Queen of Sheba (18 page)

At this Badget straightened up and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I just wonder what’s going on up there. If you don’t mind I’ll sleep down here with the camels tonight.”

E
arly the next morning when the queen’s caravan was preparing to swing out onto the old trade route going north, there was an air of impending doom hanging over everyone. No one talked, and it was observed that even the camels were skittish and out of sorts. They refused to move and had to have their tails twisted, their lead ropes pulled, and their riders’ heels dug in hard before they would stand. It was nothing new for the camels to complain in harsh, guttural sounds, but for them to engage in such total rebellion was noted as a very bad omen.

There had been one other bad omen that really disturbed Bilqis. When she had returned to the camp, she was told that a lamb and a ewe had been carried off just after dark by wolves. They had all heard the dogs barking but no other sound. Only in the morning did they discover the prints of a male wolf near where they had heard the dogs while a female’s prints were on the opposite side of the tents. With the female prints was a clear marking in the sand of something having been dragged.

“There’s the evidence,” one of the bedouin drivers exclaimed pointing at the telltale marks.

“Surely you would have heard the bleating of the ewe,” Bilqis interjected.

“My queen,” the rough, unkempt bedouin offered respectfully, “it’s well known that a sheep when frightened makes no sound at all; goats are different. If it had been a goat, there would have been a terrible ruckus. Wolves leave the goats alone.”

With a sharp awareness of the fear and gloom that hung over the caravan, Bilqis let her eunuchs help her into the howdah and then ordered the caravan to proceed.

The stars were out in a magnificent array of brilliance with only the wind, light and fresh, to remind them that dawn was on its way.

Usually Bilqis enjoyed this early morning time, but with Il Hamd’s predictions of disaster still lurking in the dark corners of her mind, she
wasn’t able to think of much else. She was determined not to be persuaded to go back, but then she had to admit there must be constant vigilance, “just in case.”

The camel drivers sang as usual but instead of the rousing, joyful songs, they now sang songs that were wild and sad, rising and falling in semitones.

The whole day was filled with fearful anticipation of some fatal accident, some evil band of raiders or a desert storm stirred up by the Jinn or the envious gods of this strange country.

Late that night they reached the camp chosen for them near some wells. The tents were already pitched. The evening meal consisting of cracked wheat stewed in broth and young spring lambs roasted on a spit gave the day its final touch of well-being. No Jinn had struck and no strange gods had taken revenge. “The queen has luck like her father” was the whisper that went round the campfires that night.

For any sheik or king there were three requirements. He must be courageous, a leader, and have an unusual quantity of luck. To most of them the third quality was the most important, and they had not expected to find it in a woman.

Bilqis went to sleep relieved that Il Hamd’s predictions of disaster had not materialized. They were now well into the strange new country of the desert tribes and no evil had befallen them.

She slept soundly, and before she knew it dawn was breaking over the vast emptiness of sand and scrub. Close by there was the sound of a woman half humming and singing the age-old leben-making songs. She could plainly hear the steady, dull thumping sound of the goatskin hanging from a tripod being swung back and forth in the ancient process of making leben. Then there were whispered orders and the soft padding of bare feet going out into the paling moonlight to gather bits of kindling and dried nettles. There would be warm bread, leben, and honey to eat before they set out on the well-worn track to the famous trading center called Mecca.

Bilqis enjoyed watching the goathair tent swell and lower like a living thing in the morning breeze. The dividing curtains moved with the hypnotic swaying motion of the tent poles. Beyond them in the next section she knew her maidens were all bedded down on straw mats.

She thought of the long way they had already come. Her pleasant valley with the great dam, Ilumquh’s temple, and her alabaster palace all seemed far away and almost unreal. There must be something of the roving nomad in her veins, she thought. How unfortunate it would have been to have listened to Il Hamd and turned back. Now they had safely passed over into the far country and no Jinn had struck, no harm had come to them.

She watched the tent’s slow undulation that moved almost in time to the leben-maker’s song, and before she knew it she had drifted off again into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Several weeks later the caravan pitched camp outside the town of Mecca and immediately the dignitaries who had been anxiously awaiting the queen’s arrival proferred their invitations. Mecca had many rich merchants, and they all vied for the privilege of entertaining the queen of Sheba. Some had huge feasts in her honor, others staged feats of daring and dexterity by local entertainers. Two times she went in full royal array to the Great Temple.

There in an oval courtyard had been assembled hundreds of sacred stones and images. Most had strange stories associated with them of battles that had been won and the stone or image captured and brought back as one of the richest trophies of the battle. To have the sacred stone representing the god of one of the neighboring countries or tribes was to have captured its source of power. Even if the god didn’t switch his allegiance and back his captors, still it was believed he was powerless to come against them.

Most prized among the stones was a black one that was elevated to the place of prominence in the middle of the courtyard. It was supposed to have power to grant all wishes and make all ventures succeed if only touched.

That night, sitting in the receiving tent in the midst of her people, Bilqis entertained visiting noblemen and rulers from the city. “In my country we have a famous city called Sana which, tradition says is the oldest city in the world. Our wise men tell us it was founded by one of the sons of Noah after the great flood. Tell me,” she asked them, “who founded your city? How old is it?”

