“I’ll run you through with it,” Roman promised. “If it’s dull, it shall take quite a long time.”
“Listen, big fellow: You wish to keep our queen safe, as do I. You will be a magnificent addition to the performance. And I can’t keep referring to you as ‘big fellow’ for the entirety of our acquaintance. With this costume, you’ll have a place in the troupe, a true identity!”
“You want me to answer to Marcus?” Roman asked. “No, thank you. He had an agonizing death, did he not? Let’s not give anyone any ideas.”
“No, no,” Asa agreed. “We couldn’t go that far. You’d be . . . you’d be . . .” Isra could almost hear the wheels in Asa’s mind turning. Then she heard a crack, like a finger snap. “The queen’s Roman consort!”
Isra’s eyes widened and she turned back around to find Asa clutching the bowl to his chest. Her eyes went to Roman’s slack face.
Van Groen held out the pretend helm. “Won’t you at least try it? Just this night. Unless there is trouble, you’ll need do nothing more than stand there and look menacing, which doesn’t seem to be a problem most of the time, any matter.”
Isra thought she saw the shadow of a grin play about Roman’s lips when next he spoke to her. “Do you think you could call me Roman?”
Isra tried to suppress her own smile. “If it means I might keep you nearby, I will do my best, my lord.”
He turned back to Asa and snatched the bowl from him. “I accept.”
“Good man!” Asa clapped Roman on the back and then held his crooked arm toward Isra, which she took, although she wished it was Roman escorting her. “Fran will be along with your shield.” Then he pulled Isra into the labyrinth of wagons, patting her arm as they went.
They arrived at the rear of Kahn’s wagon, and Nickle was waiting for them with a large cloth-wrapped bundle, the widely woven fabric soaked through in macabre red patches. The sight of the package made her stomach clench, although she didn’t understand why. The lad held out his fist toward Isra, and she gave him her open palm with a quizzical look.
He deposited several coins into her hand. “I told him he could attend the exhibition for free so he only charged half, milady.”
Isra smiled in surprise at the boy’s honesty and resourcefulness. She and Roman had thought Nickle nothing more than a very talented thief, and although she still thought him gifted, she realized that Nickle’s thievery might have at times meant the difference between eating or not for the troupe. Isra recalled all too well those long weeks when she had been forced to take what was not hers to survive.
She divided the coins evenly, handing half of them back to Nickle. “Well done,” she said.
The lad gave her a short bow. “My pleasure, milady.”
“The same sequence as before,” Asa said, forcing Isra to focus on the task at hand. “The speech you give is brilliant—”
“Most of what I say of Kahn is untrue,” Isra warned.
“Of course,” Asa said, waving his hand. “The folk don’t care about the truth; they only want to be mesmerized, frightened, entertained. Say whatever you like—the more fantastic, the better really. As I said, the crowd is large; try to drag the first part out a bit; build the suspense. Once you’re inside, it’s over rather quickly. By necessity, I understand,” he rushed to add, then opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again on a smile as he looked over Isra’s shoulder.
“I must say,” he mused, “when I am right, I am right.”
Isra turned and saw what appeared to be a centurion soldier from the ancient world walking toward them, a large, polished bronze shield on one arm.
And a tall, smiling blond woman on the other.
Asa van Groen had been correct: From a distance, the helm appeared authentic; the tunic, rugged and battle worn. The shield looked as though it must weigh a hundred pounds, but the way Roman was swinging it, Isra suspected it was yet another piece of artistic magic rendered by the beautiful Fran.
Isra’s stomach knotted and the knot tightened as Fran gave a chirp of laughter at something Roman had said.
“Don’t be discouraged,” Asa said near her ear, surprising her. His words contained a hint of something beyond a leader managing the outcome of his venture, and Isra felt his concern. “The crowd will adore you.”
“Thank you,” she managed to strangle out and drop her eyes just as Roman and Fran reached them. She didn’t want to look up at the two blond people, so well matched; didn’t want Roman to see how disconcerted she was by Asa’s comfort. But she wanted to see Roman more.
“Our Roman!” Asa boomed, releasing Isra and throwing his arms wide. It startled her so when the leader called him by name that she flinched. “Incredible! The crowd will swoon with excitement! Fran, the shield is a masterpiece as usual.”
Fran only stared at him, a decidedly bitter look about her mouth. Isra thought for a moment that the blonde would outright snarl in reply. But to Isra’s surprise, Fran looked instead to her, a bright smile suddenly curving her thin, pale lips.
