“And do you believe the gods teach secret knowledge, Tamrin of Gabaan?”
“They say it of all sovereigns, do they not?” he said with a smile. “I admit I do not understand his god. But I do know he is hungry for the riches and rare goods of the world.”
“Is there a king who isn’t?”
“Ah, but this one has wealth to buy it. Wealth to rival even Saba’s own.”
I laughed, the sound ringing out over the dais. Beside Tamrin, Wahabil smiled politely, fatigue around his eyes. Overseeing this banquet had taxed him sorely. I would find a way to reward him—with some rest, if nothing else.
“Every trader is also a storyteller. I see now why you are accused of exaggeration.”
He acquiesced with a slight bow.
“And yet we both know only Babylonia and Egypt rival Saba in wealth,” I said. “But even the Egyptians must trade everything down to the new wigs they are so fond of to buy our myrrh.”
Wahabil chuckled, and Tamrin, too, though he seemed to be studying me from behind that courtly veneer.
“The Israelite has brokered powerful alliances with Egypt.”
“Has he.”
“He’s married Pharaoh’s daughter and received the city of Gezer at the crossroads of the Sea Road and King’s Highway as dowry. And so he controls trade into Egypt to his south and Phoenicia to the north.”
I tilted my head. It was not the practice of Pharaohs to marry off their daughters—only to accept foreign princesses for their royal sons. What did their Pharaoh see in an upstart king that caused him to disregard Egypt’s political pride?
A soft cough from Wahabil. Beyond him, the guests had nearly finished eating.
“Come with me,” I said, rising. My guests hurriedly got to their feet. “We will soon see about Egypt for ourselves.”
I gestured for the two men to join me as I led my retinue out to the palace gardens. Gasps flew up from the first guests to emerge behind us. The grounds, lit by a thousand lanterns, had been transformed. Great swaths of indigo gauze billowed the length of the garden, dissecting it east and west, flowing like waves in the evening breeze.
West of the indigo straits, civets and lions gazed languidly from cages beneath fruit trees. Ostriches roamed within a large enclosure and songbirds chirruped in competition with parrots from an arboretum the size of my private audience chamber. Tethered to a locust tree: the white and black zebra. Gold shimmered in thin discs strung from one acacia tree to the next. Dark-skinned servants lowered platters of flatbread onto tables filled with bowls of fish in turmeric sauce, lamb and lentil stew, crumbled cheese and spiced greens. The delicacies of Punt.
North of “Punt,” pyramids as high as five men rose up against a scrim disc lit from the back side by a candelabra of torches so that it shone like the rising of Ra. Naked slaves in black woolen wigs and faience collars waited on the bank of the River Nile before the temple of Isis to serve pitchers of Egyptian beer. It surpassed even my meticulous instruction; I noted with delight the papyrus swaying in the evening breeze at the edge of the artificial river, the barge as large as a litter that drifted lazily upon it.
The entire eastern half of the garden was a series of oases—those caravan stops of Yathrib, Dedan, and Tema along the incense road. Camels of the best bloodlines grazed, hobbled beneath date palms, chewing their cud out of spitting range. Three white she-camels had been couched between black tents, the flaps of which had been tied open to reveal broad and brightly woven rugs boasting platters of fish and spring onions, pickled vegetables, and exotic eggs of varying colors and sizes. Several fiercely dressed servants, in more finery than any true Wolf of the Desert would deign to wear, waited to welcome my “traveler” guests.
Everywhere, there were dancers—stomping the ground in Punt or balancing pots on their heads in the oases—and musicians playing hand drums, ouds and the sistrums of Egypt.
A great gold cauldron stood near the entrance, full of frankincense pearls. And in the middle of the “Red Sea,” an island with an alabaster throne so identical to that in the palace hall—even down to its ibex-hooved feet and the leopard pelt draped over its arm—that pointing guests wondered aloud by what means it had been spirited here so swiftly.
I clapped, and the musicians fell silent.
