Lord of the Nile

by Constance O'Banyon

  She bowed low, watching as a pair of small feet adorned with gold jeweled sandals swept by. She grasped Uriah’s arm, fearing she could not stand on her own, and he looked at her in concern.

  Slowly Danaë raised her head. Her gaze collided with the most beautiful kohl-lined green eyes she had ever seen. Queen Cleopatra was magnificent in a blue Grecian gown with gold trim. Her hair was covered with the golden Crown of Isis. Danaë’s gaze fastened on the necklace Cleopatra wore, and her heart shuddered. Her necklace was identical to the one Danaë wore about her own neck.

  Looking up into Queen Cleopatra’s face, Danaë saw the flash of a smile—or had she? It was gone so quickly, she wasn’t sure if she’d only imagined it.

  Movement to the queen’s right caught her eye, and Danaë stared into a face she had thought never to see again.

  Ramtat could not take his eyes off Danaë. Her black hair shone like ebony; unadorned, it fell about her shoulders like fine silk. She was dressed simply in a white robe and leather sandals, but no woman in the room, not even the queen with all her jewels, could compare with Danaë.

  The queen motioned Ramtat closer, and he bent his head to hear what she had to say. “All the players are here. I wonder how it will end.”

  “I know not, Majesty.”

  “So this is the young woman who has stolen the heart of my greatest general. I see nothing in her that would merit a stout heart like yours, Lord Ramtat. What is it that you see in her?”

  Ramtat knew what she wanted to hear. “She is you, Majesty.”

  The queen’s gaze bore into the young beauty. “I see that she is a Ptolemy. It could well be that she craves my throne.”

  Ramtat was swamped by fear for Danaë. “You must remember she left safety and came to you. Would a guilty person do such a thing?”

  “You defend her!”

  “I, like the others here, await your judgment.”

  “Then let it begin.” She settled her gaze on the handsome man who had been languishing in her prison until today. He looked somewhat paler than the arrogant lord who had brought accusations weeks before. “Lord Harique, do you still hold to the story that this young woman is your slave, and that she pretended to be the daughter of Lord Mycerinus’s house?”

  Harique swept into a low bow. “It is as I said, Gracious Majesty.” He pointed to Danaë. “She is my slave, and so is the man who stands beside her.”

  Queen Cleopatra motioned for Danaë to approach. “Have you an answer to this man’s charge, young woman?”

  Danaë moved hesitatingly forward and made an elegant bow.

  “Well, speak!”

  “Your Majesty, it is true I was not born of Lord Mycerinus’s blood, but this I did not know until the last day of his life. I grew up believing I was his daughter, and he legally adopted me before his death.”

  “Lies!” Harique shouted. “She was always a slave in my uncle’s house.”

  Ramtat was watching Danaë, and he saw her flinch. But she made no reply.

  “Will you not defend yourself?” the queen asked, leaning closer. In truth, she was enjoying herself while watching Lord Ramtat squirm. “What of your mother?” The queen watched the young woman raise a clear, honest gaze to her.

  “I’m told my mother died on the day I was born. I know nothing of her but that she was a slave. My father … Lord Mycerinus bought her at a slave auction and later made her his wife. She was with child at that time—and she gave birth to me a few months later.”

  Queen Cleopatra watched Danaë closely, for she was good at distinguishing truth from lie. “Do you know who your real father was?”

  “Nay. And neither did Lord Mycerinus. I was told that my mother was frightened of her past, and she kept her secret to her death.”

  The queen leaned back, knowing honesty when she heard it. “Then you would have no claim on your real father’s estate should you learn his identity?”

  “No one knows who he is, Your Majesty, and I care not. I could not have had a better father than the one I grew up with.”

  “What say you to all this, Lord Harique?”

  “Lies—all lies.”

  The queen swung her head back to Danaë. “Do you have documents that will prove Lord Mycerinus made you his legal daughter?”

  Harique looked smug, and Danaë had to turn her gaze away from him before she could answer. “I have, Majesty.”

  The chamber fell into silence until Harique spoke. “Impossible!”

  “Why so, Lord Harique?” The queen’s gaze was steady on him.

