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Authors: India Edghill

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BOOK: Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba
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Long after the queen had drawn her garments over her body once more—she had permitted him to clasp the jasper brooches upon the shoulders of her gown, to slip the jeweled pins back into the coils of her soft hair—long after she had gone, leaving behind her only the faint perfume of roses and cinnamon, Solomon remained in the rooftop sanctuary he had long ago devised. Here he could rest untroubled. Here he could embrace his beloved.
Here he owned solitude and peace.
Of course the peace was false, the solitude illusion; kings possessed all a man could desire—save privacy. But this retreat gave at least the illusion of that humble luxury.
And he had labored hard to achieve even that. True, his servant Tobiah had aided him; it would have been difficult—nay, impossible—for Solomon
to acquire all he needed, and to carry it to the rooftop alone. But Tobiah would never betray the secret retreat; Solomon had no fear of that. And it would be the worst sort of arrogant folly to truly disappear, for not even one man to know where the king might be found at need.
But all else Solomon had done for himself.
No hands other than his had arranged the cushions that awaited them. Just as no servant had carried the fruit and the wine, or spread them out upon the low mosaic table.
The flowers pleased him the most, for they had cost him the greatest skill and effort. Scattered about the rooftop were bright-painted clay pots in which grew iris and hyacinths, roses and lilies; sweet strong perfume drifted upon the heated air. A small garden, but Solomon’s own.
And to think I re-created this sanctuary only now, returned only now to this peace, Only because I wished a private tryst with my beloved queen … .
Another gift for which he must thank Bilqis. For here, in the aerie devised for a lovers’ meeting, Solomon could rest, knowing he would not be interrupted for the minor, the trivial. Only urgent need would bring Tobiah up the winding narrow stairs to the king’s secret garden.
Here I may do as I please, without wondering if it is wise, or just, or prudent.
Smiling, Solomon tore the round of bread into small bits and flung them out across the sun-hot stones. The sparrows descended promptly, grabbing and squabbling over the king’s bounty.
So like my courtiers—save that the birds are more honest, Were men honest, before they set a king above them to bear their burdens and their sins upon his shoulders?
Perhaps it had been better a hundred years past, better when there had been no rich empire, no kingdom. When there had been no king in Israel or in Judah; no court, no subjects, no government. Only a proud, spare people holding themselves aloof from those about them, dwelling as farmers and shepherds and merchants.
No City of David. No Temple.
Such great change; such swift change. Within the space of a single long lifetime the very land upon which men walked had altered beyond recognition.
When Queen Michal was a girl, only judges ruled our land, laid down what law there was
. It was still said, of that wild time, that then each man had done what was good in his own eyes.
And that road leads to chaos
. But Michal had lived to
see her father rule those proud, wild men as their first king, and her husband as their second, and had herself raised their third. Now Solomon ruled not only over Israel and Judah but over Edom and Moab, and half-a-dozen kingdoms beyond. And his influence swayed royal decisions from Egypt to Tyre and Babylon.
Saul ruled one kingdom, and David two. I rule an empire. I wonder what my son will rule over in his turn?
The silent question shadowed the day; even a father’s eye could not find a true king in Rehoboam. But the boy was young yet—
I must give him time. Time and training
.
But I will not think of that, not here, not this hour. I will not think of the future, or of the past, or of anything but now. Now, when I once again can lie within this garden, and look into a woman’s eyes, and see love shining there.
The sky shone blue as a faience bowl above his head; all about him rose the perfume of the flowers he had brought here. The tower’s height muted all sounds, and beyond the walls he could gaze into the uttermost distance, to the silver haze that veiled the world’s end. Beauty, and silence, and for once, peace. Gifts given, all unwitting, by Bilqis, and her loving heart.
Even without her, all this gives pleasure. And with her here
—Ah, then this rooftop garden was paradise.
Yes, Solomon’s choice proved wiser than Adonijah’s. Thinking his father already within the gates of death, Adonijah chose to hold a great banquet, asking all the princes and all the great men of the court—all save Solomon and those who favored him. And somehow Adonijah had persuaded the high priest Abiathar to anoint him as king.
