Queen of Sheba (21 page)

He remembered the priests carrying the Ark to its new home in the temple. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the tightly packed crowd. Tears came to his eyes again as he remembered how the sun glinted on the worn gold of the box. It had been a deeply moving experience, so moving that no one seemed to be aware of the Ark’s smallness or the primitive workmanship. All they saw was the great symbol of their faith that had blossomed in the wilderness with Moses and the two tablets of the law.

Despite the glory of the new temple, with its golden doors flashing in the sun, its pillars with their twined chains and hanging pomegranates carved into the flared capitals, the huge tank held by twelve oxen, the altar piled with sacrificial offerings, all of this was as nothing beside the small gold box that still contained the two tablets of the law given to Moses on Mount Horeb.

Jeroboam sat in the darkened bath letting the slave dip tepid water over him. He was aware of the steamy moisture coming from the heated rocks, the musty odor of water on old, worn stone, and the pots of glowing coals with small bursts of fragrance as fresh herbs were thrown on them. He was totally aware of his surroundings and yet his mind was busy replaying the events of that day the temple had been completed.

No one had known what to expect. They certainly hadn’t anticipated such a dramatic demonstration. It had been so overwhelming that the great mass of people had fallen on their faces partly in worship and awe and partly because the sight was too wonderful to behold. As he remembered, it had happened not just once but twice during the dedication. He himself believed at the time that, like Moses, he was seeing the glory of God and would surely die.

When the priests had disappeared with the Ark into the temple, no one breathed. Some even thought it possible that the priests who carried the Ark and placed it in the Holy of Holies beneath the wings of the cherubim would die. The moments they waited to see if they would return had seemed an eternity. The singers, Asaph, Heman, and Jeduthun with all
their sons and brothers, stood motionless in their glistening white robes to the east of the altar. One hundred twenty priests with trumpets, flutes, lyres, and harps stood waiting immovable, suspended in terrible anticipation of what might happen.

Then the moment came when the priests appeared at the door of the temple. They had not been killed. The Ark was in its place at last. They raised their hands in adoration, the chorus burst into a song of lilting praise while cymbals crashed, trumpets blared, lyres and harps joined in. All exploded with the joy of their message, “He is so good! His loving kindness lasts forever.”

One moment the chorus, players, and multitude had been singing with hands raised and tears of joy running down their faces and the next moment they were frozen in astonishment. Jeroboam sitting on the hard stone seat in the bathhouse instinctively covered his eyes even at the memory.

It wasn’t just a fable invented by the priests. They all had seen it. They had seen it and everyone of them knew what it meant. They would never be the same again. In fact, they would never come to the temple mount without remembering just what had happened. They would tell their children and their children would tell others but words were too inadequate to describe the joy. The glory, the shekinah glory had come down and filled the temple.

It was light, bursts of light radiating from the door of the temple so brilliant it blinded them so that they hid their faces and fell to the ground. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of their beloved King David had come down and they had all seen His glory as it filled the temple.

It had happened once again after Solomon had offered his prayer of dedication and the priests had prepared the altar for the great sacrifice. Actual fire had burst forth upon the sacrifice and at the same time the shekinah glory had flooded out of the temple so that they all fell to their faces again and worshiped.

Jeroboam reached for his clothes. He had determined he would not go to see Tipti as he had planned. Just remembering all that had taken place at the temple’s dedication had sobered him. Tipti would never understand that the Lord God Jehovah was not like her cat god that could
be manipulated and used. He was real and powerful and they had all seen that it was Jerusalem He had chosen for His dwelling place.

He knew Tipti would be very disappointed. She had built all her hopes around him and the possibility of his becoming king. At the thought of trying to explain all of this to her, he found his stomach knotting and his mouth dry with dread. Tomorrow at the latest he must tell her the result of his trip to Shiloh.

T
he next day when Jeroboam arrived for work at Tipti’s palace, he was relieved to find she wasn’t there. She’d gone down to her quarters at Gezer and was expected back sometime late in the afternoon. Jeroboam was now so familiar with her schedule that he knew just why she had gone. It sobered him considerably, making him even more reluctant to tell her the bad news from Shiloh.

She went to this old pagan city her brother, the pharaoh, had given as her dowry because there she could secretly receive messengers from Egypt. It was always the same: she either sent a message or received one every fortnight. Most of the time it was by runners, but if there was some urgency, she had whole cages of trained pigeons she could send.

In this way she advised her brother of Solomon’s activities and in return received the pharaoh’s instructions and advice. Now that there was a major plot forming against Solomon, it was doubly important for them to exchange information.

