The Legend of Sheba: Rise of a Queen (27 page)

“I did notice. But the tales I had heard of the jealousy of this god . . .”

“We women are difficult to please. And a truly wise man keeps his wives happy. The midwives say they conceive better in sweetness than in bitterness,” she said and laughed then. “At any rate, Israel is inexorably tied to Egypt. But you, Makeda. Do you have sons?”

“No. Much to the chagrin of my chief minister.”

“Ah, the pity. You must soon rectify that. But you are not married, either, I hear. Why do you not marry?” She asked it lightly, a date in her hand.

“Whom should I marry?” I said with a smile.

“Why, a king, of course. My husband.”

I choked out a chuckle. “My kingdom is far away. I do not think I would get many sons that way.”

“You want to know how any woman gets sons here. How I call him ‘husband’ at all when he has so many wives—and that is not counting the nondowered peace wives, the concubines.”

“I had wondered that,” I admitted.

“They don’t all live here. How could they? Some of them have spent only a single night with the king.” She paused, her gaze drifting off. “It isn’t the marriage brides dream of, is it? But you and I know the serenity of nations takes precedence over a woman’s dreams. Even a queen’s. But those who leave are wives of a king and receive many gifts and status in their homelands. And those who live here are safe and comfortable and want for nothing.” She smiled a quiet smile. “But you . . . you may have any man. Saba’s ways are not Israel’s ways—or Egypt’s. Who is to tell you to stay or go? But you should consider the proposal of the king. He is building a fleet of ships and you would not have to make this terrible overland journey to return to his house—or mine.”

“Truly, it is not a consideration. There is no proposal.”

Tashere lifted the date to her lips, forming a perfect O around
it as she bit it in half. “I can only guess at the negotiations between your kingdoms, but I know my husband very well. The proposal will come. If not for Saba’s wealth, then for the beauty in your exquisite face should you ever let him see it.”

I thought again of the invitation to the garden.

She smiled. “But enough of that. Have you tried the king’s wine?”

T
he night the Sabbath ended I went out to my camp to preside over the sacrifice of the dark moon. I did not do this every month even in Saba—had, in fact, less and less of late—but I had made it my excuse and so must be seen going out of the city.

I stayed within my own tent that night, which had been erected in the center of camp with my standards. It was far less comfortable than my apartment in the palace but lying on my blanket that night, I felt more myself than I had since our arrival.

The next morning as the smoke rose over the temple, I sent for Tamrin but was told he had gone on to another city on business.

Short hours after my return to the city, new gifts arrived at my apartment: delicate sesame cakes, brined capers and fresh goat milk for my bath.

The next day I received the softest leather I had ever touched, with a promise that the sandal maker would attend me at my leisure. Again, with the compliments of the king and accepted by me without a word. Later, two of the king’s wives arrived at my apartment—one from Edom and another from Hamath. I received them with food and welcomed them as guests, though it was obvious they had been sent to attend me.

The day after that, Tashere sent the Egyptian girl who had come to me before as a gift for the duration of my stay. I welcomed the girl, who brought with her an ebony and ivory Senet game set that stood
on carved legs like an animal with the tokens stored in a drawer of the body.

The next day, the king’s Ammonite wife, Naamah, sent one of her servants to tend me as well.

Now I knew Tashere’s chief rival among the women.

The gifts continued: wine from the northern mountains. Olive oil and oil of mint. Cucumber and citron, rings for my toes and fingers, wool rugs woven in elaborate patterns. Rose oil for the baths that I seemed to enjoy so much. Finely carved instruments for my musicians, who came to play on my terrace in the afternoon.

This went on until the fifth day. The morning of the sixth, I put on my purple robe and jewels, ready to begin negotiations. I waited all day for the summons to meet.

None came.

Three more days came and went after that.

TWENTY

I
was by now livid. I sent for Niman and Khalkharib, whom I assumed had been wasting in a state of impatient and divine boredom as much as I. But instead of my advisors, one of the steward’s men arrived at my apartment to say they had gone with the king’s brother Nathan to tour the city of Gezer.

“Without taking leave of me?” I demanded.

“The king assured them that you were occupied with matters in the city, and that they must go on your behalf and report all that they saw with their own eyes to you,” the man said. This, from not even the king’s steward himself!