“Just look at them both together, I say. Very good.” The blonde’s eyes narrowed a bit, and Isra couldn’t help but think that there was anger behind the woman’s friendly smile, although why it should be directed at her, Isra didn’t know. “All she needs is an asp hanging from her tit, yes?”
There was a heartbeat of thick, awkward silence, and then Asa and Fran burst out in jovial laughter.
“Sometimes my humor is vulgar, I confess.” The blonde chuckled. “Perhaps I have traveled too long with such a virile and fecund group.”
Isra tried to smile, but she suspected the attempt was rather pathetic, and she didn’t dare glance at Roman.
“Van Groen,” Roman said, interrupting the lurching silence, “I’d have a word with you first.”
“Certainly, certainly,” Asa acquiesced, and then his gaze went to each of the two woman. “Gunar’s in place. Fran, you’ll stay with her until her prompt.”
“Oh, why not?” she answered and looked away into the darkness with a quirk of her mouth.
Isra felt the flesh of her arm being pressed and looked down to see Roman’s large hand.
“I’ll be right there this time,” he said with an encouraging grin. “Naught to fear.”
She returned his smile, feeling a little of her uncertainty melt away. “How could I be afraid of anything at all with such a capable Roman soldier to protect me?”
His touch lingered.
Her smile deepened.
“Roman?” Asa called out. “Shall we . . . ?”
His hand fell away, but he held up his palm in a wave and Isra half turned to watch him following van Groen until they had disappeared around the side of Kahn’s wagon.
“Is that what you do?” Fran’s low voice drew Isra’s attention. “Play the stricken, frightened innocent so that whatever unfortunate man you happen to be with at the moment will be sure to take care of you?”
Isra’s heart wanted to rise into her throat at Fran’s bitter scowl. “I—I do not know what you mean.”
“The big, brawny man has kept you safe thus far, yes? Spirited you away from whatever trouble it is you caused for yourself? Now that you’ve found our band and have charmed Asa with your skill with that dumb beast, you think to better your match, don’t you? Ready to cut the Norseman loose and latch on to Asa, aren’t you? Let him be your champion while you steal the coin that rightfully belongs to everyone in this group right out from under our noses.”
“N-no,” Isra protested, her mind in such shock at the dreadful accusations that she couldn’t form a coherent argument. “I—I lay no claim to—”
“That’s right,” Fran snapped, stepping closer to Isra. “You have no claim to anything or anyone here. You’re a stupid nobody. You might have fooled some by your helpless disguise but I’m not stupid; no one could put on the show you have without years of practice. And I’m not referring to Kahn.”
Isra couldn’t swallow, her throat was so tight. But Fran did
not relent.
“How many men has it taken you to get this far, hmm? A score? No, more than that, I daresay,” she said with a wicked smile and stepped even closer, until Isra was forced to pull her head back lest she breathe in the hot air the blonde was expelling from her slender, flaring nostrils. Breath scented with strong drink. “I can see it on your face—you who think yourself so clever and secretive. That’s what I do in the band; I notice details. So, how many? A hundred? Two?”
Isra stepped back a pace. “You know me not. I have done nothing to offend you.”
“What if I take your protector away from you?” Fran said, ignoring Isra’s protest. She closed the distance again. “I think I could lure him away. And away is exactly where I wish to go. So you are welcome to Asa and this hellish life. You deserve each other.”
Isra felt as if she might vomit. She tried to swallow again but failed.
Suddenly, Asa van Groen’s voice cut through the hush of crowd chatter somewhere on the other side of Kahn’s wagon. It was time for her to perform.
“Go on,” Fran urged with a smile. “Go to him, then. He’s calling you.”
“Kahn the Terrible and his mistress, the queen of the River Nile, along with her Roman soldier!”
The crowd sent up a loud cheer and Isra began backing away toward the curtain, looking at the woman who’d just verbally attacked her in complete confusion. Why would Fran say such wicked, hurtful things to her?
And how could she be so close to the truth about her past?
Isra turned and ducked behind the edge of the drawn-back curtain, her knees feeling as though they would give out on her at any moment.
She held out her tingling arms before the crowd, sending the fringe swaying, as Roman in his centurion attire and with Lou once more on his shoulder, paced in a defensive manner before the applauding, whistling mass.
No one could put on the show you have without years of practice.
She turned from side to side, her eyes roving the crowd that was packed in like roof thatching and stretched away into the city night. The applause faded.
Roman halted several paces away but facing her now. He raised his shield in what Isra supposed was a salute, and then he bowed his head and sank to one knee for a moment.
What if I take your protector away from you?
Isra cleared her throat, tried to find the words she was supposed to speak as her arms fell back down to her sides. The crowd stared at her, ogled her; a man in the front nudged his friend and whispered something to him, looking at Isra all the while.
