The Ring of Solomon

following half-hour proved almost as disagreeable for Asmira as the ambush in the gorge: a long, intimate talk with the magician, who, with the prompting of the wine, became more and more attentive. His big, soft eyes gazed into hers, his sallow-skinned hand drew close upon the cushions; it was all she could do not to flinch away. Khaba remained condescendingly polite, but deflected her requests for an immediate audience with the king, and was evasive about when it might be arranged. Gritting her teeth, Asmira maintained her outward show, amusing him with breathless expressions of gratitude, and flattering him with easy words.
    ‘King Solomon must be powerful indeed,’ she breathed, ‘to have a great one such as you in his service!’ She tilted her head and made pretence of drinking from her cup.
    Khaba grunted. For a moment his enthusiasm waned. ‘Yes, yes. He is powerful.’
    ‘Oh, how I long to speak with him!’
    ‘You should be careful, Priestess,’ Khaba said. ‘He is not always kind, even to pretty maids like you. They say that once’ – he looked instinctively about the pillared room – ‘they say that once a wife of his, a comely Phoenician girl, plied him with wine as they lay upon their pallet. When he was sleeping, she strove to remove the Ring. She had it to the second knuckle when Solomon was awoken by the call of a bird outside the window. He speaks with the birds, as perhaps you know. Ever afterwards, that Phoenician girl has haunted the pine trees of the Kidron Valley, a white owl with wild eyes whose cry means death to someone of the royal house.’ Khaba took a reflective sip of wine. ‘You see, Solomon can be terrible.’
    Asmira had kept her face suitably agog, but inside she was thinking how stupid the Phoenician girl had been, trying to wrestle the Ring clear when one strike with a knife would have sufficed. She said: ‘I suppose kings must be ruthless in protecting what is theirs. But you are kind and gentle, are you not, great Khaba? Speaking of which, what of my earlier request? Will you release those two demons who saved my life?’
    The magician threw a bony hand up in the air, eyes rolling. ‘Priestess Cyrine, you are remorseless! You will not be denied! All right, yes – you need say no more. I shall dismiss those servants from my service this very night!’
    Asmira fluttered her eyelashes in feigned admiration. ‘You vow it, O Khaba?’
    ‘Yes, yes, I vow it on the great god Ra, and all the gods of Ombos – provided ,’ he said, leaning in a little closer and staring at her with his shining eyes, ‘that I may in return speak with you again at dinner in the palace this evening. Other dignitaries will be there, of course; also my fellow magicians—’
    ‘And King Solomon?’ Here, finally, Asmira’s eagerness was genuine.
    ‘Possibly, possibly … It is not unknown. Now, see – here is a servitor waiting. A guest room has been prepared for you. But first … another glass of wine? No?’ Asmira was already rising. ‘Ah, you are tired. Of course; I understand. But we shall meet again at dinner,’ Khaba said, bowing, ‘and – I trust – become much better acquainted …’
    A knock sounded on the chamber door. Asmira was at once alert. Patting down her robes, checking that the knife-hilts were invisible beneath the cloth, she crossed to the door and opened it.
    In the dimly lit corridor a man stood waiting, framed in a star-shaped pool of light, the source of which could not be seen. He wore a plain white robe of high office. He was small and slight, and very dark of skin; Asmira guessed him to be a man from Kush, or somewhere in the Nile lands. On his shoulder sat a white mouse with glowing eyes as green as emeralds. It tilted its head to look at her.
    ‘Priestess Cyrine,’ the man said, ‘I am Hiram, Solomon’s vizier. I welcome you to his house. If you will follow me, I can offer you refreshment.’
    ‘Thank you. That would be gratifying indeed. However, I urgently seek audience with King Solomon. I wonder whether—’
    The small man smiled bleakly. He held up his hand. ‘In time all things may be possible. As for now, a meal begins soon in the Magicians’ Hall; to this you are invited. Please …’ He gestured towards the door.
    Asmira stepped forward; instantly the white mouse gave a squeak of alarm, stood up on its hind legs and chittered loudly in the magician’s ear.
    The vizier’s forehead furrowed; he stared at Asmira with his