Joab sat at Prince Adonijah’s table as well. When I told my news to Queen Michal, I thought Joab’s action would be the stone that hit hardest. Instead, her eyes glinted; a smile shadowed her face. Then she kissed me and bade me return to King David’s side. There I sat beside King David’s bed as if I never had left my post until Queen Michal herself came and sent me away.
Sitting silent through the long afternoon, pretending I knew nothing—I was glad, then, to take up a spindle, and busy myself turning thread. Queen Michal was right.
Spinning calmed the hands, and soothed the mind. When all one could do was wait, that was indeed a blessing
.
Their trysts in the tower garden took place by day, during times when each might be assumed by those who sought them to be somewhere else, somewhere chaste and prudent. But today she had received a silent message from Solomon, a gift of a pearl pure and perfect as the full moon folded in a black cloth sewn with spangles of silver. And she had known that for once—perhaps for the only time—they were to share the paradise of night.
This time, when he climbed the stairs to the tower garden, it was she who awaited him. During the long afternoon, she had bathed in water scented with oil of roses; her handmaidens had smoothed ointment perfumed with her own scent of frankincense and amber into her skin and drawn sandalwood combs through her hair until the fragrance clung to the long gleaming strands.
But to Irsiya’s pleas to paint her eyes with malachite and with kohl, to redden her lips, Bilqis shook her head. She merely had Khurrami stroke her throat and the palms of her hands with Abishag’s perfume of roses and cinnamon, touch the scent to her breasts and knees and belly.
Nor would she accept any of the massy gold ornaments Irsiya urged upon her, the rich gems Khurrami wished to twine through her hair. And when Irsiya and Khurrami protested, she said only “No. Tonight Solomon sees the woman who loves him—not the Queen from the South.”
That silenced them. She stood quiet as Irsiya knelt and wound thin chains hung with golden bells about her ankles, as Khurrami draped a cloak of black linen over her. When they were done, they gazed upon her as proudly as if she were a bride and they her doting grandmothers; their eyes glistened bright with unshed tears.
She drew them to her and kissed first Irsiya and then Khurrami in silent thanks. Khurrami pinned the embroidered veil to the cloak, hiding her face; Irsiya held the heelless slippers for her to step into. And then she moved silent from her rooms, from the Little Palace, through the maze of corridors and courtyards to the king’s tower. Cloak and veil concealed her; she moved through the night palace as if she had become a shadow, or a ghost.
When she had climbed the stairs and reached their garden, she unpinned the veil and let it fall from her face, let the cloak slip away. Clad only in the night air, she savored the rising breeze upon her body. To the east, the moon
rose full as the pearl Solomon had sent her; above, the stars blazed across the endless darkness. And below—
She walked slowly across the rooftop to the wall that shaped the limit of their solitude; the golden bells about her ankles chimed low and sweet as she moved through the cool air. Below, Jerusalem crouched like a great beast, tawny-dark; torches and hearth fires flared, wrathful eyes.
This land does not love me; I will be glad to abandon it to its anger. But I will miss its king—no, I will miss Solomon. My dearest love, and my last,
She closed her eyes against pain; and when she opened them again, she turned. Solomon waited there, a shadow among shadows.
 
 
As the moon climbed high, they lay in each other’s arms, warm against midnight’s chill. She cradled him as if he were son as well as lover, and listened as he talked.
For tonight, as if sensing their time grew short, Solomon spoke of the deeds that had brought him here, to this night, and the circle of her arms. He spoke of his mother, and of the queen who had raised him up to be king. And he spoke of guilt, legacy of a child’s grief.
“You know I should never have been king, Bilqis? I had a brother—a good man, a brave man. Even Queen Michal praised him, spoke of him with fondness. His name was Amnon, and he was King David’s eldest son. Amnon was born to be king. And I had a sister, too. Tamar.”
She had heard the tale of Amnon and Tamar as it now was told: rape and murder and war. “There was another brother,” she said, as Solomon paused, remained silent so long she feared he would not go on.
“Yes,” he said. “Absalom. Our father’s favorite, the Lord alone knows why.” He twined his fingers through hers, lifted her hand to his face; she knew he breathed in the scent of cinnamon and roses that clung to her love-warm skin. “Absalom and Tamar shared a mother, Maachah; Amnon was Ahinoam’s son. And Amnon loved Tamar, and she him; they wished to wed.”
