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.