Lord of the Nile

by Constance O'Banyon

  “Majesty, I would not want your throne. I would rather be a pauper and forage for food than face what you face every day.”

  The tense moment passed. “I know you are telling the truth,” Cleopatra said. “Had you wanted my throne, you would not have risked your life for mine. I will never doubt you.”

  Danaë smiled. “Of all the men I could imagine as my blood father, I would never have considered the king.” She looked wistful. “One day perhaps you will tell me about our father.”

  “And when you are feeling up to it, you can talk to my old nurse about your mother. She can tell you more than I.”

  Danaë was having trouble keeping her eyes open. “This is your room, is it not?”

  Cleopatra smiled. “It is. You will remain here until you are completely healed.”

  “Thank you for your care.”

  “Thank you for my life.” Cleopatra frowned. “I saw the cat coming toward me, and I knew what it felt like to taste death. Then I watched you run at the cat and place yourself between us, and in that moment, I knew the true meaning of loyalty. The scars on your arm and shoulder will show your bravery to all, and I will make certain everyone honors you.”

  Danaë saw no reason to tell Cleopatra that she had once favored Ptolemy to rule Egypt. Ramtat had been right—here was a queen worthy of the title. “I wasn’t brave, Your Majesty. I just acted on instinct.”

  “My good general, Ramtat, was acting on instinct as well when he rushed to you.” Cleopatra arched her eyebrow. “He has been waiting in the garden all night for a chance to see you. Do you want to see him?”

  “Nay.”

  “You carry his child.”

  “I will raise my child alone. I don’t need him.”

  A sad smile touched Cleopatra’s lips. “In that, as in so many other things, we are not unalike, little sister. Caesar will be leaving before my child is born, although I would wish it otherwise.”

  * * *

  Ramtat buried his head in his hands. Danaë was dead—he knew it. She had been unconscious when he’d carried her to the queen’s quarters. Although he had made inquires, no one seemed to know anything.

  He got up and paced, then stared into the distant sunrise while guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders. Slumping down on the bench once more, he shook his head. When he thought of the way he had treated her, it made him ashamed.

  He heard footsteps and rose expectantly, but it was only a servant extinguishing the torches along the path. Ramtat would never be able to forget the vision of Danaë running toward the cheetah, or the moment he’d realized he couldn’t get there in time to save her.

  Again his stomach tightened. He had accused her of wanting to kill the queen. How Danaë must despise him!

  A thought came to him that he had pushed to the back of his mind because it was too painful to consider. Danaë was with child—his child. If death claimed her, it would also claim his unborn baby. He thought of the long weeks they had been apart when she’d needed him the most. She had fled from him, prepared to have his baby alone. Would she ever have told him he was the father? He did not think so.

  This time the footsteps he heard were light—the tread of a queen. Ramtat jumped to his feet and bowed. “Majesty.”

  “Lord Ramtat, I see you are still here.”

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  Cleopatra shook her head. “Nay. She lives. Her wounds are deep but not life-threatening.”

  “And the child?”

  “It’s too soon to tell, but Danaë is a Ptolemy, and that gives her certain strength.”

  He bowed his head. “How could I have known? In trying to do the best, I did the worst.”

  “Take no blame for that. You were not the only one who thought ill of my little sister.”

  Ramtat let out a long breath. “Then she truly is of your blood?”

  “Princess Danaë is my father’s daughter. That is why you saw the resemblance between us.”

  “May I see her?”

  Cleopatra smiled. She thought it would do no harm if this valiant warrior had to wait a while for what he wanted most in the world. “Nay. It seems that my little sister refuses to see you.”

  “That is my child in her belly,” he said, feeling a sudden possessiveness. “I have every right to be there with her.”

  Cleopatra shrugged, and hid her smile. “As for the child, I have not quite decided who the father is; I am toying with the notion that Danaë’s child is the offspring of a god—a lesser god, of course, seeing that Danaë will never be queen.”