“That would have been a good match.” Twice good; a brave prince to please those who swore only men counted in this changing world—and a royal daughter to carry the legacy of the mother, and the past.
Solomon shrugged. “Perhaps. Queen Michal approved; she promised to speak to King David on their behalf, to urge his consent to their marriage. I
loved Tamar and Amnon too. Amnon was always kind, and Tamar gave me a toy horse. Its mane and tail were scarlet wool. I do not know why I remember that.”
“You remember because your sister gave the toy to you, and because you loved her.” She stroked his arm; his muscles strained tense against his skin.
“But Absalom—Absalom hated Amnon, and Tamar too, when she chose Amnon for her lover. He slew them.”
“Yes, my love, I know. The tale is no secret.”
“It was not rape. That was Absalom’s lie.”
“Lies live long, Solomon. Truth—truth is a thing of the heart.” She stroked his hair. “There is more; tell me.”
He told the rest in slow hard words, as if he feared to utter them. “Queen Michal vowed to aid Amnon and Tamar when Absalom stood there too. He had struck Tamar, you see, and Amnon swore to beat him bloody. I listened as Queen Michal and my mother Bathsheba spoke of what had passed, and of how they favored Amnon and Tamar over Absalom, whom they loathed.
“Later that day I taunted Absalom, rejoicing that my brother Amnon and my sister Tamar would be king and queen, and Absalom less than nothing. Absalom told me our father David would never let them wed, and then—and then I said that they must wed, for they already lay together as if they were husband and wife. And that night Absalom went to Amnon’s house and slew them both.
“My words sent him there. My words slew Amnon and Tamar. Amnon should be king today, not I—and Tamar—”
“Might have lain these twenty years dead of bearing her first babe.” She stroked Solomon’s hair, gently, as one comforting a hurt child. “My dear love, do you think their deaths lie at anyone’s feet but Absalom’s? Surely half Jerusalem knew Tamar went to her brother’s house; do you think they all held their tongues? It takes but one unwary word from a servant to send news flying from one ear to the next. You take too much upon your shoulders, Solomon. Remember you are but a man.”
“No, I am a king. And a king must not make such errors.”
She laid her hand upon his cheek. “A king—or a queen—is greater than a man or a woman, and so makes greater errors. We do the best we can, my love. That is all anyone can do. That, and beg our gods for aid.”
“Oh, I have done that too—and you see how well I am repaid for my efforts.” He turned his head; her hand slid away from his cheek. “Ever since I was a small boy, I knew—I
knew
, Bilqis—that I would be king after David. I knew Queen Michal desired it, and she owned the strongest will I have ever known. She was stronger than King David, in the end, or I would not stand here now, bewailing my faults.”
“What you call faults many would vaunt as virtues. You are just, and tolerant, and I do not think I have ever met anyone, woman or man, who cared more that he should do what is right.” She sensed something still troubled him, something that had long gnawed at his heart—sensed, too, that tonight she could breach the last barrier between them.
She looked up at the night’s brilliant sky, and for a moment longed to ask for Ilat’s aid. Then, abashed, she thought,
Can you do nothing for yourself, Bilqis? You know your own heart, and what weighs heavy upon you as guardian of your own people. In this, you are Solomon’s sister; you have suffered as he does. Tonight be clever—no, be loving—and truly know his heart at last
.
“You are silent, queen of my heart,” he said, and she brought her gaze down from the crystal stars and looked into his eyes. He smiled, and brushed back her hair, unveiling her breasts to the night air. “What do you think of, Bilqis, when you gaze up at the stars over King David’s City?”
Now, or never
. “I think of you, Solomon. What is it that truly torments you? You are too wise to tear yourself over long-ago griefs for which you know you are not to blame. Tell me, my love. Tell me, and be free.”
She lay in his arms and counted her heart’s slow beat. When she had counted forty, Solomon spoke at last. “I will tell you, since you ask it, and then you will know what a fool I truly am. Would you know what grieves me? A dream, Bilqis. One I dreamed long years ago, when I was newly king.”
