned.
“He was from the court of Yahtadua,” Hazar said as he drew his camel alongside mine.
“Are we that close?” I peered into the distance.
“We should see the walls of Urusalim before noon.”
My heart—along with my rump—gave thanks that the journey might soon end.
“Did he not want tribute?”
Hazar gave a wry grin. “He did. I told him to take his pick of camels. He said it could wait until we reach the city.”
We continued northward. Workers in the fields paused in their labors to gape at our passing caravan. I found myself gaping as well, not at the people but at the surrounding countryside. The hills and valleys glowed a brilliant green under the gentle touch of the springtime sun.
The scene reminded me of the fields and gardens about Maryaba, but these needed no dam, no network of irrigation canals to carry the life-giving water. Moisture seemed to spring from the very earth, as attested by the droplets that clung to grass blades not yet touched by the sun.
A shout sounded before us, and Hazar urged his camel ahead to where a rider jounced upon his donkey, trotting toward the caravan. The rider called and waved, and recognition dawned as he neared.
“Let him pass,” I ordered, then smiled as the rider drew near.
“Welcome, my lady!” he greeted me, his broad smile as warm as summer.
“Well met, Eliam,” I said. “I’m happy to see you returned home safely.”
“Safe and well,” the merchant said, and patted his belly, grown fat since I’d last seen him. “Thanks to you, my lady. When I heard the rumors of a train of camels coming from the south, I scarcely believed it would be you, though I prayed it might.”
“After your tales of the temple, how could I not come see for myself?” I gestured toward the line of camels behind me. “I have brought gifts for your King Yahtadua, as a token of goodwill and a hope for his friendship. When might I meet him?”
The merchant’s bright expression dimmed with the question. “I saw the king’s general—I believe you met him along the road? I passed him on his way back to the city and asked that he arrange an audience. In the meantime, I have a plot of land below the city, where you are welcome to stay during your visit.”
“Will it hold us all?” When encamped, our caravan filled enough land that might otherwise feed twenty families for a year.
“Yes, Lady, not to worry. Porters should even now be carrying up water and fodder, and wood for fires.”
“Wood?” I said, surprised. Such extravagance.
“Of course, my lady. Dung fires are prohibited about the royal city.”
“Athtar smile upon you, my friend,” I said, suddenly aware of how tired I felt, and how ragged I must look.
I longed to be still, to bathe, to look forward to a morrow when I needn’t take to the saddle. But I also remembered the reason for my journey.
“Now, when may I meet your family and see this temple of yours?”
A red-faced Eliam huffed alongside Dhahbas as he escorted my smaller caravan up the winding road to Tsion, Urusalim’s royal hill. I’d offered, almost begged to walk with the merchant, but he insisted I ride.
“All of Yisrael will want to see the marvel of the queen who tamed the wild beast,” he’d said.
So I rode at the head of a shortened camel train. Dhahbas, perfumed and draped with silk trappings, led five other beasts, each laden with a sampling of the great treasure recovered from the Strait of Tears. Hazar and another guard rode with me while the rest of the travelers, beast and man, remained in the camp near the city’s spring.
I strained my neck as I looked up from the bottom of the hillside to the stone wall about the city. A banner of blue and white beat at the wind from its post atop the fortress that dominated the narrow valley.
Less impressive was the sewage that flowed from openings in the wall and cascaded to a cesspit at the foot of the mount. Mercifully, the wind carried the stench away and the air soon filled with the shouted greetings of people along the road.
Children, everywhere the same, gawped at the passing camels. My eyes were just as wide as I took in the hundreds, thousands of people who lined the way. They seemed to rival the entire population of Maryaba for number, and that was only the portion who had turned out. Among the fields and pastures were many more. Yisrael must be a great and blessed country, indeed, to be able to feed and clothe so many.
Or, perhaps, not so many.
As we neared the gate, my heart ached at the sight of the hungry and naked beggars that lined the wall, hands outstretched for mercy. The camels carried no food. Even if they had, the press of well-wishers would have made it impossible to reach the needy. Eliam urged a boy out of the road as he led us around the final bend.
I glanced back along the wall, the height of three men and longer than the widest stretch of the Wadi Dhanah. Even if not all prospered, a people capable of such a work could surely build a dam to last through the ages.
As we reached the city’s entrance, I bent low in my saddle, hugging Dhahbas’s neck to avoid striking the gate’s lintel. Candle smoke and the smell of decayed offerings filled the passage. It took several of the camel’s long strides before Eliam ushered us back into daylight.
