I am Hamdan ibn Riyan, sheikh of the Banu Mahzor and scion of an ancient line of Shebang elders. From my earliest breath I knew King al Haddad ruled our realm without rival, and that men of his day both feared his might and revered the stern fairness of his judgments. Never did I imagine the wheel of time would turn so far that a woman would ascend the throne, rending the rules and toppling the customs in which we had been reared generation after generation.
Midway through al Haddad's reign I became one of his trusted bands, summoned to settle tribal quarrels and safeguard the trade roads that thread our lands. We bore the title "Guardians of the Plains," for our clans command the mountain passes and the broad valleys alike. Al Haddad, shrewd as he was, recognized his need of us as keenly as we understood ours of him; it was an accord of mutual profit he drew on our martial loyalty, and we on his political largesse and the eminence of his name.
But Queen Balqis, though her blood is beyond dispute the daughter of al Haddad himself remains to us a riddle we fear to confront. To be born female is no stain, yet to sit alone upon a throne equal to the powers of men that we have never known, nor can we easily abide. Here lies the root of our opposition: not hatred of her person, but dread of overturned measures and priorities reversed. Deep in the traditions we inherit from our forefathers a voice insists that waging war and ordering the tribes are offices entrusted to men; how shall matters stand if all this is upended in a single night?
A few weeks past, when word came of al Haddad's death, we gathered in a secret council beneath my own roof. I had summoned several influential sheikhs Malik ibn Riyad, Sheikh Qadim, and others who mistrust the idea of Balqis's succession. We met by the glow of oil lamps in a rear courtyard of my country house where neither servants nor guards could eavesdrop.
Malik ibn Riyad spoke first, a man whose gaze weighs every syllable. "If Sheba built her glory upon al Haddad's wisdom and iron resolve," he said, "is it conceivable we open the gate for a woman to trifle with the affairs of rule?" Then he raised his voice: "Men, we stand at a crossroads: either we submit to a throne ruled by a woman, or we rise against this folly to preserve our own honor and that of our fathers."
The assembly answered with murmurs and nods; in that moment I sensed a fervor deeper than I had reckoned. I had not thought rejection of Balqis so widespread, yet it proved a river seeping beneath ground that once seemed solid.
Our protest was no caprice. We tribal elders see in the new queen a project that may unbalance every scale of power. Since the waning days of al Haddad, the influence of Grand Counsellor Khazabla has swollen, as though he rules the palace from behind its veils. We fear him more than we fear her a clever man versed in every secret of governance, who may wield the young queen as a cloak for his own designs, robbing us of the tribal sovereignty forged by our ancestors over centuries.
Furthermore, many sheikhs myself among them cannot picture a future where a woman leads the defense of Sheba's borders or quenches the blood feud of an insurgent clan. Our abiding logic holds that whoever strides onto the field, facing wrathful chieftains, must bear the title sheikh or king, not queen. Such is the code we have long bent to maintain order and security.
Though our refusal was plain, we dared not declare open revolt. All know the might of the central army loyal to the crown, and the royal guard, fostered in al Haddad's shadow, is bound to his line. So, we chose caution hiding behind a semblance of provisional acceptance while we test Balqis's true capacity to steer the tiller of state.
Our private council resolved to demand a governing council that would share her decisions not from love of participation, but to strip her of command. Should she refuse, we would stir the tribal street to outrage; should she accept on burdensome terms, we would enthrone our dominance from within, draining the crown of substance. Thus, we planned to besiege her politically, avoiding direct war that might imperil tribal interests.
I must note that some clan's descendants of old Shebang lines that furnish her army's ranks stand with Balqis and exalt her lineage, deeming the throne a sacred inheritance even for a woman. Their loyalty springs from pride in al Haddad's history and reverence for his blood. And there are others whose minds open to new notions, seeing the struggle as mere motion toward progress. But I, Hamdan ibn Riyan, see no progress in shredding custom; I see a peril poised to devour men's honor.
Among us also walks a hesitant faction, fearing to stand openly against the crown, yet fearing to lose standing if they back a woman who might soon buckle beneath pressure. They tread a taut rope, studying the wind, watching for signs of strength or weakness; if they sense our cause gaining favor, they will cleave to us, but if Balqis holds firm, they will shelter in the palace or claim neutrality.
I have heard that Balqis will soon summon a public gathering in the temple square, inviting tribal elders and the town elite under the banner of dialogue and counsel. Perhaps she means to steal a march on us, or to lure us into declaring positions she can then strike in open day. We will not enter that assembly unready. We have agreed to present a calm, reasonable visage, seizing the discourse under the pretexts of "preserving Sheba's unity" and "honoring al Haddad's blood." Behind this poised speech we will carry our core demands.
First, we would demand a vast tribal shear council, arguing that a woman's decree must draw its legitimacy from the voices of the chieftains.
Second, we would insist that a man hold guardianship over military affairs, for bearing arms belongs so we contend to those steeped in the codes of manhood and war.
Third, we would pare back the power of the Grand Counsellor, curbing Khazabla influence lest he reign from behind the curtain.
Should she accept all this, she becomes a mere emblem, a figure of gold berefts of substance. Should she refuse, we are certain many tribes will rally to our cause, for we will cast her as a lone autocrat and summon those ancient texts that protest a woman's rule.
Yet we did not confine ourselves to open strategy; we planted eyes in the palace corridors old guards bound to us by favors past, servants who owe their loyalty to sheikhs that once showered them with gifts. Through them we glean the queen's and Khazabla every movement: what councils meet and when, who slips through the gates at night, what words are breathed in side galleries.
We hear Khazabla sleeps little, poring over schemes with the queen until dawn. They say he warns her of our ruses, urging strokes of cunning we do not foresee. We do not disdain the adversary; in al Haddad's prime we learned his caliber, and now that caliber arms Balqis. But no fortress is so stout that time does not crack it, or a deft foe does not find a joint.