And your Abishag still lived and life stretched before you like a carpet if gold
. “A dream that still troubles you? Perhaps I can interpret it for you, my love. It is one of my duties as Mother of Sheba.”
He smiled and touched a stray curl that spiraled down over her breast. “You seem to have many duties, Bilqis. Have you no pleasures?” Laughter rippled beneath his words; she answered in kind.
“With you, my love, duty is pleasure.”
“So long as pleasure is not duty.”
Her turn to laugh, to touch; she laid her fingertips on the soft skin
beside his mouth. “Tell me your dream, Solomon. A queen commands it.”
“And a king must obey?” Then he sobered and shifted away from her, stared off into the distant heavens. “It was a night like this one, Bilqis. Beautiful and black, but the moon new and the stars so bright they seemed ripe to fall from the sky and burn the world with their fire. Abishag and I came up here to sleep-to rest, to escape, for my father had died and I alone was king, and—”
He fell silent; she finished for him. “—and the crown weighed heavy and all men about you clamored for you to decide this and command that.”
“And then wished to argue my decisions. Yes. So we climbed the tower steps, my wife and I, and I lay with my head in her lap, and for once we were alone and at peace.”
As he spoke, she saw that night as clearly as if time fell away, releasing the past. Solomon, fretted by care and weary almost past sleep, unable to find ease; Abishag, looking not up at the stars in burning glory but down into her beloved’s troubled eyes, her cool hands stroking his aching head … .
Bilqis reached out and gathered Solomon into her arms.
I will care for him, Abishag. I will do what I can. I swear it
. As she made her silent promise, Solomon settled into her embrace, rested his head upon her shoulder. “And you slept,” she said, stroking his hair, “and you dreamed.”
He hesitated, then seemed to shrug, as if what he would say mattered little. “Yes. The Lord came to me as I slept, and asked what gift He should bestow upon me. Riches, honor, long life, victory over my enemies; whatsoever I should ask. And of all things under heaven and upon the earth—of all things, I chose wisdom.”
Again he paused, as if words for once came hard to his tongue. “The Lord proclaimed Himself pleased with me.” Solomon stared up at the river of stars splashed across the midnight sky. “But sometimes I wonder, Bilqis—was it my god who so admired me? Or was it only my own pride?” He groped for her hand and laced his fingers through hers; his skin hot against her cool hand. “That is Solomon’s dream. How do you interpret it? Am I indeed so wise? I thought so once. But there is one thing upon this earth a king cannot obtain, and that is a truthful judgment of his virtues—and his faults.”
“
Speak carefully, sister
.” Bilqis knew the silent voice was Abishag’s; tonight her ghost sat beside them, longing to touch her beloved once more. “You
asked your god for wisdom? Do you remember the very words you spoke to Him?”
“As if I dreamed them an hour since.
Give me an understanding heart, Lord; let me judge aright between good and evil
.”
“And your god promised—?”
“He said He granted me
a wise and understanding heart.
”
“Your god did not lie to you, Solomon; such a heart you have. I have met no man so truly good as you.” But there was more; she did not need the whisper of Abishag’s ghost to tell her that. “How did your dream end, my love?”
For a long span of time he did not answer; she waited, patient, and counted stars. At last he said, “The Lord granted what I had asked of Him. And then He said that He would grant me also that which I had not asked, all a great king could desire in riches and glory and length of days. But as He spoke, He shone bright as polished silver, as a mirror before me. And it seemed to me that I looked upon—”
“Your god?”
“Myself.” Solomon closed his eyes and leaned his head wearily against her breast. “Only myself, Bilqis.”
And you think that means you dreamed a lie, that your god has deserted you. Ah, my love, how many times I have thought the same thing of my goddess, and never has it been true.
She pressed her lips against his forehead, smoothed his night-cooled hair. “Then you have been greatly blessed, Solomon. Few are granted so clear a vision of their god’s favor.”
“How so?”
“At last, a riddle Solomon the Wise cannot answer.” She allowed laughter to ripple beneath her words. “Then it is my turn to reveal truth to you, O great and wise King.”
BOOK: Wisdom's Daughter: A Novel of Solomon and Sheba
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