The moment he was gone I stormed out to the terrace. The girls played endlessly at Senet, obsessed with the morbid game about the journey of the dead. The Egyptian girl, whose name was Nebt, seemed to put near-religious faith in the game as a practical indicator of the gods’ favor—and apparently they favored Shara, who won consistently as soon as she had learned it. Yafush, who knew how to play, would not take part as he stood with crossed arms, though he was not beyond raising a brow or pursing his lips when one of the girls looked to him for direction.

“Ah, the House of Three Truths!” Nebt cried after throwing the
sticks.

I knew three truths, I thought sourly. One, that the king was trying to shun or aggravate me into meeting him in the most compromising manner. Two, that my trusted advisors were conveniently gone, having ridden off like boys at first mention of forts and horses. Even Asm had said that he intended to seek out the priests of Asherah, whom he said some regarded as the consort of the Israelite god. Apparently he had become a scholar since our arrival, set upon studying the divining methods of others.

Three, that I would not be outwitted.

I looked out on the city’s myriad rooftops, comparing options like the houses around me. I could confide in Tashere. But even though I liked her and she had proclaimed as I left that she knew we had been destined to be friends—“perhaps even sisters”—I knew that any court was like the ocean: smooth and blue on the surface, its depths filled with monsters conspiring to devour one another.

I could try to befriend one of the king’s advisors and enlist his advocacy. But who was I to them but one more queen within the king’s walls with foreign gods outside it?

I could send for Namaanh, Tashere’s rival. Nebt had openly confirmed that Namaanh had a son a year younger than Tashere’s, favored by the king. I found that interesting—wasn’t the dread child eater Molech Namaanh’s god? But I was not eager to be drawn into their schemes against one another. Nor could I afford to lower myself to it.

Behind me, Shara groaned as she lost a pawn. A stick throw later, she had won.

I was left with only one option.

Below on the street just then, a man in mean clothing stopped beneath the terrace. Looking up at me, he shouted, “Foreign queens! Foreign gods! In the holy city of the anointed one!”

I drew back, astounded at this. Had the man just threatened me? Even when I fell out of sight I could hear him ranting as one mad.

I leaned out over the balcony again to find the man staring directly up at me. Our gazes locked, his filled with righteous fury. And then he began to mutter again and went on toward the temple. I watched him go all the way to the gate and turn around. This time when he passed beneath my terrace, he seemed to have forgotten me. But neither did he go back down the street the way he had come, but disappeared, ostensibly, into the palace below.

“Shara,” I said, summoning her to the terrace.

She got up reluctantly, Nebt having already called for a rematch.

“Make me beautiful,” I said.

TWENTY-ONE

I
would be a liar if I said I hadn’t paid attention to the corridors as I had traveled the laughable distance to Tashere’s apartment. I had seen the guards standing at the foot of the narrow back passage. It had haunted me every day since.

I brushed past the guards outside my chamber, Yafush in my wake, and walked down the corridor as one entitled. And why not? I was the queen of Saba.

And yet it felt like a shame-filled walk, as though I skulked through shadows. I fastened my veil more tightly.

When I came to the narrow passage I stopped before the two guards. They looked past me as though not seeing me. I stepped beyond them and looked back. They did not acknowledge, let alone challenge, me.

“Do you know who I am?” I said, moving back to confront one of them.

The man looked away.

“Do you know who I am?” I said again.

The guard blinked, looking somewhere over my head.

“The sun is in my eyes,” he said. “And at night, the moon.”

“And so you do not see me. How clever. Did your master bid you say so?”

“The sun is in my eyes,” he said again. “And at night, the moon.” And then he looked at me. “The queen goes where she will. She is a ghost. Or I am.”

I pitied him then. I did not know the penalty for armed men who disobeyed in this land but suspected it was quite universal. I slipped a ring from my finger—the smallest one, a thing of the tiniest consequence—and gave it to him.

“You are right,” I said.

I laid a hand against Yafush’s arm then.

“You cannot follow me,” I said softly.

He frowned. “Say that only when you are prepared to cross into the afterlife, Princess.”

I leaned over and touched my cheek to his.

And then I confronted the stair.

I took them slowly, pretending for the sake of the guards to be weighted down with the train of my gown. In truth, the last eight days had been longer to me than the six months it took to get here. I glanced back once at Yafush standing broadly across the bottom stair, all but blocking it, his eyes on me.

Earlier this afternoon when Shara brought out my gowns, I had chosen one the color of rubies. The fabric had come with the ships from Hidush just last year. Ruby. A hard and unyielding stone, my mother said once.