Another wall, this one made from rows of smoothed stones and wooden beams stretched along one side of the broad road, its other side fronted b
y massive mudbrick buildings. Flowers climbed lattices along the walls, while the leaves of small trees joined the occupants in peeking over the parapets. The buzz of voices, laughter of children, and barking of dogs stirred the air.
A second, smaller gate passed through the inner wall, perhaps high enough for a mounted horseman to pass, but too low for the camels. Eliam led me to a wooden platform before the gate. Upon it stood a tall, well-fed young man surrounded by a dozen or more girls. All wore silk, brightly dyed and finely woven, and all wore looks of wonder.
I drew on the camel’s reins. “Khara,” I commanded Dhahbas.
Excited murmurs rose from the crowd as the camel settled onto her knees and haunches, followed by the others in the train. Eliam offered his hand to help me down from the saddle, then guided me up the steps of the platform. The merchant bowed low before the young man.
“Rise, Eliam,” the lad said in a voice much younger than befitted so noble an appearance. “You have kept yourself too long from our gates.”
“My humblest apologies, Lord,” the merchant said. “I did not wish to disturb your young and growing family.”
The boy made a gesture that conveyed both acceptance and impatience, then stared pointedly at me.
“My lord Yahtadua abi-Tadua, King of Yisrael,” Eliam said in a tone rich with formality, “I beg to present Makeda umm-Ayana, Mukarrib of all Saba.”
“Mukarrib?” Yahtadua said and looked as though the word tickled his lips.
“Queen of my people,” I explained, “and high priestess of our gods.”
“And your king permits you to leave the harem, to leave your country?” The question seemed to hold both curiosity and distaste.
“We have no harem in Saba,” I said, making an effort to keep my voice even. “And we have no king at present. My father was Mukarrib, and my mother after him. Now I am honored to serve my people.”
“Surely you have a husband,” Yahtadua said, his distaste now bordering on offense, “for how can a woman hold a country?”
I swallowed back my indignation. After so long a journey, I had thought to be welcomed, not to have my traditions questioned.
“I am wife to no man,” I said in a firm, level tone, “but bride to the high god Athtar. My husband has blessed our land, and I have brought the fruits of that bounty, as a token of the friendship I hope will grow between our two great nations.”
“What have you brought me?” Yahtadua asked, the tone of a quarrelsome king replaced by that of an overindulged child. “Can I have the camels, too?”
Eliam gave me a smile and a wink as I joined Yahtadua at the edge of the platform.
“Of course, you may,” I said, warmth restored to my voice. “The two bulls and three cows should make an excellent breeding herd.”
“These are even better than a chariot,” Yahtadua said. Casting off his dignity, and much to the delight of the onlookers, the King of Yisrael hopped down from the platform and rushed toward one of the kneeling camels. The young bull flattened its ears, bellowed and reared back its head. Yahtadua held out a hand and spoke gently to the startled beast, who returned the kindness by gnashing at the royal fingers. The lad snatched back his hand, tripped and fell on his backside in the dust of the high road.
A deathly hush fell over the crowd at their king’s humiliation. When he began laughing, however, the people heartily joined in with him.
“These are not pets, my lamb,” said a hauntingly familiar voice from behind me. “They must be treated with gentleness and caution.”
The assembly again fell silent. I turned as a chill snaked up my spine and raised goose flesh on my arms. A woman stood at the rear of the platform, dressed in a fine blue gown and veil. Eliam and the girls fell to their knees, the motion copied by all the people. Yahtadua dashed up the steps and stood beside the veiled figure.
“Umma, this is Makeda of Saba. She’s brought us gifts. Makeda, this is my mother.”
The woman stood motionless for some time, seeming to examine me with her hidden eyes. For an age, I heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing more than the featureless blue veil, endless as the sea. When it seemed enough time had passed to turn the mountains of Saba into sand, the woman reached up and drew back her veil.
My stomach clenched, my heart swelled, and tears spilled from my eyes. I stepped forward, haltingly at first, then with greater speed. The woman drew back, but I would not let her escape. I threw my arms about the woman’s neck and held her close.
“My sister,” I cried.
57
Bilkis
Bilkis struggled to breathe, so tightly did the half-breed cling to her. With effort, she lifted her arms and gently patted Makeda’s back. “There, there,” she said. “All is well.”
“Is it truly you?” Makeda released her hold and gazed at Bilkis, studied her face, pulled her close again. “We thought the gods had taken you from us.” Her words were muffled by her sobs and Bilkis’s hair.