On this afternoon she was disturbed by the message from her brother. It seemed that the queen of Sheba had given no real commitment to the Egyptian ambassador. In fact, she had talked more of an investigative visit to Solomon than an invasion. “Everything depends on Hadad in Edom,” the message read. “When the queen visits him, he must convince her to join the rest of us in marching against Israel. If this fails I will need to depend on you to convince her with cunning appeals.”

Tipti brushed back the twined black hair of her wig and read the report again. Then she ordered all of her maidservants from the room. She needed to be alone to think. She walked out onto her balcony and looked eastward toward the road that wound up to Jerusalem. The foothills were covered with olive and fig trees, and low stone walls bordered the terraces. It was a pleasant sight, but she noticed none of this. Her mind
was racing ahead to ponder her ambitions for Jeroboam in the light of this new information.

She felt sure the queen of Sheba would join in the coalition once she understood the advantages. Surely Hadad, the charming, persuasive Hadad, would make her change her mind. However, if none of these measures worked, she would have to make other plans to bring Jeroboam to the throne. It would take much longer; perhaps even waiting until after the death of Solomon. If she succeeded, the wait would have been worth it. With Jeroboam on the throne of Israel, Israel would virtually be an extension of Egypt. At least a strong ally.

Tipti frowned. Right now all of her plans for Jeroboam depended on the advice of some ancient old priest at a deserted shrine in a small Ephraimite village called Shiloh. This was something she hadn’t counted on. Jeroboam had never seemed very religious. She must find a way to rid him of this weakness.

She had never understood Solomon’s devotion to his unseen God. She only knew that it had taken every bit of her ingenuity to pry him loose from its rigid rules. It was through the king’s curiosity she had won a foothold, but with Jeroboam there was no curiosity, only ambition. She pondered how best to proceed. This religion had some mysterious hold on him. She didn’t like it. “I must find a way to break down, root out, get rid of this strange fixation he has. Imagine telling me he was going to get advice from one of those old priests.”

She shuddered at the thought then wondered if Jeroboam was still in Shiloh or had already returned. With a determined step and toss of her head she went through the beaded curtain that closed off the balcony from the small private garden. “Run,” she ordered the old man who was tending the tuberoses, “tell my maidens I’m ready to go. We must leave for Jerusalem at once.”

Back in her own palace in Jerusalem, Tipti asked for Jeroboam and found to her alarm that he had gone to the temple for evening prayer. Solomon had not called for her, but the report was that he had been seen more with his son Rehoboam of late. All of this was unsettling. It was unthinkable that Naamah’s magic could be working so well. Undoubtedly
her own cat god Bastet was still angry that she hadn’t managed to have the priest that killed her cat beheaded. She’d have to make some sacrifice that would please her cat god and make him forget the terrible affront to his dignity.

In the meantime, she paced nervously back and forth beside her lily pond while her serving maids peeped anxiously through the gauze curtains. When the queen was in such an angry mood, none of them wanted to risk her displeasure. She could be so charming when things went well, but when angry she was entirely capable of having them whipped or even sent back to Egypt for execution.

Looking around and seeing that the courtyard was empty, Tipti picked up the gold-handled mallet and hit a resounding blow on the large oval brass gong. Instantly her serving men and women came running and stood with ashen faces just inside the west portico. “I’ll be entertaining this evening here beside the lily pool.” Her words were clipped and her eyes flashed as though giving a command.

As her servants hurried away in all directions to carry out her wishes, she motioned for her chief steward. “Go quickly to the southern gate of the temple and find Jeroboam. Tell him I wish to see him immediately about important matters.”

Jeroboam was surprised that Tipti had known where to find him. He was even more surprised to find that she had prepared a feast fit for Solomon, but he himself was to be the only guest. Though he knew that to sit and eat with one of the queens alone like this was considered a terrible affront to the king and could be punished by death, he was flattered. He quickly dismissed all such thoughts from his mind as he sat down on the cushion beside her.

He knew Tipti was curious to know the result of his trip, but he found himself reluctant to tell her the discouraging news. Finally it was Tipti who brought up the subject. “My son,” she had taken to calling him this lately, “I have had some disturbing news from Egypt. It seems that the queen of Sheba is not yet committed to join the coalition.” She paused, waiting to see what effect this would have on Jeroboam.

Jeroboam shifted uneasily under her gaze. “I wish I could bring you
some good news, but mine is also discouraging.”

“The priest was not in favor of our plan?” Tipti’s voice was honey sweet, but her eyes flashed dangerously.

“He was most discouraging.”

“And what reason did he give?” Her voice was still sweet, but her mouth was rigid and stiff.

“He pointed out that both the tribes of Judah and Benjamin would go with David’s tribe even if they didn’t like Rehoboam.”

“And …”

“They would hold Jerusalem and the temple. People would still come to worship and trade on the feast days in Jerusalem and I would have nothing to offer them that was as grand.”