“These?” Najja held a golden orb on each outstretched palm.
Bilqis nodded and went on explaining. “You should have seen our High Priest; he prophesied before all the wise men and counselors that if I didn’t marry, my line would be like a desert well left untended until the sand blew over it and it became as though it had never existed.”
“What he says is true. Do you find your cousin so repulsive then?”
“He’s a braggart, a proud peacock with no understanding. He wants the throne of Sheba, the gold of her rich mines, the caravans and revenues. He pictures himself sitting on my golden throne wearing my ruby crown. He is no different from all the other kings and ambassadors that have come pledging their love and affection. They don’t want me, they want my throne.”
“He’s handsome and he’s from your family.”
“If he were like my father it would be different, but he’s a fool.”
“Come, look through the peephole at him. See how fine he is.” Najja went to the wall and pulled back a hanging to reveal a well-placed viewing hole. Bilqis saw her cousin Rydan. He was pacing the floor. Back and forth he went while all the time his jeweled hands held a rolled parchment that he thumped impatiently against his other hand.
It was obvious his turban was of the finest material and his beard carefully trimmed, but his eyes were like hard bits of flint. His mouth was set in a firm, defiant line.
The ornate reception room with its old swords and shields of brave men long dead decorating the wall and gathering dust was now full of the men from her family and tribe. They were all well dressed, perfumed, and sophisticated. Rydan’s father, Hammed, was sitting bolt upright in the middle of a divan that stretched along the back wall. His large stomach filled the rich robe he wore and hid his belt completely. His eyes were wide open with that look of alertness that made one think he was very intelligent.
“See how eager they are to get their hands on my throne,” Bilqis said as she let the hanging drop. “It must not happen. Another man I could divorce or banish, but a cousin never. He could do as he pleased and I would be at his mercy.”
“But he is of your father’s blood.”
“He is not at all like my father. He is ambitious. I don’t trust him.”
“Is there anyone you do trust?”
Bilqis smiled and reached out to take the old nurse’s hands.
“You. I trust you. You were the first person I remember. I held your finger to take my first step and you always tasted my food to be sure I wouldn’t be poisoned. Then, the priests—I trust them also. They know very well that if a man were king he would insist on the priestly crown as well as the royal crown. All the old kings did.”
Najja began to wring her hands nervously. “Be careful my dear. You are all alone. No father, no mother, and the whole tribe is plotting a marriage to your cousin. How can you stand against them?”
Bilqis motioned for Najja to hold the mirror again. She wet a finger and polished one of the jewels in the crown. “It is a bit big for me, but I’ll wear it as my father would have wished. I’ll be my father’s son.” With both hands she steadied it on her head, and then gathering up her robes, she told Najja to go alert the house guards. “I’ll go surrounded by my own men and the priests. They’ll not disappoint me.”
Hours later she returned to the same room exhausted but with a glow of triumph about her. She had won a partial victory, and it was reflected in the new respect her maidens gave her. Their eyes looked at her with some of the awe usually reserved for images in the temple.
“My jewels, Nimba,” she said holding out her arms and letting her bracelets slide into the girl’s waiting hands. “My headpiece,” she said motioning to the Egyptian as she sat down on the large cushion in the middle of the room. She reached up and took the crown from her head and held it lightly in her arms as the Egyptian removed the gold filigree with the coins.
Later as she lay within the gathered curtains on her bed, Najja came to take any last request. “You still have the crown?” she questioned, as she saw it cradled in her arms.
“The crown will sleep with me tonight. It’s not fickle like a man.”
“You have a very bad impression of men, I’m afraid.”
“Not all men. But it was so obvious what my uncle wanted and what my cousin lusted for—not me. I assure you it was not me. I know that for all his nice talk once he has the agreement signed and I’m his, everything will change. He’ll see that I have breasts and buttocks like any other woman and he’ll set out to dominate me. I’ve been given a little more time and I’m determined to think of something.”