“We have come down from the heavens as the very gods,” I said, “to sail across the Red Sea to Ophir. There, to inspect the gold and exotic wildlife of Punt, to sample her delicacies to the music of her birds. Or perhaps you will travel north to Egypt to drink Pharaoh’s beer, burn your offering of incense before Isis, and pray Ra rises again. Or, if you prefer, set forth this side of the sea with the caravans, through Dedan and Yathrib, all the way to Palmyra!”
I moved to the cauldron and scooped out a handful of frankincense with one of many waiting silver cups. “But do not forget to take with you the best of Saba if you expect to carry away the gold of Punt, the favor of Ra, or the hospitality of the oases! Swear by the gods of each place you visit and make offerings so sweet that even they must turn a wistful eye to Saba and sing her praises. Saba and Almaqah, over all!”
The echoed cry filled the night, and I glanced heavenward at the white disc of the moon.
Elated ululations and revelry overtook the garden. Even my council members joined in with the enthusiasm of younger men as the music began again.
I glanced back at the trader in triumph and was not disappointed. He laughed with pleasure as my guests collected their incense before wandering off in search of distant delights.
He leaned in, not so far as to arouse the ire of my eunuch, but close enough that I could hear him when he murmured, “Truly, my queen, you command wonders.”
“Thank you for your gift,” I said.
“Perhaps another evening you will indulge a simple trader his tales before my caravan turns north, and instruct me what tales I should carry with me. Though for my telling of this night, I will surely be called a liar. Until then, I beg you to call upon me if there is any way I may prove the loyalty of Gabaan and of Tamrin the trader to you. Gabaan loyalty, once given, is staunch. Perhaps one day you will give me the honor of proving it.”
I considered him sidelong, the straight line of his nose, the way the skin crinkled around his eyes. Eyes accustomed to squinting into the sun.
“I will.”
That night, as I ascended my garden throne, my mind was not in Punt, Egypt, or the oases, or on the guests pinching the slave girls before drunkenly wading into the Nile.
I found myself considering a corner of the grounds untouched by the light of the farthest lantern. A stretch of land north of the Tema oasis, beyond even Edom, a world away.
Israel. The name rolled through my mind like a word tasted on the tongue. I searched for the trader in the melee of guests but could not find him. Tamrin’s stories were obviously as polished as his court manners. But no kingdom half a century old could wield such influence or boast such wealth as he claimed. No sovereign could be so favored by the ever-fickle gods.
Hours later, when I finally proclaimed the journey ended and Saba wealthier than ever, and the last of the gold discs and Egyptian scarabs and bolts of brightly colored cloth from the Indus Valley had been given to the guests, and a thousand parcels of grain each containing a silver cup had been distributed to those in the courtyard, I retired to my chamber. Waving an exhausted Shara to bed, I sat down on my sofa with my new scroll, noting the Phoenician lettering, the finely penned Aramaic.
I read past dawn, long into morning.
SEVEN
“Tell me,” I said, from the seat in my private chamber. “What conceit is this?” Here, I had begged my father not to give me to Sadiq. And here, I had asked him to send me away. How much had changed.
Tamrin rose from his bow, clearly surprised. “My queen?” Once again he was plainly adorned, the cuff on his wrist and neatly trimmed beard his only ornaments, his hair held back in a simple leather thong. Across the room, Yafush stood near the door, gol
d gleaming from nose and neck, imposing and still and beautiful as an obsidian statue. How different two men could be!
Shara poured wine and I sat back in the carved chair as he took the customary sip, clearly perplexed over the rim of the cup.
“Have you read the scroll you gave me?” I said.
Tamrin’s brows lifted. “I—have not. Well, only a portion. The king’s writings are sometimes cited in the Israelite court.”
“I see.”
I had wanted to burn the scroll last night, this collection of sayings so clearly influenced by other, mostly Egyptian, proverbs. That was how it was done with wisdom writings such as these and I grudgingly admitted it was a clever compendium, if not especially revelatory. But his proverbs were not what had offended me.