  “No such document exists.”

  “My good Kheleel, do you have in your possession such a document?”

  The high priest stepped forward and bowed low. “I do, Exalted One.”

  “Produce it for my inspection.”

  Danaë could not help glancing up at Ramtat. His expression was reserved and distant as his gaze brushed across her face. She wished she knew what he was thinking. He was not the man who had held her in his arms, the man who had made her love him—now he looked every inch the queen’s general, stoic, hard, unfeeling. She resisted the urge to place her hand on her slightly rounded stomach where his baby lay.

  Looking back at the queen, Danaë watched as she read the document and then asked the high priest how it had come into his possession.

  “ ’Twas given into my care by Uriah, the Jew.”

  “Impossible,” Harique hissed.

  “Lord Harique, do you accuse my high priest of speaking false?”

  For the first time, Harique felt uncertain—he’d been sure that all the documents had been destroyed. He saw the folly of accusing an esteemed man like the high priest of being untruthful. It seemed that Lord Mycerinus had won, even from his grave. But Harique thought of one more way to turn the tide in his favor. “I do not doubt that the high priest believes the document to be genuine. But for all we know, it could have been faked by Uriah, the Jew. It is known by all that he has always been partial to Danaë.”

  The queen knew she had the man now, and she was ready to move in for the final stab. Lord Harique was not the smartest of men. He was about to tumble into a trap she had set for him, and, foolish man, he didn’t see it coming. “What do you propose we do, Lord Harique?”

  “I do not ask for the woman’s death. I merely wish to take my slave, Danaë, and bother Your Majesty no longer.”

  Ramtat watched the queen smile—she was up to something. She leaned back and fixed a cold stare on Lord Harique that would have chilled the dead. Ramtat’s gaze moved to Danaë, who was looking pale and shaken. He longed to go to her, but he knew he must wait for this game to conclude. If it turned out that Danaë was a slave, he would buy her from Lord Harique, no matter how much it cost.

  Queen Cleopatra was clearly enjoying herself. “Lord Harique, would you ask me to turn over to you as a slave, a princess of the royal house, and my half-sister?”

  The room fell silent!

  Harique had turned a sickly color and stepped quickly backward.

  Danaë’s eyes widened with disbelief.

  Ramtat was stunned.

  The high priest looked smug.

  Queen Cleopatra smiled.

  “You see, Lord Harique, Lady Danaë, who is in all actuality Princess Danaë, was my father’s daughter. Does that not make her my sister?”

  Danaë was in shock. Could it be true that the dead king was her real father? She looked into Uriah’s eyes, and saw that he was as confused as she.

  Shaken, Harique dropped to his knees and lowered his forehead to the floor. “Majesty, how could I have known? Spare my life, I beg you!”

  The contempt on Queen Cleopatra’s face was apparent to all. “I will do better than spare your life—I will allow another to pass judgment on you.”

  Harique glanced up with hope on his face. “Most Gracious Majesty, from this day forward I shall be your true and loyal servant.”

  Queen Cleopatra nodded to the guard who stood by the door. “Bring forward the
person who will pass final judgment on Lord Harique.”

  A slight woman moved hesitantly into the chamber, her frightened gaze going to her husband, Lord Harique, and then in bewilderment to the queen.

  “Come forward, Lady Tila,” Antinanious said in a booming voice. “Your queen would speak to you.”

  The woman fell down on her knees, trembling. “What have I done to displease you, Mighty Queen?” she asked in a quivering voice.

  “Nay, ’tis not what you’ve done. I would ask you what I should do with your husband.”

  Lady Tila looked even more confused, and she rose shakily to her feet. “But surely it is not for me to judge.”

  “Tell the queen,” Antinanious ordered, “if you know why Lord Harique lodged charges against Princess Danaë.”

  At first the woman could not find her voice, and then she spoke so softly she could hardly be heard. A stern glance from Antinanious made her blurt out her explanation. “My husband has always lusted after his uncle’s daughter. He would have her even if it brought the world down around him. He is sick in the mind, and I care not what you do to him.”

