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courtiers, wives and supplicants got to their collective feet.
    Solomon’s face was calm again. ‘Send your demons out into the desert,’ he said. ‘Capture the brigands as I requested.’ He took a sip of wine, and looked towards the gardens where, as so often, faint music could now be heard, though the musicians were never seen. ‘One other thing, Hiram,’ he said at last. ‘You have not yet told me of Sheba. Has the messenger returned? Have we heard the queen’s response?’
    The vizier had risen and was dabbing at a trickle of blood coming from his nose. He swallowed; the day was not going well for him. ‘Master, we have.’
    ‘And?’
    He cleared his throat. ‘Once again, unbelievably, the queen rejects your offer of marriage and refuses to be numbered among your exquisite consorts.’ The vizier paused to allow the expected gasps and flutterings from among the assembled wives. ‘Her explanation, such as it is, is this: as the actual ruler of her nation, rather than the mere daughter of its king’ – further gasps sounded at this juncture, and several snorts – ‘she cannot possibly leave it for a life of leisure, even to bask in your glorious radiance in Jerusalem. She deeply regrets this inability to comply, and offers her eternal friendship, and that of Sheba, to you and your people until, and I quote’ – he checked the scroll once more – ‘“the towers of Marib fall and the eternal Sun goes out” … Essentially, Master, it’s another No.’
    The vizier finished and, without daring to look towards the king, made a great business of rolling up the scroll and stuffing it back into his robes. The crowd stood frozen, watching the silent figure on the throne.
    Then Solomon laughed. He took a long draught of wine. ‘So that is the word from Sheba, is it?’ he said. ‘Well, then. We will have to consider how Jerusalem responds.’

5
    N ight had fallen and the city of Marib was silent. The Queen of Sheba sat alone in her chamber, reading from her sacred texts. As she reached for her wine cup, she heard a fluttering at the window. A bird stood there, an eagle, shaking flecks of ice off its feathers and regarding her intently with its cold, black eyes. The queen watched it for a moment; then, because she understood the illusions of the spirits of the air, said: ‘If you come in peace, step inside, and be welcome.’
    At this the eagle hopped off the sill and became a slim young man, golden-haired and handsome, with eyes as black and cold as the bird’s had been and a bare chest studded with flecks of ice.
    The young man said: ‘I bear a message for the queen of this land.’
    The queen smiled. ‘I am she. You have come far, and at high altitude. You are a guest of my house and I offer you all I have. Do you require refreshment or rest, or some other boon? Name it, and it shall be so.’
    And the young man said, ‘You are gracious, Queen Balkis, but I require none of those things. I must speak my message and hear your answer. Know first that I am a marid of the seventh level, and the slave of Solomon, son of David, who is King of Israel and the mightiest of magicians now living.’
    ‘Again?’ the queen said, smiling. ‘Three times I have received a question from that king, and three times I have given the same answer. The last occasion was but a week ago. I hope he has accepted my decision now, and isn’t asking it a fourth time.’
    ‘As to that,’ the young man said, ‘you shall shortly hear. Solomon offers you his greetings, and wishes you health and prosperity. He thanks you for your consideration of his last proposal, which he now formally retracts. Instead he demands you acknowledge him as your sovereign overlord and agree to pay him an annual tribute, which shall be forty sacks of sweet-scented frankincense from the forests of fair Sheba. If you agree to this, the sun will continue to smile upon your domains, and you and your descendants will for ever prosper. Refuse – and