“How long has this king been on his throne?”
“Ten years, my queen, if not eleven. But I beg you, what has offended you so?”
“There are two songs included here by this king.”
I reached for the scroll on the ivory table beside me, lifted it, and read: “ ‘In his days may the righteous flourish, and peace abound, till the moon be no more.’ ” I glanced up at him.
“Ah, my queen,” he said with what seemed like relief. “I assure you he means no slight against your god. Many gods are worshipped on the fringe of his city by his wives and their households.”
“Are you certain?” I continued before he could answer: “ ‘May he have dominion from sea to sea and from the river to the ends of the earth! May desert tribes bow down before him and his enemies lick the dust! May the kings of Tarshish and of the coastlands render him tribute . . .’ ” I lifted my gaze from the scroll, fastened it on him. “‘May the kings of Sheba and Seba bring gifts.’”
Did he pale where he stood?
“I’m well aware that my kingdom is called ‘Sheba’ by unschooled tongues. Is this not so?”
“It is as you say.”
“And where is ‘Seba’?”
He hesitated. “Punt, my queen.”
My stare turned stony. He immediately fell into a deep bow as I skipped ahead once more.
“ ‘For he delivers the needy . . . pity on the weak . . . Long may he live . . . May gold of Sheba be given to him!’ ”
I threw the scroll at his feet.
“My queen, I profusely apologize. I was not aware—”
“This is recorded as the prayer of David son of Jesse,” I said flatly. “Who is that?”
“That is the king father of Solomon.”
“That is what they call him? ‘Son of Jesse’?”
He straightened. “Yes. The king’s father was not born to a royal family.”
“How then,” I said, droll, “does one become king?”
He pursed his lips for a moment. “He was chosen by one of their prophets from the sons of Jesse. He was a shepherd . . . and the youngest son.”
My laughter rang out through the chamber.
“And now the shepherd’s son is this great and wealthy king.” I glanced at Shara, who covered what I imagined to be a rare smile as though she were not veiled.
“Yes.” The trader spread his hands. “His father was an unlikely king. But this is the lore: that he was a war champion. A bandit many of his days, and a killer of men. It was he who united these tribes of Israel.”
Our own rulers were unifiers of tribes. Even today, my people called me mukarrib—“unifier”—after the tradition of my grandfather, who knit the four great kingdoms into one, Saba over them all.
“So this shepherd king’s prayer is that Saba should bring gold to his son.”
“My queen, Saba’s wealth is legendary. It is a compliment to your kingdom that the former king wished his son to be held in so much esteem.”
“Come, Tamrin, let us speak frankly now.”
He stood back as I stepped down from the dais and moved toward a low sofa. I gestured Tamrin to the one adjacent, affording him the status of a councilor.
“Ten years on the throne. Eleven, perhaps, you say,” I began, as Shara set a plate of dates before us.
“Yes, my queen.”
“His wife is the daughter of the Pharaoh. But it is well known the Pharaoh is weak.”
“His first wife.”
“How many does he have?” I lifted my cup. My own father had kept several concubines himself.
“I’m not certain of the number. Perhaps two hundred at last count.”
With an effort, I did not sputter.
He smiled slightly. “It is true. The Pharaoh’s daughter brought him Gezer. The Ammonite bride, control of the King’s Highway from the Red Sea all the way to Damascus. There are many of these, including concubines from the twelve tribes of his nation, and wives from the vassal states of Moab, Edom, Aram, Hamath, Zobah, Canaan, the Hittites, and the Amalekites.”
“Is every account of this man so grossly exaggerated—from his lands to his wealth to his wives?” This time, when I looked at him, I almost stared. How had I not noticed until now that his eyes were a very dark blue?
The trader shook his head slightly. “I fear not. I have seen his capital and the construction of his temple, and his fortifications of the cities where his garrisons control the roads from the Euphrates to the Sinai and from the Red Sea to Palmyra. With control over the trade routes passing through Gezer, he is also the middleman in the trade of horses and chariots between Anatolia and Egypt.”