  “Nay, the child is mine, as is the mother.”

  He looked so fierce, it was all Cleopatra could do not to laugh. “Do you dispute the word of your queen?”

  “Aye, in this I do, Gracious Majesty. I will not deny my own flesh.”

  “Try to understand, Lord Ramtat, you are but a lord, and Danaë is royal. She also bears a heritage even I cannot claim. She is a descendant of the great Alexander. Does that not place her far above you? How can I sanction a marriage between the two of you? For the good of Egypt, Danaë may have to marry the king of some country we need as an ally.”

  Ramtat felt Danaë slipping away from him. “In truth, I am unworthy of her. She is an extraordinary young woman.”

  The queen decided to stop teasing Lord Ramtat. “Like her, you are extraordinary. Did you not also spill your blood in my service? I have decided that if she marries you, it will be good for Egypt.”

  Ramtat was still uncertain, even with the queen’s approval. “Will she have me?”

  “That I do not know. You will have to do your own talking.” She moved down the path in the direction of Caesar’s quarters. “Come back tomorrow. You may see her then.”

  Ramtat moved out of the garden toward the front gate. When he was mounted on his horse, he saw the old man who had accompanied Danaë to the palace the day before. Reining in his horse, he nodded. “If you want news of Lady Danaë, she is recovering.”

  Uriah looked at the man long and hard. “Princess Danaë has asked to see me. She can tell me how she is faring herself.”

  Ramtat watched the man walk away, light of step and with pride in his stance. She would see her servant, but she did not want to see him, Ramtat. Perhaps she would even refuse to see him tomorrow, or ever, for that matter.

  Ramtat could not blame her after all that had passed between them.

  Uriah stood beside Danaë’s bed, staring at the scroll she had given him.

  “You are free, my loyal Uriah. You can go anywhere you want, and you have enough gold to buy whatever you desire.”

  He lowered his gaze to her. “It should make a difference in how I feel, but it doesn’t. I have always been treated as a valuable member of the House of Sahure. I have no home other than where you are.”

  Danaë could hardly contain her happiness, and she laid her hand on his blue-veined one. “I was hoping you would wish to stay. I need you in my life.” She touched her stomach fleetingly. “I want this child to know and love you as much as I do.”

  Uriah sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled. “So, is this child going to give me the trouble you have?”

  Her hand slipped into his. “Most probably.”

  “Then let it be. For you have brought me joy, even though at times you broke my heart.”

  “My dear, Uriah. What would I have done without you?”

  “You would have survived—those with your courage always do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ramtat had decided that if Danaë refused to see him, he’d bust down the door. But much to his surprise, when he reached the palace, he was met on the steps by a maidservant who bowed to him.

  “Lord Ramtat, if you please, will you follow me?”

  He nodded, not knowing where she was taking him. When she swung open the doors to a huge bedchamber, he saw Danaë looking pale, her arm and shoulder bandaged and propped on cushions.

  The doors closed behind him, and he was alone with her
.

  “I asked to see you, Lord Ramtat. I hope you don’t mind.” She watched him move slowly toward her, his eyes shimmering, a soft expression on his face, and she steeled herself not to let down her guard. There were matters she wanted to discuss with him. She needed to make him understand he had no obligation to her or her child.

  She knew him so well, she could tell he had suffered. “I heard of your wound, and I understand it was serious. I am happy to see you have recovered.”

  He said nothing until he drew even with her, and then he seated himself on a stool. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  She saw the pulse in his throat and knew he was having a hard time facing her. “I understand why you did what you did. Egypt needs Cleopatra.”

  “I’m not here to talk about Egypt. Why didn’t you tell me you were with child?”

  Danaë raised her chin, reminding him very much of her exalted half-sister. “I don’t owe you any explanation—this baby is mine.”

  “I’m the father. No matter that the queen toys with the notion it was sired by a god.”

