Lord of the Nile

by Constance O'Banyon

  He gave her an agonized smile and turned away. His robe billowed out around him as he left the tent, disappearing into the night.

  Danaë said a quick prayer to the gods to keep him safe on his journey. And she prayed he would soon return. She was still trembling inside, hungering for the touch of his hands on her body.

  How would she exist while he was away?

  She slid past the curtains and sank down onto his bed. Tears were trickling down her cheeks, but she wasn’t quite sure why she was crying. She touched her lips, where the feel of his kiss still lingered. She loved him, and she would wait for him until the day she left this life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Ramtat arrived in Alexandria, it was the middle of the night, certainly too late to call on Caesar. He rode to his own villa, deciding to wait until sunrise to go the palace. In total exhaustion, he fell across his bed without removing his clothing or boots.

  An hour before dawn, Ramtat snapped awake, his senses aware that someone had entered his room. He lunged forward and grasped the sword that lay on the floor beside his bed.

  “So it’s a fight you want, is it?” a female voice asked. “Be warned, I have been taught swordplay by the best.”

  His hand dropped away from his sword, and he smiled in the near darkness. “So you think I am the best, do you? A considerate sister would permit her weary brother to sleep, Adhaniá.”

  She giggled and threw herself into his arms. “I thought you’d forgotten you had a sister, and our mother is sure she is naught but a faded memory in your mind.”

  He hugged her to him. “I could never forget a pest like you.”

  Adhaniá drew back and studied his face in the near dawn. “We hear the queen has been found. Is it true?”

  He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood. “Aye. It is true.”

  She slid off the bed and went into his arms. “Then the war will only grow worse.”

  His sister, Adhaniá, was tall for a female. Her hair hung to her waist and was as black as cinder. Her Bedouin heritage had given her honey-gold skin, and eyes of deep amber. He had tried to be a father to her since their father’s death, but war had taken him away from Egypt just when she most needed his guidance. He held her out from him. “You seem to grow more beautiful every day. I’ll have to set someone to guard you to keep the men from swarming around.”

  She pursed her lips. “That will not be necessary. Our mother sees that I am watched at all times.” He could hear the pout in her voice. “She says I’m too young for male company. Do you think that’s right? Many of my friends are already married.”

  “I would never dispute anything our mother says.”

  “You didn’t answer my first question,” she said, pulling the filmy curtains aside to find it was still dark outside. “Will the war grow more intense now that the queen is back in Alexandria?”

  “I fear so.” He moved to the door. “Accompany me to see our mother. I have something to say to both of you.”

  They had only reached the end of the hallway when their mother met them. “I just discovered you came home during the night. Why did you not awaken me?”

  “I assumed you needed your sleep, Mother,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “As did I.”

  “It is good to know you are safe—we hear such stories about fighting in the streets of Alexandria.”

  “The stories are true. That is why I want you to pack up the household and move to the country villa, leaving only those necessary to the running of the house.”

  “I’m not afraid of war,” his mother said with a touch of irritation.

  Ramtat’s mother was still a handsome woman, and in appearance seemed no more than half her age. Her dark hair was barely dusted by gray at the temples, and her face was unlined. He motioned toward his sister. “I know you do not fear war, but you must think of my sister.”

  His mother nodded in understanding. “I will do as you say. We should be able to leave in three days’ time.”

  “Then my mind is at ease, and I can attend to my duties without worrying about the two of you.”

  “Send word to me when it is safe to come home,” his mother told him.

  “Do not expect it to be soon,” he said sadly.

  “Come,” his mother told him, linking her arm through Ramtat’s. “I will see you fed before you leave this house.”

  It was an hour later when the messenger from Caesar arrived, informing Ramtat that he was to be in attendance in the throne room within the hour.

  He hurriedly dressed in his court finery, impatient while his servant applied kohl to his eyes and set his braided wig upon his head. Since it was the swiftest conveyance, he chose to take his chariot. It had been hitched and was waiting for him when he hurried out the front door. He cracked his whip and urged his matching grays into a fast pace. There was an eerie silence as he raced through the nearly empty streets of Alexandria. It was market day, yet there were no stalls set up and hardly anyone about. Something untoward had happened, and he was afraid to guess what it could be.

