The Sons of Isaac (45 page)

“My lord, the woman is beautiful beyond anything I have ever seen, but she has one terrible flaw that spoils everything.” Here again he paused as though dreading to tell what he knew.

“Come, come, we’re waiting to hear it,” Solomon urged while his son Rehoboam and the other men insistently joined in.

Badget, being a salesman first and a storyteller second, held up his hands for quiet. “First let me serve you. What do you wish to buy. When you have bought what you want, then I’ll tell you of the flaw.”

Knowing Badget, Solomon quickly declared his choice. “I’ll take this goblet of horn. I’m sure there’ll never be another quite like it.”

Once the king had made his choice and declared that was all he wanted, the others quickly picked out items, and within the hour, Badget was waving to his men to pack up all that was left.

“Now, the Hopoe will tell us of the flaw in the beautiful new queen of Sheba.” Solomon was absentmindedly twirling the glowing horn in his right hand and holding the monkey with his left so he couldn’t reach it. Badget came and knelt before the king. “It’s late, my lord, my camels are waiting at the Fountain Gate.”

“Then tell it quickly.” There was a note of impatience in the king’s voice, and Badget was not one to trifle with such a tone.

“If I had not seen it with my own eyes, my lord …”

“Yes, yes, we have heard that before. What did you see, Badget?”

“My lord, I am just a poor merchant. I was brought before the queen because they said I had slipped by the guards without paying the usual tribute …”

“We don’t need to hear all the details of how you saw the queen. I’m sure you would be one to slip by without paying tribute if you could. What is the flaw?”

“My lord, she was sitting on a throne of alabaster. Her hair fell down beneath her crown like the waterfall at Ein Geddi and her hands were like small jeweled fans, but as I raised myself from kneeling, her gown lifted slightly and I saw her feet. My lord, they were hooves like a donkey’s feet. The queen has the feet of a donkey.”

A loud gasp of astonishment went round the room, and in the confusion, Badget flung the last pack over his shoulder and disappeared.

T
he palace of Bilqis, the queen of Sheba, was nestled in among Tolok trees and palms. It rose out of this greenness with its stone walls and pillars whitewashed to a startling brilliance. The broad steps were of alabaster, as were its floors and rounded openings. Some called it the Alabaster Palace.

Formal gardens filled every space within the walls that surrounded the palace. These gardens were kept constantly green by the steady flowing of water through the irrigation ditches. The same water poured out of ornate fountains and spilled over into pools cut in the hard rock. Peacocks furled their plumes as they strutted picturesquely under the trees, and tigers and panthers glowered from cages fastened into the walls.

Inside the palace one was first impressed by the soft light pouring through the fretted openings of alabaster. It rested at various times of the day on different portions of the dusty old tapestries, gleamed from gold javelins and shields, and spilled out over worn rectangles of alabaster that formed the floors. This was made even more striking by the general darkness of the whole interior. The palace seemed to be filled with huge, unwieldy storage chests, screens, and oversized, rusted brass incense burners.

Even the throne was enormous and ugly. It was raised off the floor by a series of tiers covered in black ebony. Tradition said that it had been carved out of alabaster at some far distant time by workmen who first worshiped the bull-shaped moon god. A bull’s head with red ruby eyes glared from its back while each armrest was the bull’s foreleg and ended in crudely carved hooves.

In short, the palace still bore the firm imprint of the old king. It even smelled more of musk and stale beer than of the rose petals the queen had ordered strewn across the floors. Her own rooms and bed chamber were oppressive. The huge bed with its curtains, the carved chests for the royal robes, the old wooden stand with openings stuffed with documents, and the ever-present scribe’s desk took up most of the space.

The Egyptian maid complained that she had only large baskets in which to store the queen’s cosmetics, and the collection of gold shields that had been the old king’s pride left no room for the silver mirrors that she had brought with her from Egypt.

The one redeeming feature was the bank of latticed windows that let in the fresh breeze and opened onto a balcony shaded by some ancient vines. On this day the shutters were open, giving a lovely view of the distant mountains and the stonework of the great dam that made the greenness of this valley possible. It was a lovely sight, but it was completely wasted on the queen.

“I’ll not have him,” Bilqis said as she impatiently snatched the carved ivory comb from her attendant and began pulling it through her thick hair with short quick strokes.

“Your highness,” her Egyptian maid wailed, “you’ll spoil the effect.”

“You’re making me look like a silly bride and I am not a bride. I am the ruler of Sheba.” With both hands she grabbed up fistfuls of hair and pulled. “I may yet have this all shaved off like the queens of Egypt.”

Immediately there were wild shrieks of dismay as all of her ladies fluttered around her pleading that she not do such a thing to her beautiful hair. The Egyptian maid began to cry, and at this crucial moment there was the sound of a door slamming and hurried footsteps along the outer hall.

“What’s the trouble? I heard screaming.” An old woman dressed in black with a red turban holding her gray hair in place stood like an avenging eagle viewing the scene.

“Now she’s threatening to … to shave her head … cut her hair.” The Egyptian beautician had fallen to her knees and tears were coursing down her cheeks while the young maidens were huddled together speechless.

Bilqis turned and smiled at the old woman. “Najja, they are trying to make me beautiful, and I must be like a vulture or no one will obey me.” She let go of her hair and made her face as ugly as possible, all the time looking in the clouded brass mirror to see the effect.

The Egyptian turned to old Najja. “It’s impossible for her to shave her head. In Egypt the crown is not like this. It fits the head and hair is not necessary.”

“Of course the trouble is not the crown or the hair; it’s the bridegroom that’s waiting. Am I right?” Najja’s voice was soft and tender and its effect on Bilqis was to melt her stiff facade.