“Indeed they did,” Bilkis replied when she could grasp breath to speak. She freed herself from Makeda’s clutch and held her half-sister’s hands, almost hot to the touch. When had her own gone so cold?
Bilkis studied the younger woman, so different from the child she’d left behind those many years before. The round-faced brat had grown into a tall, slender woman. With the high cheekbones and full lips, Bilkis might have been looking at her own reflection upon polished jet, but for the piss-colored eyes.
“The gods delivered me from the flood,” she explained, “then again from the desert. Our friend Eliam found me and took me into his care. He brought me with his family to Urusalim, where the gods of Yisrael have truly blessed me. Now rise, Eliam,” she told the merchant, her tone warm and generous. “Rise, all my people, and rejoice with me, for the holy ones have restored to me my sister.” She barely managed to choke back half.
Cheers of jubilation and wonder dutifully rose from the assembly. Bilkis gestured for Yahtadua to stand with her. “But we are being ungracious hosts,” she told the lad. “Come, let us see what your aunt has brought you.”
58
Makeda
I floated, drifted, fell. And I cared not. Bilkis had insisted I stay in the palace, rather than camp with my people outside the walls.
“I have been kept too long from your company,” she’d said. “I will not so easily again be parted from you.”
At first, I refused the offer. Now, as I soaked in a copper tub filled with hot, rose-scented water, behind walls that did not move with every breath of wind, I thanked Athtar for Bilkis’s craft of persuasion.
Fazia, my handmaid, brought up my things and promptly turned a set of rooms into a second Saba. Goat hair mats adorned floors and walls. Brass censers filled with myrrh, olibanum, and spices smoked in every corner. With the scents and textures of home about me, I let the water steep the aches from my muscles, while Fazia combed the sand from my hair and scrubbed the grit from my skin.
That evening, Bilkis laid a great feast of roasted kid and lamb, fruits of every variety, and rich wine the color of blood. I tried to be a polite guest, but the sun had only just disappeared behind the western hill when I begged leave of Bilkis and Yahtadua and retired to my bed.
Daylight again peered through the shuttered windows when I opened my eyes. After a bath and a repast of cold lamb and figs, I dressed simply in a dun-colored woolen robe and soft boots.
“The demons did not carry you away in the night, after all,” Bilkis said when I found her in the audience chamber.
I smiled, took my sister’s outstretched hands, and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve not slept so well since leaving Maryaba.” I accepted a cup of goat’s milk from Bilkis and was about to drink when I saw a pair of crystalline lumps floating in the cup. “What is this?”
Bilkis laughed. “Ice, my sister. Water that has grown so cold it becomes as stone.”
I poked one of the lumps, and it bobbed away from my touch. “I’ve never seen a stone float. Can you build w
ith it? Could you make a ship of it?”
“I am told that far to the north, beyond even Mount Lebanon where my ice is mined, there are tribes of men who make their homes of ice. Unfortunately, it melts too quickly in water to make it useful for shipbuilding. But even as it again becomes water it leaves a most wondrous gift.”
Bilkis gestured for me to drink. I sniffed at the milk then took a tentative sip. My eyes widened as the sweet liquid caressed my tongue, colder than floodwater or darkest night. The cold milk stirred my spirit and brightened my mood. What a land of marvels Bilkis had found, with entire buildings made of stout timbers, great walls of solid rock, and magical water that turned to stone.
“Might I see your temple today?” I asked after I drained my cup. “Eliam has told me it’s magnificent.”
Bilkis’s countenance darkened as under a passing cloud, then just as quickly brightened again. “Of course,” she said cheerily. “I’ve not been there in some months. It would be good to see what progress has been made.”
A short time later I rode with Bilkis, Yahtadua, and a pair of his young wives upon a canopied wooden platform carried by servants. The litter rocked gently upon the men’s shoulders as they snaked along the hillside road north of the palace. People knelt as the king and queen-mother passed by, and it took only a short time to reach the hill’s summit. With scarcely a jostle, the servants lowered their burden to the ground. Yahtadua pulled back the curtain and leapt from the carriage.
“That child,” Bilkis said in a low tone as the young queens quickly followed their husband. “Abi-Huram slights him, but still Yahtadua can’t wait to visit him.”
“Abi-Huram?” I said. I yearned to follow my nephew, to dash out and explore the wonder I’d so long dreamed of but didn’t wish to be rude.
“My temple-builder,” Bilkis said, in a tone with which she might refer to a wart. “How the gods ever chose to breathe life into such a disagreeable man, I know not.”
