“King Solomon is here?
Here?”
Tamrin’s voice rose sharp; his hands grasped each other tight as a lovers’ knot. “Has the man no sense? How are we to greet him? Nothing is prepared, nothing!”
“What is good enough for the Queen of Sheba is certainly good enough for King Solomon,” Khurrami said. “And once he sets eyes upon our queen unveiled, doubtless he will not care what foods are spread before him! And never have you failed to supply what our queen needs.” Khurrami smiled
and laid her hand over the chief eunuch’s tight-laced fingers. “You will not fail her now.”
So she had coaxed and cajoled, and as always, the queen’s chief eunuch had managed to create bounteous perfection despite his dark misgivings. The queen’s great pavilion spread over a feast fit for the gods themselves—certainly fit for an unexpected guest, however royal. Roast lamb and baked fish; breads stuffed with spiced cheese; sweet wine; pomegranates, grapes, and apricots so perfect they glowed like warm jewels.
And then there was Bilqis herself. Graceful as a panther, she sat upon a chair of ivory; by her right knee sat her white hound, Moonwind, by her left, her favorite hunting cheetahs sprawled in angular grace. Wide collars set with emeralds circled the beasts’ necks, collars matched by the necklace that adorned the queen’s own throat. She wore few other jewels—a daring choice. But then, Bilqis herself shone like a rare gem—
And if this uncouth king does not have the wit to see her worth, he is a fool—or blind!
“Why do you smile?” Irsiya regarded Khurrami reprovingly; Irsiya, like her brother Tamrin, was ruled by custom and ritual, worried over trifles.
“Because everything under this roof looks just as it should,” Khurrami said, “and because I doubt King Solomon has ever set eyes upon anything half so magnificent.”
“I hope not. But I think the queen should have worn the leopard crown and the emeralds, and the gown sewn with peacock eyes, and—”
“And I think King Solomon would rather see her without any gems or gowns at all.” Khurrami laughed at Irsiya’s indignant frown. “Oh, do not worry so—our queen knows how to handle men—even men from this crude hard land. You will see; she will have only to smile upon him, and this king will give her whatever she desires!”
Banquets are no place for plain speaking. I am glad we first met as we did—alone save for trusted friends.
Solomon regarded the vast pavilion that lay before him, a fantasy of scarlet and indigo, and acknowledged the wealth and will that could create a palace meant to stand for so brief a time. But that the kingdom of Sheba owned great riches was no secret, and luxury had been flaunted at him before. The rich cloth, the gold, the attendants were nothing.
What I wish to see is the Queen of Sheba’s face.
Which was doubtless what the royal guest had intended when she contrived to encounter him upon the road. To intrigue him, to waken curiosity. She had succeeded—even knowing he had been well-played, Solomon could not deny his desire to see the woman who owned those sun-bright eyes.
Of course, her people might veil always—Sheba was a strange land with stranger customs.
But surely a king may look upon the face of a queen?
And then he entered the great pavilion and his question was answered. He paid no heed to the courtiers, the Amazons, the banquet spread down the center of the tent, a river of opulence. He saw only the woman who waited for him upon a throne of ivory. A woman who looked at him with sun-hot eyes.
A woman who smiled upon him, and extended her hand in beckoning welcome. “The king comes to greet me; I am honored.”
Solomon strode forward; when he stood before the queen he hesitated, uncertain whether he was meant to clasp her outstretched hand in his. They did not know each other’s customs, and it would be easy to offend. Before the moment could become awkward, she swept her hand sideways, indicating a second ivory chair set beside hers.
“Please, sit. That you could not wait to greet me gratifies my vanity; now permit me to gratify yours and treat you as my equal.” Laughter danced in her eyes, rippled beneath the solemn words.
Solomon smiled. “Am I not?” he asked, as solemn as she. The queen seemed to ponder the question with great care before answering.
“Oh, here—
yes,
here, I think we are equals. In our own courts—who can say?” She shrugged, the gesture eloquently skeptical, and Solomon laughed, watching to see how she accepted his tribute to her wit. And to his delight, she smiled.
Clever and at ease, free of arrogance. And proud of her wit—rightly so.
A woman worth knowing. Solomon seated himself in the ivory chair beside her, and only then remembered that he had longed to see beyond her veil to discover whether her face was fair to look upon. Now he realized that did not matter; her perfection of face and form was less important than her beautiful mind.
“You have welcomed me to your tent; now it is I who welcome you to my kingdom. You gratify my vanity, for you have traveled far and long to reach me.” Too far, and too long, for this royal visit to have been undertaken to satisfy
mere whim. Only some compelling, urgent matter could have brought this queen here; now Solomon must discover that reason.
“Seeing King Solomon, the journey is forgotten.” Bilqis smiled. “Your fame has spread even to the world’s end, great King. I knew I must look upon your face and hear your wisdom for myself.”