  The guards at the arched entrance recognized Ramtat and must have been told to expect him, because they waved him through without question. When he reached the palace steps, he tossed the reins of his chariot to the waiting attendant. Ramtat hurried inside and down a long corridor toward the throne room.

  He feared the worst—he was afraid Caesar had sent for him because Cleopatra was dead.

  He was almost overcome with relief when he entered the room and saw that Queen Cleopatra was very much alive. With the stature and bearing of a mighty ruler, she sat on her throne in all her glory, holding the scepter and flail, Egypt’s symbols of power, crisscrossed over her breasts, and wearing the Hawk Crown of Isis on her head.

  But something was not right.

  Ramtat quickly glanced about, searching the faces of the others in the throne room. King Ptolemy’s tutor, Theodotus, was standing on the dais, looking disgruntled, while Cleopatra’s adviser, Antinanious, stood at her right hand. A scribe sat cross-legged near the queen, taking down everything that was said. Several of Caesar’s guards stood near the doors, but King Ptolemy was nowhere to be seen.

  Caesar was pacing in front of the throne, waving his arms in frustration. “I ordered your brother to be here—where is he? Why has he not come?”

  “You can hardly expect His Glorious Majesty to sit beside his sister, who tried to kill him on several occasions,” the sullen-faced tutor remarked viciously. “The king is not himself lately. His prized cheetah, Jabatus, has become unmanageable and has to be kept in its cage. The boy suffers mightily because the animal turned on him. He lives only because I was there to help control the cat.”

  “Of what are you babbling?” Caesar demanded. “If you can’t talk sense, remain silent.”

  Theodotus glanced from Caesar to Cleopatra with a malevolent glare. “It is our opinion that Cleopatra, by her rebellion against the rightful king, has forfeited her right to the throne of Egypt.”

  Caesar held up his hand for silence. “Theodotus, what you think doesn’t interest anyone here. If memory serves me, and it usually does, you were not invited to attend this morning’s council, so keep your opinions to yourself.”

  If anything, the tutor looked even more sullen, but he compressed his lips and fell silent.

  “This bickering,” Caesar continued, “will cease immediately. My wish—nay, my command, is that Cleopatra and Ptolemy rule jointly. In this, there will be no debate.”

  “You must allow me to speak, Caesar,” Theodotus insisted. “Surely you must know that I speak with the voice of the king.”

  The Roman glared at the tutor. “If you say one more word, you will be escorted out!”

  Caesar’s gaze settled on Queen Cleopatra, and an intimate smile curved his lips.

  The queen’s own anger was barely concealed as she stared at the evil man who held her brother in his grip. “The tutor has it wrong. It was my brother who tried to ha
ve me killed. I have no desire to share my throne with a young boy who is so easily controlled by others.”

  “Nonetheless, you shall do precisely that,” Caesar demanded as he glanced toward the door. That was when he noticed Ramtat. “Rome was made executor of your father’s will, Queen Cleopatra, and I’m here to see that his wishes are carried out. Does anyone object?”

  No one spoke. Caesar acknowledged Ramtat with the merest nod of his head. “Well, you certainly took your time getting here,” he said in annoyance. “What kept you?”

  Ramtat had ridden two days and nights with very little sleep to arrive as quickly as he could, but he said naught to Caesar of this. The proconsul knew how long it took to make the journey to Alexandria from his encampment. Ramtat had learned over the years that much of what Caesar said was spoken only to impress those within the sound of his voice.

  “I beg your pardon for my tardiness, Caesar,” Ramtat said. “It was unavoidable.”

  “Come forward,” Caesar said, still irritated. “I have business to conduct elsewhere. It is my wish that you remain beside Queen Cleopatra until I return.” Caesar glowered pointedly at Theodotus while he spoke to Ramtat. “I leave ten of my guards with you to ensure peace.”