  Danaë could not keep from laughing. “Cleopatra likes to tease. I am finding her delightful, and I can see why Caesar is fascinated by her.”

  Ramtat leaned back and folded his arms. “So, all along you were a princess of Egypt.”

  “I would rather be known as Lord Mycerinus’s daughter. He is the father of my heart.”

  “Your loyalty does you justice. I should have recognized that quality in you from the first.”

  Her gaze fell to his lips, and she wanted more than anything for him to kiss her.

  He stood and walked to the steps that led to the garden. “Danaë,” he said, turning back to her. “I have so much to say to you, I hardly know where to start.”

  She plucked at the fine sheeting. “Start at the beginning.”

  He walked back toward her. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “I want this child. By rights it’s mine.”

  “This child comes with a mother.”

  He didn’t know he was going to go to her—he didn’t know how he found himself on his knees—he didn’t know at first that the wetness on his face was tears, because he’d never cried before. “I want the mother. I love you. I have been in torment without you. I know you will have a far different future now that Cleopatra has recognized you as her sister. You have a portion of your father’s wealth, and the queen will probably heap even more honors and riches on you. There is no reason you should want to be with me, save one: No one will ever love you as deeply as I do. When I saw you fall under the cheetah, I knew that if you died, my life would be over.”

  He waited to be rejected—he expected to be.

  Danaë touched his face. “I have loved you almost from the beginning. The one thing that kept me from falling into total despair these last days was knowing I carried a part of you with me.”

  Ramtat wanted to crush her in his arms, but seeing her bandages, he eased his weight onto the bed and pulled her head onto his shoulder. “Suppose I was a high lord of the land and you were a princess royal—would you consent to be my wife?” He tilted her chin, staring into her eyes. “My only wife?”

  She smiled. “But you know I have a temper, and you know I am not an easy woman to get along with because I always have my own opinions, and I can’t help voicing them.”

  His lips touched the top of her head. “I do know that.”

  Danaë tilted her head to look up at him. “If this baby is a son, he will need you to guide and teach him the ways of Egypt, and also of his Bedouin people.”

  Ramtat’s heart was so full, he could hardly speak.

  “And if it is a daughter?” he finally asked.

  “Ah,” she said with a laugh, “then she will teach you.”

  He dipped his head and lightly touched her lips, unable to stop the passion that burned in him. “I will spend the rest of my life proving myself to you.”

  She felt tears in her eyes. “There’s nothing to prove. I know of your honor, your steadfastness. I now realize what you suffered when you thought you would have to choose between me and Egypt. I love you, Ramtat.”

  His breathing stopped. He had done nothing to deserve her love, but he would accept it. “When will you be my wife?”

  “I want to be completely healed before I come to you.”

  He wanted to protest. There was no need to wait. He wanted her under his protection now. Besides, he was afraid she might change her mind if he did not tie her to him immediately. But he was not in a bargaining position.

  “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

  “Is this a new Ramtat I see?” she asked teasingly.

  For his answer, he bent forward, his mouth touching hers gently. When he raised his head, his eyes were glowing, and she snuggled against him.

  “There is something I would ask of you for a wedding present,” she said.

  “Ask anything and it’s yours.”

  “You have a slave named Vika; I would like you to free her.”

  “I do seem to recall her. She may have her freedom.”

  “I would also have you settle coins on her so she will never know want.”

  He nodded. “Agreed.”

  “And only one more thing. I would like her to marry the man she loves and for him to be honored by you.”

  He smiled happily, not realizing she was about to strike with the same cunning as her famous sister. “I gladly agree, Danaë. Who is the man? Do I know him?”

  “Indeed you do. Ma’sud was your Bedouin guard at the villa here in Alexandria. Fearing he would be blamed after I escaped, I had Uriah inquire into his whereabouts. I was told you sent him to the desert in disgrace. I tricked him—he really didn’t deserve that.”

