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meeting, she had chosen to seem what men of other nations called womanly, and displayed her body like a prize. A gown rich with gold fringe wrapped her; sheer cloth molded the
curves of breast and hip and thigh. A dozen bracelets adorned each wrist, chimed with each movement of her hands. Carmine painted her mouth, so that her lips flamed hot and red.
    Unless this man from the north is dead, or a eunuch, he will succumb. A man dazzled by a woman’s charms was a man easier to bargain with.
     
     
    Prince Jotham of Judah seethed with impatience; his mouth was set in a thin line and his body moved stiffly, like a clay doll’s. Bilqis smiled as he approached, and extended her hand, palm up, so that her hennaed skin glowed rose in the sun.
    “The Queen of Sheba greets King Solomon’s emissary. She is eager to speak with him again.” Swiftly gauging his temper, she added, “No, do not kneel; you may sit before me.”
    Plainly Prince Jotham had not even thought of bending his knee to her; her careless dismissal of that protocol seemed to startle him into noticing he should pay her more homage than a scowl. “Thank you, Highness,” he said. “But I will stand.”
    Bilqis laughed softly. “Stand then, but I fear you will grow weary, for I long to hear all you have to tell me of your land and your king. So when you tire of standing, I give you leave to sit at your ease so that we may talk as friends.”
    King Solomon’s emissary regarded her cautiously, as if she were a venomous serpent he had found drowsing before him. Again Bilqis smiled; faced with a woman of power, this man of action found himself at a loss. “Now,” said the Queen of Sheba, “speak to me of King Solomon.”
    “What do you wish to know?”
    “Why, whatever you wish to tell me, of course. That he is a great king, wise and powerful—that I will grant. Are not all kings so described?” She lifted the peacock fan and began slowly waving the brilliant feathers, creating the smallest of breezes across her skin. “And that he wishes to gain my spices—that too is common to all kings.”
    “Then what can I tell you that you do not already know?” Jotham demanded. “Your ministers have read the king’s scrolls by now. Have they not told you what they say?”
    Gently, Bilqis lowered the peacock fan, rested it across her thighs. Plainly
Jotham of Judah prided himself on blunt speaking and held women in light regard. Time, Bilqis thought, to invoke the Mother to rule him, bring him to heel.
    “I have read the scrolls, young man, and yes, I know what they say. Now I shall give you some advice, Jotham. It would be wise of you to remember that you are here not for yourself but for your king. And it would be even wiser of you to remember one thing more.”
    “And what is that?” he asked after a moment, filling the silence, as she had known he would.
    She noted with satisfaction that his face had flushed with chagrin and rising anger. Ah, and now he expects me to fling my power in his face, to threaten. She smiled, and once again lifted her peacock fan.
    “That not only am I a queen, I am old enough to be your mother—or at least your aunt,” she added, laughter rippling beneath her words. “Now come and sit before me, Jotham of Judah—there, upon that cushion—and tell me what I wish to know.”
     
     
    So easy . Bilqis continued to smile as King Solomon’s brother capitulated, sitting upon a cushion at her feet as if he were her son, or her harper. Obtaining obedience from men was a skill; like any other craft, it must be not only learned but honed with constant practice.
    “Never utter an order you know will be disobeyed, Bilqis. Never give a man a chance to disobey, to show less than respect. Grant him what he does not yet think of taking.” Her mother’s voice whispered down the years to her, imparting women’s wisdom. Yes, Mother, Bilqis replied silently, I remember. See how this proud hard man now bends before me, and does not even