  The queen continued questioning Lord Harique’s wife. “You always thought of Lady Danaë as Lord Mycerinus’s daughter?”

  “Aye. She was his daughter in every way it counted. Beyond that I know naught.”

  Queen Cleopatra’s voice was cold and deadly. “I have decided your punishment, Lord Harique. First, all titles shall be stripped from you. All the property and holdings that came to you from Lord Mycerinus shall be ceded to his adopted daughter. You shall be escorted to the border of Egypt and banished for all time.” Her head swung to the cowering man’s wife. “You have the opportunity to go with your husband if that is your wish, or you may proclaim yourself divorced from him and remain a loyal citizen of Egypt.”

  Lady Tila did not bother to look at the pitiful man kneeling before the queen. “I choose Egypt.”

  “Very well. Then you may leave.” After Tila was led from the room, the queen motioned for a guard to come forward. “Take this man to the border and see him gone from my country.”

  It took two guards to lift the quivering Harique to his feet, and they had to practically drag him from the chamber.

  During the entire proceedings, Danaë had stood in dignified silence, but her heart was pounding inside her. Too much had happened. How could she be the daughter of a king? She didn’t want to be—she wanted life to go back to the way it had been before she’d been caught in this whirlwind. She hardly noticed when the guards led Harique out of the room, or when his wife was led away. She was leaning heavily on Uriah now, and Danaë hoped she could remain strong when the queen passed judgment on her. She now understood why her mother had been so afraid. Anyone who stood close to the throne was in jeopardy.

  Danaë’s head suddenly jerked up, and she felt the air charged with danger. Some sixth sense warned her that something was terribly wrong. Her gaze swept across the chamber, and she was the first one to see the peril. Theodotus, King Ptolemy’s tutor, emerged from a curtained area with a chained cheetah at his side. From its distinctive markings, she recognized it as Jabatus.

  To her horror, she saw the tutor unleash the chain and urge the animal forward.

  “Kill!” he screamed. “Kill!”

  It was as if everyone in the room were frozen. Since the guards had left to escort the luckless Harique and his wife out of the chamber, Ramtat was the first to react. His dagger sang through the air, slamming into the tutor’s heart, and sending him to the floor. By the time Ramtat turned to take on the cheetah, he realized his mistake. The cat was already stalking the queen, and his dagger was buried in Theodotus!

  Danaë saw at once that the cat’s attention was focused on the queen. As Jabatus slunk lower across the floor, his glassy stare never wavered from Queen Cleopatra. Without thinking, Danaë rushed forward, hoping she could reach the cat before it attached the queen. She leaped in the air just as the cheetah sprang. With a heavy crash, Danaë and the cat fell to the floor. With her arms locked around Jabatus’s neck, she felt pain rip through her arm, and then the deadly claws raked across her shoulder.

  Apollodorus stepped in front of the queen while Ramtat rushed toward Danaë, knowing he would not reach her in time. Danaë had sacrificed herself for the life of the queen. Already the cheetah was going for Danaë’s throat.

  Danaë grabbed the cheetah’s head, yanking hard. “Jabatus, look at me!” She yanked again. “I said, look at me!”

  The cat snarled, baring its teeth.

  “Stop!” Danaë tried not to think of the pain that was almost overwhelming her, but to concentrate on stemming the cat’s lust for blood. “Jabatus, you will look at me!”

  The yellow eyes that stared into hers were the eyes of a killer, wild, unthinking, driven only by blood lust. She slammed her fist into the animal’s nose, and the cat blinked. Danaë knew the very moment Jabatus recognized her. “You will hear me and obey!”

  A rumble started deep in the cheetah’s throat. Where moments before, the cat had been intent on killing, he now purred deep in his throat.

  Danaë was in pain, and the cat’s weight was crushing her. The world was spinning, and she feared she would lose consciousness before she could control the animal.

  She ran her hands soothingly over the soft fur. “Gentle down. Cease. Hear my words and heed me.”

  Ramtat stood over them helplessly, his sword drawn, but he was afraid to strike lest he hit Danaë. He didn’t know how badly she was hurt; he only knew the blood pooling on the marble floor was hers.