She was richly beautiful, sun-rich, as a ripe peach or a full-blown rose was beautiful. And she was lying to him—
Or say, rather, that she tells me less than truth.
Solomon smiled in his turn. “And the Queen of Sheba journeyed long days and hard miles only to see King Solomon in all his glory?”
She lowered her eyes, then glanced up at him through heavy lashes. “I have heard King Solomon is all that is wise and just. It is well for a queen to seek wisdom; I have come seeking Solomon’s. It is said he can solve the hardest riddles; perhaps he can unravel mine.”
Flattering, but a difficult sweetmeat to swallow. This woman treated him as if he were fool enough to fall before honeyed words and perfumed flesh. He had seen too many beautiful women, heard too many flattering words, to be deceived.
“If you truly believe me wise, why do you treat me as a fool?” he asked, suddenly unwilling to play this too-familiar game. “No one travels half the world to ask riddles. Try again.”
Without moving, she seemed to straighten, no longer subtly yearning. Now she regarded him candidly, eyes intent. “You seek to trade in Sheba’s realm. I would talk of treaties, and of spices, and of profit for us both.”
“No ruler leaves a throne unguarded; rulers send emissaries to speak for them—as I did. Try again.”
This time she smiled. “It is impossible to hide anything from King Solomon’s wisdom. You are right, O King; I have journeyed a thousand miles seeking the answer to a riddle.”
“You need not jest with me, O Queen. Ask freely, and I shall freely grant whatever favor you ask—if I can in honor and wisdom do so.”
“You are as kind and generous as you are wise, King Solomon, and I thank you. But the riddle is mine to solve, and the answer the gods’ to give. Our goddess Ilat has sent me north, to your land; has promised me that what I most desire dwells within your kingdom.” She regarded him gravely, as if weighing his worth, then smiled again. “As you say, a long journey. And since I am here, perhaps we can also speak of trade, and treaties?”
“And try our wits with riddles?”
“If that amuses you.”
“You think your riddles unsolvable?”
“I think them … difficult. At least, men find them so.”
“And women?”
“May have better fortune.” Supple and graceful as a young cat, the queen rose from her ivory throne. “Now if the great king of Israel and Judah will deign to follow where I lead, he will receive the gifts of Sheba from its queen’s hands.”
The Spice Queen had brought gifts so extravagant Solomon could only stare, silent in the face of such generosity. Caskets of frankincense, baskets of pearls, chests of Ophir’s pure gold … any one of which would ransom a king.
Or a queen.
Solomon raised the lid of the nearest gilded basket. Rare black pearls filled the basket; pearls dark as storm clouds, deep as shadows.
Pearls as dusky as my Abishag’s hair … .
Silent, he bent and slid his hand into the black pearls, lifted them to gaze more closely upon their midnight luster.
I have never seen such gems.
Slowly, he let the darkly glowing spheres slip between his fingers to fall back into the gilded basket.
Such riches. Such beauty. I wonder what she wants?
For if Solomon had learned anything during his years as king over the empire his father had carved out of the kingdoms surrounding Israel and Judah, it was that every gift carried a price. The richer the gift, the higher the price.
But to ask in plain words what the Spice Queen wanted so badly she would pay so dearly for it was unthinkable. Protocol must be observed. And so Solomon smiled and said, “The queen honors me beyond my worth. These are gifts fit for the king of all the world.”
“Trifles barely fit for the King of Wisdom’s eyes to glance upon.” Laughter warmed her voice; she smiled, and fine lines creased her silk skin, fanned out from the corners of her eyes and mouth.
She is not afraid to smile, to betray her age.
Solomon smiled back. “Then they are not for me?”
“They must be, for I was told Solomon is the wisest king under the sky.”
“You have been deceived. Now, had you been told I was the wisest king in Israel—”
To his delight, she laughed. “Well, as I have carried these gems and spices all the way from the land of Sheba to lay them at King Solomon’s feet, I suppose I must do so even if he is the most foolish king under the sky.”
“As he would be to spurn such gifts, and such a giver.” Solomon studied the caskets of gems, the gilded boxes of spices, the chests of gold.
Yes, it would take a fool indeed to scorn such riches. Or perhaps a very wise man … .
The queen rose to her feet, graceful as a cat in sunlight. “If Sheba’s tribute to King Solomon’s wisdom finds favor in his eyes, Sheba is pleased.” She held out her hand; henna patterns scrolled over her skin, roses at sunset. Her face revealed only serene pleasure.
“Be pleased, then, and accept King Solomon’s thanks for Sheba’s gifts.” Solomon smiled and took her outstretched hand. The Spice Queen’s generosity was overwhelming; suspect. And now he must somehow offer up gifts that were a match for hers, for it could not be said that King Solomon’s welcome was grudging, his gifts miserly.
Although what I can grant to a queen who comes bearing such a weight in frankincense and gems I do not know. But doubtless she will think of something.