Some of the gray-bearded counselors looked around the tent until
their eyes focused on one man sitting in deep thought at the outer edge of their group. “Come, Ahmed,” they urged, “you are our storyteller. Tell the queen how our city was founded.”

The frail old man seemed startled at first, then recovering his composure along with some prodding and pushing, he came forward. “Tell me,” Bilqis said again, “how was your city founded? Who first came here to this place?”

Small fragments of light from the wicks in hanging alabaster lamps gave his face and form an ethereal, unreal aspect. He was urged to sit on a huge cushion at the queen’s feet. For a moment there was silence. No one moved or spoke as they fell under the spell of the sandalwood fragrance that filled the tent. Somewhere outside a wolf’s lonesome howl made most of them shudder and instinctively draw closer together.

The old man nervously fingered the folds in his smooth, well-worn robe until he began to speak, and then he seemed to be transformed. His voice was mellow-toned, his eyes at times closed as though he were seeing everything just as it had happened.

“Our tradition,” he began, “says that it was a great sheik from Chaldea named Abraham who sent his concubine away with her son because of his jealous wife. The concubine wandered alone across the barren wastes of rock and sand. Her waterskin was soon empty and the dates she had brought with her were all gone. The sun beat down upon her without mercy and the sand blew in sharp, cutting thrusts against her tender skin.

“The child she held by the hand and shielded with her own mantle grew weak and listless. He begged constantly for water and finally dropped from exhaustion. The distraught mother held him in her lap and cried tears of frustration, railing first at her mistress who had treated her so cruelly and then at the husband who had so easily abandoned her with the child.

“The child grew so weak he could no longer move even his lips. His hands became limp and lifeless and the mother knew he was dying. It was then, so the story goes, that she cried out to the God of her master and asked for help.

“To her surprise a well of clear, cool water sprang up at her side and both she and the boy drank their fill and were miraculously revived. The descendants of the woman’s son became a great nation, and this city that
grew on the spot of the concubine’s prayer is their greatest city,” the storyteller concluded.

For a long moment, they thought about the strange events of the past that had made this city different from all others. Then Bilqis stirred and the spell of the storyteller was broken. “Is the story true?” Bilqis asked. “Was there really a concubine and her son?”

“The story is true,” the old man said. “The well is still here and people are drawing water from it just as they have since it was discovered.”

“I’d like some water from that well,” Bilqis said. “It must be some of the most wonderful water in the world.”

The old man clapped his hands and a young servant moved out from the shadows of the tent. The soft thud of running feet on hard sand could be heard for a moment and then there was silence.

Later, when the visitors were ready to leave, the servant returned with the water in a golden ewer.

“Here, O queen, drink of the very water of life that saved the concubine and her son,” the old storyteller said, bowing low and handing her the ewer.

After the visitors had left, the queen called together the three men in charge of the expedition. “We have now seen that neither Jinn nor strange gods can keep us from reaching our goal. Where do we go from here? What kings are yet to be visited?”

“My queen,” one of the men said, unrolling a large parchment, “from here we cross back and forth following the path of the wells and oases.”

“Undoubtedly your majesty doesn’t want to be bothered with the details of the trip,” the sharp-nosed younger man said, as he started to reroll the scroll.

“No, no, on the contrary,” the queen objected, “I want to know everything.”

“My queen,” the older man said, “everything is determined by the wells. Our camels can go nine days without water, but the sheep we must have for our food can only travel five. So we follow the wells, and it means we sometimes must go out of our way.”

“Then where is our next important stop?” she said almost impatiently.

“There will be several other towns, all small centers of trade, but the next major stop will be at the rock city of Sela, where the Edomites have their kingdom.”

“And Hadad is their king?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Tell me all you know about this king. How powerful is he? How has he gained his power?”

Now the sharp-nosed little man reached for the parchment and stepped up to her throne. “See, my queen,” he said, “all the trade routes of Arabia come here to Sela.” With one hand he held the top of the scroll and with the other finger he traced the thin line from the Hadramaut through Marib, Nagran, Mecca, Medina, Dedan, and Hegra, where the caravans were met coming from Riyadh and the gulf coast. “More than that,” he said, “there is another caravan route from the base of the two rivers near the ancient Ur that comes across to Jauf and ends at Sela.”

“So this Hadad is very rich and very powerful.”

“Of course. From Sela there are only two routes, one going across the desert to Gaza and the other up the King’s Highway to Damascus. If Hadad could free himself from Solomon’s yoke, he would be very wealthy and strong.”

“So, he is planning to join with Shishak of Egypt and Rezon of Zobah, who is now in Damascus.”

“So we’ve heard.”

With this Bilqis dismissed the three men, but she sat meditating for a long time. She could see that if Shishak, Rezon, Hadad, and she herself all joined together to come against Solomon, they could easily defeat him. It seemed the wise thing to do. Much would depend on her impression of Hadad. She’d sent messengers announcing her coming and she should be hearing news from them soon.