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When Shiraza held it to her mouth, Bree took the cup from her hands. “I am capable of feeding myself,” she declared, taking a big gulp to prove her point.
She nearly choked. The drink seemed to be made up of equal amounts of honey and crushed mint leaves. Bree shuddered at the cloying sweetness then watched in amusement as Shiraza surreptitiously reached inside her voluminous robes fand pulled out a goatskin flask. The old lady poured a generous splash of whatever was in the flask into her cup. She slurped noisily then followed up with a loud belch.
“Aaah, there’s nothing like mint tea and honey, fresh from the bounty of our garden. Lie back and rest, my lady, while I spin a tale for you…a tale of adventure and intrigue, with a wicked djinn, a beautiful queen, and the wise-and-faithful abbayah who watched over her.”
Bree closed her eyes and allowed the quavering voice to carry her away from the waves of pain bombarding her head.
“Praise and glory be to the gods,” Shiraza began. “There was once an evil king who ruled this land. Our people suffered greatly, for he demanded the greatest share of their crops, the firstborn of their lambs and goats, the most beautiful of their daughters, and the strongest of their sons – all to be given to him as tribute. The crops filled his belly in daily feasting or were traded for the rarest of goods from the caravans that passed through the kingdom. The young men he kept as slaves and the virgins…they were taken by him at his whim then spent the remainder of their days languishing forgotten in his harem. Occasionally he gave one away to garner favor with a friend. The unluckiest were offered to the soldiers of his enemies in exchange for turning against their rulers and joining his vast army. His people beseeched the gods to rid them of this wicked king.
“From out of the desert one day there appeared a beautiful young woman, traveling alone on foot. She strode across the sand, her fine robes of silk and linen billowing in the wind. As she approached the city of Mahrib, messengers met her and invited her to the palace. The king had been told of her arrival and he was curious to see this female who braved the desert with neither camel nor companion.”
Shiraza’s voice took on a singsong note as she told the tale of Bilquis, the female djinn. She brought the characters to life – the same characters in the legends Bree had heard from her grandmother.
Shiraza explained Bilquis had used her magical powers to harness the wind and travel effortlessly across the desert. She had heard the prayers of the people, taken human form, and come to Mahrib. How she was wooed by the king, wed to him, and then lay with him, bearing a girl child. And how a great dust storm sprang up, raging through the palace on the day their girl child was born. The evil king was swept away by the whirling sands, never to be seen again.
“The girl child was your grandmother, Queen Shaitar. Daughter of a king and a magical djinni. When she grew up, she disbanded the army and sent the men home to fight no more. Shaitar ruled the land with love and kindness. It was she who traveled to a far-off palace to meet the great and wise ruler Solomon. Upon returning from her long journey, Shaitar gave birth to twins – a son Menelek and a daughter Rahina. When he became a man, Menelek was given a kingdom of his own by his wealthy father Solomon. Rahina, like her mother before her, became our ruler, the Queen of Sheba.”
Shiraza’s voice was getting hoarse. She stopped and took a gulp from the goatskin flask.
“I was barely more than a child when I came to the palace to serve Queen Shaitar. When she returned from the city of Solomon, she placed Rahina in my arms herself, and I became both nursemaid and big sister to her. By the goodness of Queen Shaitar, I was educated along with her daughter. Years later, I traveled with Rahina in the caravan when she, too, made the perilous journey to the Great Temple of Solomon to pay homage to her father. He had chosen a husband for her, as is the custom of his people. The day Rahina gave birth, she put her baby girl in my arms, and I swore to protect and serve her as I did her mother and grandmother before her.
“That baby girl was you, Bilquis, named for your blessed ancestor. You are the daughter of Rahina, Queen of Sheba. Your grandfather was King Solomon, and your great-grandmother, whose namesake you are, was the magical djinni who saved the people of this land.”
Bree stared at the old woman in amazement. Everything seemed so real. Did people actually create entire life stories and live them during a hallucination? Did they drink and taste food?I know the story of Sheba. My mind could be creating this elaborate fantasy from my years of research.Menelek is in the tales as well, but where did this character Rahina come from? She’s not in any of the stories or legends, not in the Bible or the Koran or the Ethiopian sacred texts.
Trying to make sense of it all hurt too much. Bree groaned and closed her eyes, deciding for the time being she would play along with the scene unfolding in front of her. Shiraza began stroking her hair, crooning a tune that sounded vaguely familiar.
“Sleep little Bilquis, sleep…sleep…sleep.
Red is the moon and the night so deep.
Off in the desert the wild wind sings…”
She relaxed, humming along, and let herself drift off.
When Bree woke, the sun was nearly gone. Beyond the walls of the garden, streaks of purple and red filled the western sky above the silhouette of the Jebel al Qamra Mountains. She stretched and yawned. Thankfully the pain in her head had subsided to a dull ache. Shiraza was snoring, curled up at the foot of the chaise like a faithful old hound.
Bree slipped off the chaise and took advantage of her first moments of solitude to prowl around the room. The frescoes were magnificent. She ran her fingers lightly over one of them. She recognized ochre and kohl, but the bright jewel-colored pigments the artist used were new to her.
The large statue drew her to the corner of the room. Carved from a solid block of wood, it was over five feet tall, standing on an ornate stone base that raised it another two feet. While she slept, someone had lit the bowl of frankincense at the statue’s feet. It gave off its distinctive fragrance as it smoldered, filling the air with a faint haze of smoke.
The chunks of incense glowed from within, shimmering against the highly polished metal bowl. Surely, it couldn’t be gold? Bree examined the drawing etched on the surface. She recognized the figure depicted on the bowl – a woman kneeling, legs spread, head bent to touch the floor, buttocks thrust high in the air. It was the same pose on one of the fertility cult figurines her team uncovered at the temple site.
Bree took a closer look at the statue towering over her. A delicately rendered female deity, nearly nude save for stylized yellow hibiscus flowers painted on its lush breasts. Massive rubies cut to resemble erect nipples had been inserted into the wood at the center of each flower. A wide girdle of pearls and precious gems on strands of gold hung low around the full hips.
The figurine stood with her feet apart, one leg slightly cocked. Her left hand was outstretched, palm up, fingers curled as if beckoning to a lover, while the right was nestled between her legs. Bree was shocked to see that hand spreading the labia apart. Where the clitoris would have been, a massive pear-shaped diamond peeked out from between the splayed fingers.
The eyes of the statue were closed, the lips parted, the face frozen in an expression that could only be described as a moment of pure passion – a woman experiencing the height of her feminine power.
In all her research, Bree had never seen a more powerfully erotic depiction of the female form. She stared, transfixed.
Sensing movement, she turned to see Shiraza had awakened and come up behind her. The old nursemaid spoke in a hushed voice.
“It is she, Bilquis. The ancestor for whom you are named. It is written that she transformed this nation after the evil king disappeared, turning the men from fierce warriors into great lovers. Our women learned the arts of seduction from her. They became as goddesses, worshipped by the men, each at her own hearth. In Bilquis’s honor, the entire kingdom gathers at the Great Temple every year on the night of the last full moon before the harvest, to be led in a sacred ceremony by the high priestess.”
“The high priestess!” Bree forgot for a moment she’d decided this was an elaborate dream produced by her injured brain. “I’ll be able to see an ancient fertility rite performed right in front of me, instead of struggling to reconstruct the details from scraps of papyrus and broken figurines. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime! This high priestess,” she went on, turning to Shiraza, “will she be at tonight’s ceremony?”
Shiraza’s face crumpled. “Oh, my lady! I had hoped…”
