Queen of Sheba (24 page)

She sat back on her heels, a plump, ordinary-looking woman whose face was turning crimson with the heat. Her gray hair hung in damp spirals from under her mantle and there was just the barest hint of a small, gold crown on her brow. Sweat poured down her face, running freely in the deep creases, but she was oblivious to all this. Her whole attention was focused on the image.

“See,” she said as she rummaged in the basket, “I’ve brought you jewels given for the temple of Israel’s God. I stole them for you. We’ll make a crown for you and you’ll honor my son and make him the next king of Israel.”

At this the old priest hurried forward and put out his clawlike hands. “Yes, yes, Moloch needs a crown. A crown of gold and jewels more glorious than the king’s own crown. We’ll have it made.”

Naamah looked at him questioningly before she put the jewels in his hand. “Old one, there is a plot afoot; a plot designed by the Egyptian to overthrow Solomon and put the upstart Jeroboam on his throne. My son would be ignored. Promise me this will not happen.”

The priest had drawn back at her sharp words and daggerlike stare.
His hands were still held out, but his eyes had taken on a frightened, haunted look. “Give Moloch the jewels for his crown and everything will be yours.”

“Everything?”

“I swear, everything.”

Naamah breathed a sigh of satisfaction. “Tell the god, when he’s in a mood to listen, I want the Egyptian out of my way. Back in Egypt or better still dead of poison or a broken heart.”

The priest’s eyes glinted with greed as she dropped the large, finely cut jewels in his hand. “Take care that no one steals them,” she said as she removed the lid of the basket and felt around for more. She handed them to the priest, but when she turned to put the lid back on the basket, the head of a huge snake appeared above the rim and filled the opening. It was obviously temporarily crazed by the light and heat of the fire. “Zizi has guarded the jewels well,” she said with a coarse laugh. “None of the women would dare open any of my baskets.”

With a swift movement she nudged the snake back in the basket and fitted on the lid, then rose and turned to leave. “Remind the god that I have given jewels worth a kingdom for use in his crown.”

As she lumbered heavily up the steps, she was tempted to look back. She yearned to know that the god had at last forgiven her for not sacrificing her firstborn to him. All these twenty-four years since Rehoboam had been born she had been thinking of new and better ways to buy him off, settle the debt.

It was true that Solomon had built this shrine at her insistence. At the time she had hoped Moloch would accept this in exchange for the life of her son. But Moloch was greedy. He was always wanting more. Never satisfied.

The God of Israel never asked for human sacrifice. A payment of shekels in exchange for the life of a firstborn son was the only requirement. How easy it was to worship the God of Solomon. In spite of this, she would never give up Moloch for the God of Israel. The God of Israel couldn’t be seen or bribed, and what good was a deity that couldn’t be bribed?

At the top of the steps she paused to catch her breath and wipe the dripping sweat from her face with the end of her mantle. She hung the basket back on the pommel and let her maid help her onto the mule. Then
with a sharp command she ordered the mule forward out of the sacred grove and up the rock-dusty trail toward the Fountain Gate.

Back in the court of the women she found her son Rehoboam impatiently waiting for her. “I heard you wanted to see me,” he said rather sharply.

“Is that so strange?” She undid the basket and lifted the great snake out. “There, there, Zizi, you’ve been terribly uncomfortable. I understand.”

Rehoboam drew back. “It’s always the snakes. It’s peculiar. No one else …”

Naamah’s eyes flashed dangerously as the snake wound itself around her shoulders. “Your father has all sorts of animals running through the palace. Are you critical of him too or is it just me?”

“He says he’s studying their ways, but snakes …”

“Zizi has just protected a fortune in jewels. They sat right here in this basket within reach of everyone and no one dared touch them.”

“A fortune in jewels! I could use a fortune right now. I need a new house for one of my wives.”

Naamah smirked. “Your wives are all spoiled and selfish. I don’t approve of anyone of them.”

