The Ring of Solomon

and to remedy that harm will weaken me still more. Not only that, you have glimpsed me in my weakness; you have seen behind the mask I wear. By all the laws of natural justice, punishment is due to you. You would agree?’
    Asmira nodded. She said nothing.
    ‘To set against this,’ the king went on, ‘there is the following. You did not kill me in my chamber. I do not know why – perhaps you already guessed your mission was ill-conceived. Then, when Khaba intervened, and the full extent of your folly was made plain to you, you struck him down and had Bartimaeus take the Ring. This act, on its own, prevented the traitor’s immediate triumph. Not only this, you subsequently defended my person during Khaba’s final attack, during which I would otherwise certainly have been slain. Now you hand me back the Ring. I find it hard to know what to say to you.’
    ‘She’s odd that way,’ Bartimaeus agreed. ‘I have the same problem.’
    ‘I have already told you, Asmira,’ the king said, pointedly ignoring the interruption, ‘that your actions have stirred me from my slumbers. I perceive now that, bowed down by the burden of the Ring, I have neglected much, and allowed the corruption of my servants to flourish. This will change henceforward! I shall seek other ways of guarding the Ring, and wear the cursed thing less, come what may. My kingdom,’ Solomon said, ‘shall be the stronger for what has occurred.’
    He crossed to a surviving table, and from a stone bottle poured two glasses of bright red wine. ‘There is one additional fact,’ he said, ‘which needs consideration. It was not your decision to attack me, and I do not believe you had any choice in the matter. You too, Asmira, were acting under the orders of another. You are much like Bartimaeus in this regard.’
    The djinni nudged Asmira again. ‘Told you,’ he said.
    ‘Consequently,’ King Solomon said, ‘the blame lies elsewhere. Uraziel.’
    The Presence hung beside him. ‘ Master .’
    ‘Bring the Queen of Sheba here.’
    The figure vanished. Bartimaeus whistled. Asmira’s stomach gave a lurch, and the strange sense of calm that she had experienced throughout the judgement grew suddenly strained. Solomon selected a grape from a bowl of fruit and chewed it thoughtfully. He picked up the two glasses of wine and turned to face a blank space in the centre of a nearby rug.
    A flash of light, a smell of cream and roses: Queen Balkis stood upon the rug. She wore a long white gown with golden trim, and necklaces of gold and ivory. Her hair was piled high above a golden coronet, and earrings of twisted gold hung beside her shapely neck. Slightly detracting from her beauty and elegance was her vacant expression of numbed bewilderment, and the notably greenish quality of her skin. She swayed a little where she stood, gasping and blinking, staring all around.
    The Sumerian youth leaned in close to Asmira. ‘Spontaneous transfer makes you nauseous,’ Bartimaeus whispered. ‘She’s holding it in, though. No random vomiting. That’s a sure sign of good breeding.’
    ‘Welcome to Jerusalem, my lady.’ Solomon held out a casual glass. ‘Care for some wine?’
    Balkis did not answer him. Her gaze had alighted on Asmira and, after a moment’s doubt, flared with recognition. She gave a little cry.
    ‘My lady—’ Asmira began.
    ‘Wicked girl!’ The queen’s face turned suddenly white; red spots burned in her cheeks. ‘You have betrayed me!’ She took a stumbling step in Asmira’s direction. She raised a clawing hand.
    ‘Not at all,’ Solomon said, interposing himself smoothly in between them. ‘In fact, quite the reverse. This is your most faithful servant. She carried out your mission. She stole the Ring from me. She destroyed those persons who threatened you in my name. Without her, the future of Israel – and of Sheba, dear Balkis – would have been grave indeed. I am indebted to Asmira,’ Solomon said. ‘And so are you.’
    Queen Balkis said nothing. Her eyes, still trained on Asmira, were hard with doubt and cold hostility, her lips a single solid line. Asmira tried to recall the way the queen had looked when they’d spoken together two weeks before. She tried to recall the smiles and blandishments, the intimacy, her swell of pride …
    No good. The memory was fugitive, and no longer carried power.
    Balkis turned to the king. ‘So you say, my lord,’ she said at last. ‘I remain to be convinced of these