  Ramtat bowed. “I am always willing to serve.”

  Caesar arched a brow. “Yes, yes, we know all about that. Stay beside the queen to provide advice—and keep your sword handy at all times.”

  What Caesar left unsaid, but plainly implied, was that Ramtat’s appointed task was to keep the queen safe. Caesar’s retreating footsteps echoed down the marble floors, but Ramtat’s attention was focused on the queen. He swept her a deep bow.

  “I have been informed of your loyalty, Lord Ramtat. You may approach me and speak,” the queen said, a mischievous light in her green eyes.

  Cleopatra had been but a child when last they had met—now she was a young woman with the confidence of a queen. On close inspection, Ramtat noticed that Cleopatra was no great beauty, but one would hardly notice because there was something about her that cast all other women in the shade of her glory. Her voice was hypnotic, her eyes reflected intelligence, and every move she made displayed a practiced grace. When he studied more closely, he almost stopped breathing. With subtle differences, Danaë could almost be the queen’s twin! The queen had a larger nose than Danaë’s, and she was a little taller, but they had the same green eyes. Their features were almost identical, though the queen seemed softer, a bit heavier, and her skin was somewhat darker.

  The resemblance was astonishing.

  “Your Majesty, it has been some years since last we met. It does my heart good to see you.”

  “I remember you well, Lord Ramtat. I also remember you were a favorite of my father’s.”

  Theodotus glared at the queen, still not aware of the dangerous ground he was treading. “Lord Ramtat and his legions are loyal to King Ptolemy. Both you and Caesar would do well to remember that.”

  “Silence!” the queen commanded, and the tutor immediately closed his mouth, compressing his lips in anger.

  Looking past Theodotus, Cleopatra plainly dismissed him from her mind and turned her attention to Ramtat. When she smiled, Ramtat saw a faint resemblance to the young girl he’d known so many years ago.

  “I am told how faithfully you serve Egypt, Lord Ramtat.”

  He bowed. “You are rightly informed, my queen.”

  “But—” the tutor started to protest.

  Holding a hand up to silence him, Cleopatra stated, “Enough time has been wasted on triviality. There are people with real problems waiting for an audience. Lord Ramtat, it is my wish that you stand beside me during the proceedings.”

  She had just bestowed a high honor on Ramtat. At her right hand stood her trusted adviser, Antinanious, so Ramtat moved to stand at her left. Cleopatra’s adviser looked Ramtat over carefully and, at last, nodded his approval.

  Ramtat planted his body between the queen and the tutor, and Theodotus was forced to give ground and move behind Ptolemy’s empty throne, an insult Ramtat knew he would not soon forget or forgive.

  After an hour, the proceedings became mundane: One man wanted the return of sheep he swore had been stolen by his neighbor, while a woman wanted her husband to send his second wife away because she was barren and caused upheaval in their home. The queen artfully settled a squabble between the governors of two of her provinces, a diplomatic feat her brother could never have accomplished.

  Ramtat became alert when he heard the chamberlain announce a new petitioner: “Lord Harique, of the House of Sahure, seeks Her Majesty’s justice.”

  Ramtat watched the man cross the marble floor, remembering that Sahure was Danaë’s family name.

  “Approach, Harique, of the House of Sahure,” Antinanious said. “State your grievance before the queen.”

  “Great Majesty,” Harique began, dropping to his knees and lowering his head. “I have been greatly wronged. One of my slaves has not only run away but is pretending to be someone she is not—she is plotting and scheming with persons who would harm Egypt.”

  “You dare bring such a matter before this throne?” Theodotus injected in an attempt to have his voice heard. “There are more important matters to attend to than a runaway slave. Go to the local authorities with this matter.”

  “But, Illustrious Majesty,” Harique continued in a trembling voice, “this slave involved the king in her deception. She tricked him into believing she is the daughter of my uncle, Lord Mycerinus, who has recently passed to the other world. I was also told she presented the king with the gift of a rare cheetah that was not hers to give.”

  “What is this?” Queen Cleopatra asked, rising to her feet. “Of what are you speaking, fool?”