While she had been talking, Naamah had walked through the courtyard of the harem to her own place of authority. At the far end of the court a dais with a canopy had been built and fine tapestry carpets spread over the stones and out some distance in each direction. There was a cushioned throne that had been designed much like the king’s throne except there were no carved lions and the gold and ivory inlay had been used more sparingly.

Naamah settled herself on the low-cushioned seat and patted the space beside her for Rehoboam. “We must talk,” she said.

Rehoboam found there wasn’t much his mother didn’t know. She already knew of the coalition plotting to come against Israel and that the queen of Sheba was still uncommitted. She knew that Solomon was building another fortified city at Tadmor for trade beyond Damascus. She even knew that the king was often depressed these days and instead of calling for women from the harem, he was spending time with his brother Nathan. “I have heard,” she said, “that he goes around muttering, ‘Vanity, vanity, all is vanity.’ What does he mean by that?”

Rehoboam shrugged and toyed with a large emerald ring he wore on his right hand. “It’s strange. All these years he’s emphasized having wisdom. He says that wisdom is the main thing necessary to rule well. There’s only one problem: it seems to me he’s gotten so much wisdom and knows so much that nothing’s really interesting anymore.”

“And what will you do when you’re king?”

A smile flickered briefly around the sensual mouth of the prince. His eyes took on a speculative look. “I’ll seek wisdom, but not his kind. It’ll be my own wisdom. There’ll be no more old counselors, only my own young friends, and I’ll not ask the advice of any of the gods.”

Naamah was shocked. “One must always appease the gods, my dear. They control everything and everyone.”

Rehoboam fingered the fringe that hung from his waist. “I’ve been watching the gods worshiped around here. I don’t like cats, and sacrificing babies seems meaningless, so there’s only the God of Israel left.”

“And what will you do with him?” Naamah spat out the words with venom.

“Appear at the ceremonies, take part in the prayers, offer the sacrifices, keep the feasts; but as to anything more than that, I’ll leave the gods alone if they leave me alone.” He stood up ready to go, then bent and raised his mother’s hand to his forehead in a show of respect.

Naamah was smiling now. Her son did look kingly like her own father. He was a little soft from lounging in his harem with too much rich food and honey beer, but once he became king all that would end. “Remember the Egyptian princess is a snake waiting to strike, and watch Jeroboam.”

With that word of warning ringing in his ears, Rehoboam turned and walked through the clusters of women that made up his father’s harem. “One thing for sure,” he muttered, “I’ll have even more women in my harem than my father has.”

If either Naamah or Rehoboam had known where Jeroboam was at that moment they would have been very uneasy. Jeroboam had ridden out of Jerusalem on a short errand to the north of the city. It was a beautiful day at the beginning of the olive harvest. Young men with sticks were beating the branches and old women and children huddled beneath the trees gathering
the olives as they fell. Still others were carrying large woven baskets on their heads filled with the green nuggets. They were taking them to the various presses where the oil would be squeezed out and put into jars.

Jeroboam loved this time of year. The skies were clear, the sun bright, and as the harvest was good, everyone was happy. It was dry and dusty so that he had to ride with his headpiece over his nose and mouth and for that reason it took him a few minutes to realize someone was calling his name. He pulled on the reins and the donkey came to a stop under a carob tree. He shielded his eyes from the sun and looked around.

Once again he heard his name being called and turning in the direction from which the sound came, he saw an old man standing in a freshly plowed field. It was impossible to make out any details, but Jeroboam knew it had to be Ahijah.

He tied his donkey to the tree and made his way across the field to where the prophet was standing. It was indeed Ahijah. He looked different. He no longer wore his old tattered garments but instead had a new robe that must have been acquired especially for this trip to Jerusalem.

“Do you have business in the city?” Jeroboam asked.

“Business of a sort. I’ve come to see you.”

“How strange that I should meet you here.”

“Not strange at all. I was told that I would find you here.”