  Danaë met Ramtat’s gaze, and she nodded sorrowfully. “You must do it. Beautiful Jabatus has been corrupted and will kill if he’s allowed to live.”

  Ramtat saw the sadness in her eyes, and he watched her hand glide over the animal’s fur. “Strike between the shoulder blades for a quick kill.” She closed her eyes, and tears fell on the soft coat. She took the head of the beautiful cheetah and held it to her as gently as she would a baby. “Do it now.”

  Ramtat’s strike was true. The cat gave a long sigh, then shuddered and died.

  Ramtat yanked the lifeless animal off Danaë and tossed it aside. “Beloved,” he said, going to his knees and pulling her into his arms. “What have you done?”

  Danaë saw the queen kneel beside her and wrap her own silken scarf around her wounded shoulder.

  “Little sister, you would have sacrificed your life for mine. No one has ever done half so much.”

  Faces swarmed about Danaë in a swirl of light. Uriah bent beside her, the queen, and Ramtat. “Your Majesty,” Danaë said so faintly that the queen had to lean forward to hear her words. “Do not let me lose my baby.”

  An anguished cry escaped Ramtat’s lips, and he drew her tightly against him.

  “Take her to my quarters,” the queen commanded. She glanced at the dead Theodotus, then turned to the high priest. “Perform the ceremony and recite the ritual that will cleanse this room of all evil.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Danaë opened her eyes and blinked. She hurt everywhere, but especially her left shoulder. She licked her dry lips and tried not to think about the pain. When her vision cleared, she found she was lying in an enormous bed with soft cushions, and the coverlet was like gossamer. The room was huge and luxurious, and there were steps that led to a wide terrace, beyond which she could see the blue of the Mediterranean.

  Hearing the door open and the sound of soft sandaled feet, she watched Queen Cleopatra sweep toward her, her movements like poetry. Danaë tried to rise, but the queen placed a hand on her arm to stop her.

  “Little sister, you have been injured. You must not move, or you could break open your wound.”

  “Will I recover?”

  The queen smiled. “You have strength in you—you shall recover.”

  Danaë licked her lips and placed her hand on her stomach. “My baby?”

  “The baby is fine. But my physician wants you to remain i
n bed for a while longer.” Cleopatra looked at the young woman who had saved her life. Danaë was blood of her blood, and she needed family—she needed a loving sister at this time of her life. “I am also with child,” she admitted.

  Danaë’s eyes widened. “You will bear Caesar’s child?”

  Cleopatra’s laughter was magical; it had the quality of making those who heard it want to laugh as well. “Little sister, you and I have been impregnated by warriors and strong-headed men. The sons of Caesar and Ramtat could rule the world.”

  Danaë found herself feeling sisterly love toward the queen, and she felt the blood tie between them. “Can you tell me why you call me little sister?”

  “It is really quite simple. Your mother, Lady Eilana, was descended from Ptolemaic lineage. She was a cousin to my father, and perhaps the one woman he truly loved. When you are well enough, I will show you your mother’s likeness.”

  “I know nothing of her.”

  “I knew only palace rumors until I found my old nurse, and she enlightened me. I had this knowledge before you came to the palace yesterday, but I wanted to see what kind of person you were before I decided whether I should claim you as my sister.”

  Danaë’s eyes widened. “I don’t know what to say. How are we connected?”

  “Your mother, Eilana, was the daughter of one of my father’s generals. From what I was told, my father—our father—fell in love with Eilana, and she loved him as well. She was already carrying his child when the mother of my half-brother, Ptolemy, tried to have her slain. Perhaps she felt threatened by the child Eilana carried, I do not know.” Cleopatra looked thoughtful. “As you probably know, this family too often turns on its own, but we won’t dwell on that. When your mother disappeared, everyone thought she was dead—surely a rumor fostered by Ptolemy’s mother. My old nurse told me my father was inconsolable for a long time afterward.” Cleopatra touched Danaë’s cheek. “So you see, you are my sister, and a princess royal.”

  Suddenly Cleopatra’s gaze became hard. “But never make the mistake of thinking you have any claim on my throne.”