  She watched Ramtat’s eyes narrow with anger; then he looked puzzled, and presently he laughed. “So that’s the way you escaped.”

  “I feel guilty about what I did to the two of them. I encouraged their love for one another so I could slip over the wall.”

  Ramtat eased her into his arms. “She can have her freedom and I will settle coins on her; they can marry, and I will honor Ma’sud.”

  She sighed, her eyes drifting shut. Now that everything was settled, she was so tired she fell asleep.

  And Ramtat held her.

  Much later, when she awoke she was still in his arms.

  It was Danaë’s wedding night. The celebration had been going on all day, the wild Bedouins mingling with Egyptian nobility to honor Lord Ramtat and Princess Danaë.

  She had met Ramtat’s mother and sister, and they had graciously welcomed her into the family. His mother was overjoyed about the baby and was very attentive to Danaë, seeing to her comfort. Minuhe had been in her element, giving orders to everyone, Bedouin and Egyptian alike, and Uriah had stood at Danaë’s side until Ramtat claimed her as his wife.

  She could hardly wait until the guests retired to their tents so Ramtat would come to her. Instead of being married in Alexandria, they had both decided that as soon as she was well enough to travel, she would go to him in the desert.

  Cleopatra had not wanted either of them to leave her, but grudgingly gave in to Danaë’s demand that her husband must be free of palace life or he would not be truly happy.

  It had been a sad day when Caesar had sailed away from Alexandria. Danaë had stood beside her half-sister and given her what comfort she could.

  Danaë heard scratching on the tapestry at the entrance of the tent. With an impatient growl, Obsidian slashed the delicate weave and came ambling in, hopping on the bed.

  “Bad cat,” Danaë scolded. “You broke out of your cage again.”

  Ramtat chose that moment to enter. He glanced down at the shredded tapestry, and then his eyes went to the huge leopard on his bed.

  “I don’t intend to spend my wedding night with that animal.”

  Danaë giggled. “Then you remove her. She’s being stubborn.”

  Ramtat went to the bed and glared d
own at the cat, who merely looked up at him and yawned, swishing her tail.

  “Down!” he commanded.

  Obsidian rolled onto her back and pawed the air.

  Ramtat shoved her, and she licked his hand.

  He stabbed his hand toward the cat and frowned. “Do something.”

  Danaë slithered toward Ramtat, her eyes half closed. “That cat isn’t going anywhere.” She rubbed her body against him, and he forgot about the animal on his bed. Lifting Danaë into his arms, he carried her to the inner room and placed her on the bed there. “I have been without you for too long.”

  Danaë opened her arms to him, and he came to her. “I never thought to be this happy,” she said, touching her lips to his.

  “You are my life,” he whispered.

  “I wish we could be at our waterfall.”

  His voice was gruff. “Tomorrow we’ll go there if you like. I have a surprise for you.”

  Danaë’s eyes widened. “Tell me.”

  “You once planted a thought in my mind, and it was something I knew you would like—can you guess?”

  “I said you should build a house there!” She looked at him expectantly. “Can that be it?”

  He nodded. “I can deny you nothing.”

  With joy, she threw her arms around his neck and slid her tongue across his lips, smiling to herself when she heard his quick intake of breath. She was glad she could move this powerful man.

  His mouth rested against her forehead. “We will not be taking that pesky cat with us tomorrow.”

  His hand swept down her thigh. “Or the hawk.”

  He tugged at her green robe. “Or Uriah.”

  Then he turned her to face him. “And certainly not Minuhe.”

  Danaë put her hands on either side of his face. “It will just be the two of us, like the first time we were there.”

  The sweet scent she wore was going to his head. “Something like that.”

  She brushed a dark lock of hair off his forehead and looked into the eyes she loved so much. Parting her lips, she offered them to him, and he pulled her closer.

  “It is hard to think that I once looked upon you as my enemy,” she said.

  “I can hardly bear to think about how I treated you then.”