  Theodotus stared at Harique with rising fear. It would not be wise to let the man elaborate on the gift of the cheetah. The queen would surely pounce on the fact that her brother might have erred in his judgment, and that they had all been tricked by a slave. “I know the lady of whom this man speaks of. He should be punished for defaming her good name. Do not listen to this man’s ramblings.”

  Cleopatra was studying Harique with suspicion.

  “Would you say the slave in question is a friend of my brother’s?”

  Although Harique had fought on the king’s side, he had decided to switch loyalties before he entered the throne chamber. If the mighty Caesar was supporting the queen and sharing her bed, as was rumored, it would behoove him to be on the side of the queen. “I speak only the truth when I say she favors your brother. Who knows what plots and intrigues she is involved in? For a slave to reach so high, she must have coaching from someone.”

  “Speak her name, fool!”

  “She is my slave, Danaë.”

  Cleopatra shook her head. “A slave would have nothing to gain by taking part in such an intrigue. Where is your proof?”

  Harique ducked his head, wondering if he’d made a mistake in bringing this issue before the queen. “Danaë is sly and manipulative—I know she is scheming with persons who would do you harm.”

  The tutor moved quickly down the steps to peer into Harique’s face. Sliding the hilt of his dagger beneath Harique’s chin, he forced the frightened man’s head upward so his face was more visible. “Admit it! Your story is false!”

  Cleopatra pointed her finger. “Leave the man alone, tutor. This matter does not concern you. I am the one who sits in judgment in this chamber, not you.”

  Ramtat felt his stomach knot. Here could be the mystery Danaë had been hiding from him. Certainly not that she would harm the queen, but that she was a slave. Nay! He could not believe it.

  The tutor reluctantly stepped back. “Great Majesty, I would not trust this man.”

  “Still,” Cleopatra injected, “serious charges have been lodged against this Danaë. I want to know the truth of this matter.”

  Ramtat watched Harique carefully. The fool’s life hung by a thin thread, and yet he did not change his story. Ramta
t felt something inside him wither—the man could be speaking the truth. If so, Danaë had deceived more than just the king—she had deceived him as well.

  “Majesty,” Ramtat stated, watching beads of sweat pop out on the face of the accuser. “I have it within my power to discover whether this man lies or not. If you will but give me a week, I shall lay the truth of the matter before you.”

  “How so, Lord Ramtat?” the queen asked. “Do you know of whom he speaks.”

  “I do know her. I stood beside your brother the day the gift of the cheetah was presented to him.”

  Cleopatra looked steadily at Ramtat. “You shall bring this woman before me, and I shall judge her for myself.”

  “She is at present some distance from Alexandria. It will take time to reach her and bring her here.”

  “Do it.” Cleopatra smiled, her gaze going to Harique, who had turned pale and kept his head lowered. “While you are seeking the truth, Lord Ramtat, this man will linger in my prison. If I learn he speaks false, he will never leave it.”

  Anger burned inside Ramtat as he waved one of Caesar’s guards forward. “Stand beside the queen, and do not leave her for any reason.” He motioned to a second guard and nodded at Lord Harique. “Take that man away and confine him—he is to speak to no one. And when you have imprisoned him, go directly to Caesar and tell him that I am on the queen’s mission.”

  “It shall be done as you say, Lord Ramtat.” The Roman guard prodded Harique forward with the hilt of his sword.

  Ramtat was battling anger, but he was not sure at whom he should aim it. If Danaë was involved in some kind of plot against the queen, he would find out when he questioned her.

  “With your permission, Majesty, I should leave immediately.”

  “Yes, go, my good Lord Ramtat. Ride swiftly, for there are many plots afoot.” Cleopatra looked pointedly at the tutor. “If this is another of my brother’s schemes, I need to know of it.”

  Ramtat saw the sickly color of the tutor’s face and tried to remember everything that had happened the day Danaë had presented the cheetah to the king. He had been in the chamber the entire time, and the king was not a good enough dissembler to fool him. The king had not known Danaë before that day; he was sure of it.