“Go, all of you. Go and leave me with Najja,” Bilqis said as she patted her hair back in place and held her mirror so it caught the image in the larger, highly polished brass tray now held by Najja.

“I haven’t finished the hair,” the Egyptian wailed, wringing her hands. “It’ll be a disgrace.”

“Don’t worry,” Bilqis said, as she impulsively handed her mirror to the Egyptian and turned to look in the larger mirror. “I’ll pull a lock on each side like this, arrange the gold ornaments on my forehead spilling down the sides, then the crown will fit nicely around the top.” All the time she was talking she was busy twisting, tying, and adjusting. “There, I am ready without all the fuss,” she said finally. “Now go. All of you. I must see Najja for a few moments.”

They backed from her presence, their eyes on the floor until they were a respectful distance, and then they turned and fled through the curtained doorway. They were still not used to a woman’s being both king and queen.

“Go Najja. Follow them and see that no one remains listening at the door.”

Najja pulled the heavy tapestry aside and nodded. Only the usual guards were there.

“Good, then we have a few minutes.”

“You know your uncle is growing impatient. He has been waiting in the formal reception room all morning,” Najja said.

“I’ll not marry my cousin. They can’t force me. I’m the ruler now.”

“But my dear …”

“I know. They have all argued and pled. They say I’ve been queen for three years and it’s time I think about a consort and an heir.”

“Well, it is the usual thing.”

“They have tried every argument imaginable. Some say I will anger the old earth gods, others warn that if I have no child, at my death the strongest man will take over. Already they are worrying about my death.” Bilqis pulled back the jewels that dripped from her headdress. “Najja, I need my earrings,” she said laughing.

“These?” Najja held a golden orb on each outstretched palm.

Bilqis nodded and went on explaining. “You should have seen our High Priest; he prophesied before all the wise men and counselors that if I didn’t marry, my line would be like a desert well left untended until the sand blew over it and it became as though it had never existed.”

“What he says is true. Do you find your cousin so repulsive then?”

“He’s a braggart, a proud peacock with no understanding. He wants the throne of Sheba, the gold of her rich mines, the caravans and revenues. He pictures himself sitting on my golden throne wearing my ruby crown. He is no different from all the other kings and ambassadors that have come pledging their love and affection. They don’t want me, they want my throne.”

“He’s handsome and he’s from your family.”

“If he were like my father it would be different, but he’s a fool.”

“Come, look through the peephole at him. See how fine he is.” Najja went to the wall and pulled back a hanging to reveal a well-placed viewing hole. Bilqis saw her cousin Rydan. He was pacing the floor. Back and forth he went while all the time his jeweled hands held a rolled parchment that he thumped impatiently against his other hand.

It was obvious his turban was of the finest material and his beard carefully trimmed, but his eyes were like hard bits of flint. His mouth was set in a firm, defiant line.

The ornate reception room with its old swords and shields of brave men long dead decorating the wall and gathering dust was now full of the men from her family and tribe. They were all well dressed, perfumed, and sophisticated. Rydan’s father, Hammed, was sitting bolt upright in the middle of a divan that stretched along the back wall. His large stomach filled the rich robe he wore and hid his belt completely. His eyes were wide open with that look of alertness that made one think he was very intelligent.

“See how eager they are to get their hands on my throne,” Bilqis said as she let the hanging drop. “It must not happen. Another man I could divorce or banish, but a cousin never. He could do as he pleased and I would be at his mercy.”

“But he is of your father’s blood.”

“He is not at all like my father. He is ambitious. I don’t trust him.”

“Is there anyone you do trust?”

Bilqis smiled and reached out to take the old nurse’s hands.

“You. I trust you. You were the first person I remember. I held your finger to take my first step and you always tasted my food to be sure I wouldn’t be poisoned. Then, the priests—I trust them also. They know very well that if a man were king he would insist on the priestly crown as well as the royal crown. All the old kings did.”

Najja began to wring her hands nervously. “Be careful my dear. You are all alone. No father, no mother, and the whole tribe is plotting a marriage to your cousin. How can you stand against them?”

Bilqis motioned for Najja to hold the mirror again. She wet a finger and polished one of the jewels in the crown. “It is a bit big for me, but I’ll wear it as my father would have wished. I’ll be my father’s son.” With both hands she steadied it on her head, and then gathering up her robes, she told Najja to go alert the house guards. “I’ll go surrounded by my own men and the priests. They’ll not disappoint me.”

Hours later she returned to the same room exhausted but with a glow of triumph about her. She had won a partial victory, and it was reflected in the new respect her maidens gave her. Their eyes looked at her with some of the awe usually reserved for images in the temple.

“My jewels, Nimba,” she said holding out her arms and letting her bracelets slide into the girl’s waiting hands. “My headpiece,” she said motioning to the Egyptian as she sat down on the large cushion in the middle of the room. She reached up and took the crown from her head and held it lightly in her arms as the Egyptian removed the gold filigree with the coins.

Later as she lay within the gathered curtains on her bed, Najja came to take any last request. “You still have the crown?” she questioned, as she saw it cradled in her arms.

“The crown will sleep with me tonight. It’s not fickle like a man.”

“You have a very bad impression of men, I’m afraid.”

“Not all men. But it was so obvious what my uncle wanted and what my cousin lusted for—not me. I assure you it was not me. I know that for all his nice talk once he has the agreement signed and I’m his, everything will change. He’ll see that I have breasts and buttocks like any other woman and he’ll set out to dominate me. I’ve been given a little more time and I’m determined to think of something.”

“Then it’s simple. Pick a weak man.”

Bilqis sat up and hugged the crown more tightly. “I’ve heard that even the weakest sort of man becomes a strutting cock when he’s had his way,” she said. “Anyway, I’m not one to be taken by a weak man. I must give myself, and I can only give myself to one who’s strong.”