Jeroboam frowned. He didn’t like to think that everyone knew just when and where he was coming or going. “No one knew I was riding out today. How did you know?”

“Don’t bother yourself about such things. My knowledge is not gotten from people.” The old priest never lowered his eyes but stood looking at Jeroboam with a most penetrating gaze.

“I had almost forgotten you were a priest. Forgive me, my father.”

“Not just a priest but one of the few prophets left. I’ve been given a message for you. I told you wrong when you visited Shiloh. What I told you then was by my own wits, but the message I bring you now is from the Lord, God of Israel.”

Jeroboam found himself shaking and suddenly cold. He couldn’t imagine what the message could be, but it frightened him. “Is it good or bad? Tell me so I can prepare myself.”

Ahijah didn’t answer but instead unwrapped the sash that held his
robe in place and folded it carefully on the ground. Then he removed his new cloak and to Jeroboam’s utter surprise began to rip and tear it into pieces. Each time he tore a section from the robe he handed it to Jeroboam, but all the time he refused to say anything.

“Your garment is new,” Jeroboam tried to protest. “You need it for the Feast of Tabernacles.” His protestations were ignored and the old man went about his task as though it were a matter of the greatest importance.

“Count them,” Ahijah said finally as he stepped back still holding the last piece of the ruined cloak in his hand.

With a puzzled look on his face Jeroboam began to count the pieces in his hand. There were eight in all.

“Two more, you need two more,” the old priest said as he proceeded to tear two more pieces from the cloak.

“What’s this? What does it mean?” Jeroboam was genuinely mystified.

Ahijah still said nothing. He stooped and picked up his girdle and wrapped it around his linen shirt, then stuffed the last piece of his cloak in his belt.

“Here are the pieces,” Jeroboam said, holding out the shredded remains of the old man’s cloak.

“No, no, my son. Those are yours. The Lord God of Israel has spoken and said, ‘I’m going to tear the kingdom out of Solomon’s hand. Ten tribes will be given to you, Jeroboam.”

“And the piece you have in your belt?”

“The Lord God has decreed that the tribe of Judah and the city of Jerusalem where He has put his name will remain for David’s sake with Solomon and his seed.”

Jeroboam had broken out into a sweat. “Why, why should He punish the king?”

“The Lord said, ‘He’s forsaken me and worshiped Ashtoreth of the Sidonians, Chemosh of the Moabites, and Moloch of the Ammonites. He’s not walked in my ways nor kept my laws as his father, David, did.”

“And what have I to do with this?”

“Ten tribes will be taken from Solomon’s son and given to you. If you walk in the ways of the Lord God of Israel, and keep His statutes and commands as his servant David did, then will he build you a dynasty as enduring as the one promised to David.”

Jeroboam was stunned. He fingered the torn pieces of cloth and tried to comprehend all that was being told him. There were so many questions, so much he wanted to know, but already Ahijah had picked up his walking crook and was preparing to leave. “Wait!” Jeroboam cried. “You must tell me more. What of Rehoboam and Jerusalem?”

“He will have a tribe, the tribe of Judah. The Lord Himself said in his own words, ‘So that David, my servant, will always have a lamp burning before me in Jerusalem where I have chosen to put my name.’”

“How long will this be?”

Ahijah had again turned, ready to go, but now he stopped and looked back at Jeroboam. He fingered the oblong piece torn from the cloak that protruded from his girdle. “He said he would humble David’s descendants, but not forever.” With that the old man turned and started walking across the furrows toward the road.

Jeroboam stood for a moment, pondering what he had said, and then ran after him. “What does he mean, ‘but not forever?!’”

Ahijah seemed not to hear him and kept walking with his face toward Shiloh. Jeroboam shrugged and fingered the torn pieces of cloth as he watched the old man disappear around a rocky projection. “How strange. He tore up a perfectly good cloak.” Jeroboam muttered as, clutching them in his fist, he headed back to his donkey. His errand was forgotten. He wanted only to hurry back to tell Tipti the good news.