My eyes narrowed.
“They call him the Merchant Prince,” he continued. “He has a taste for every luxury, every exotic good and animal.”
“And women, apparently.”
“Apparently,” he said, with a slight smile.
“Why have I heard so little of him or his father, if he is so very powerful and so very wealthy?” I had heard something of the brigand king David years ago, but that was all.
“Few caravans go so far north, often taking their goods only as far as the oasis at Dedan, where they are purchased by other traders. My father has made the full journey of months to Edom and Jerusalem several times, and I, twice, and I have seen these things for myself. Your father had dealings with this king—indeed, he sent the myrrh for the burial of the king’s beloved mother as she grew infirm. On my last trip, I learned she had gone to the shadow world.”
I considered the man before me again, carefully taking in the lapis of those eyes and the fine lines around them, the wide bow of his upper lip, the slender fingers of his calloused hands. I had been right to think that this was the kind of man who must proclaim Saba’s commercial might to the rest of the world. I noted the way he had not lounged fully, his feet on the floor yet, a man grounded, never quite fully unguarded.
Or a man who tolerated courtly life with seeming ease, but only for as long as he must.
“You left my banquet early,” I said.
He inclined his head. “I am a humble trader not at home with luxury. Forgive me.”
I plucked at an imaginary string on my sleeve. “What did my father receive in return for this queen’s burial incense? I assume the king’s mother was a queen, and not some shepherdess.”
“The king’s thanks and favorable terms.”
“The king’s . . . thanks.”
“Yes, and favorable trade terms. My queen,” Tamrin said, leaning toward me, “I will take north such tales of your kingdom, of your wealth and the loyalty of your people. Tell me what else you desire . . . and I will do it.”
Did I perceive wrongly, or did those eyes hold promises within them, the faintest smolder? My gaze lit on the back of his hand, traveled the line of his wrist to the strong forearm, corded beneath the skin.
I leaned back against the cushions.
“You understand my purpose. Then understand this: I want our language and gods and the exploits of our water engineers carried north beyond Phoenicia. I want the world to hear of our dam and canals and the breeding of our camels. And the twin paradises of Marib that are our oases, and the walled city our capital, and her
many-storied houses.”
“And the beauty of her queen?”
I quirked a smile, amused. “You have never laid eyes on my face.”
“Nevertheless, when I tell the tale of you, my queen, I will be accused of exaggerating as much as you have accused me in my telling of Solomon. But why do you want the world to hear of Saba’s marvels? It cannot be for mere right to boast.”
“You are right. But boast we must. I want to lure the world’s most educated sages and skilled artisans to my capital. I am longing for the day when bronze workers and builders from Phoenicia and astronomers from Babylonia and textile workers with the secret of silk from the edge of the east flock to Saba for our abundance, and because their knowledge will be richly rewarded here.”
He drew in a slow breath. “Ah, and now I see. And so I will see to it that Saba is spoken like the name of a god, with mystery and wonder . . . and the name of her queen, as a goddess.”
I laughed then, and it was a very different sound from that of earlier.
“I expect that you will soon receive many gifts from Egypt now that the rains are over,” Tamrin said, watching me. His eyes drifted down my veil.
“Egypt’s golden days are behind her,” I said.
“But her Libyan mercenaries grow more powerful by the day. Egypt has lost Nubia, but she will soon be a new and more militant kingdom.”
“We have always had good relations with Egypt. But the priests rule Egypt now. We will send gifts to the temples in Thebes.”
“As you say, my queen. These visions will be costly.”
“Yes, and you will stand to profit. I will make you rich—richer than you are,” I said. Only a man of means with nothing to prove would dress in such plain quality and carry himself so well. “But now tell me: what gods does this king Solomon worship?”
“The god of his forefathers.”
“Which is?”
“They call him ‘the God That Is,’ the ‘I Am.’ ”
I raised a brow.
“What is the god’s name?”
“It is a god with an unpronounceable name. The god they believe to be over all gods.”