Stupid nobody.
Isra was horrified to feel the hot trail of wetness streak down her cheek.
If she ruined the performance, it would be the end of her and Roman traveling with the caravan. They were farther south now and would either have to carry on to Constantinople on their own or inquire as to ship travel from Dubrovnik—risky after being seen by so many of the residents of the city. They would be remembered for certain.
No. No, she would not allow that to happen. Roman had already risked too much.
She inclined her head toward Roman, who was frowning at her in a concerned manner. She drew a deep breath.
Isra raised her arms again and looked to the crowd once more. “Good people of Dubrovnik!” she enunciated, letting her accent curl the words, then clip them tight.
“The tiger is a hypnotic, magical creature. Many are the legends of his strength and power and the deadly spell he casts over mortals to lure them to their doom. . . .”
Chapter 15
It was nearly midnight before the last of the city revelers left the encampment near the north wall, and the members of Van Groen’s menagerie were alone to recount tales of the evening and gloat over their take. The dog show had been a huge success, and the yappy little creatures now lay scattered about Helena’s feet as if they’d been shot dead, full up with the endless scraps and treats fed to them by the charmed crowd.
Delilah had been propositioned twice—by both a man and a woman.
Barnaby had greatly increased his personal possessions by encouraging merchants in the crowd to bring him items to hurl into the air while he invented witty rhyming stories on the spot about the owners. The people were so entertained and eager for the next round that hardly anyone had asked for their merchandise to be returned, and the juggler was currently going about the encampment with his pack, selling off the excess. Roman had purchased a rather nice little pot for two pence, thinking of the stew he’d promised to make for Isra.
Mother had foretold of approximately sixteen marriages, a score of impeding pregnancies, and one imminent, bloody, torturous death—although that unfortunate fortune had been assigned to a miserly individual who had ruthlessly haggled with the old woman over the price of having his future predicted.
“You pay half price, you get a short future!” the hag cackled.
Roman shook his head, but he had to smile as he and Lou walked about the small circle behind the wagons near the wall. All the members were packed in like herring around the communal fire, but no one seemed to mind. There was even more of a festival air to the place than when Dubrovnik’s citizenry had been about, and it was obvious everyone was quite pleased with the coin they’d made that evening.
So although he was hailed and cajoled by several small groups of people, urging Roman to come and sit and drink, he did not pause for long with any of them; he was looking for Isra and, unfortunately, van Groen.
The smooth-talking leader had vanished with her almost immediately after Isra had shown Kahn to thunderous applause that seemed to go on for a quarter hour. It had taken all of Roman’s self-control not to use his faux shield to shove his way through the crowd when van Groen had held up one finger toward Roman, perhaps intending to reassure him that they would soon return.
That had been more than an hour earlier. And while he wasn’t yet concerned enough to be worried for Isra’s safety, he was sufficiently preoccupied with the idea of her and the handsome van Groen secreted away somewhere together to be growing quite cross.
“Lose something?”
He knew who had spoken before he looked to his right and saw Fran’s half smile looking up at him, her hands behind her back as she strolled in his direction. He turned toward her.
“Have you seen”—he broke off as Lou suddenly took flight from his shoulder—“van Groen?”
“Asa you’re looking for, then, is it?” Fran smirked as she glanced up at the departing falcon and then came to a stop before him. “He and his new darling seem to be working on a vanishing act together.”
Roman didn’t want to agree—especially with the part about Isra being van Groen’s darling—but he did nod. “They’ve been gone a while. I just—” He broke off again, sighed, looked over the sea of heads toward the fire. He turned back to the attractive blonde. “Nothing. Not important.”
“Good,” she replied with a smile, and he noticed that her eyes were unusually bright, glittering. “Because I have something for you.”
Roman felt his eyebrows raise. “Something for me?”
Fran nodded and then took one fist from behind her back and held it toward Roman. He opened his palm beneath her hand and she uncurled her fingers and pressed a small, warm length of metal into his skin. She withdrew her arm to behind her back once more and looked up at him. Roman looked down.
It was a key.
“It unlocks my wagon,” she said. Roman looked up to find her watching him brazenly, and he had to admit he was flattered by this beautiful woman’s boldness in pursuing him. “Everyone knows you have been sleeping beneath your cart. Perhaps you’ve tired of being cold and wet. There is room in my bed for two.”
Roman looked back down at the key in his hand, his neck feeling hot. “I would not be at ease leaving my traveling companion unprotected,” he said, and then added, “And I would never wish to compromise your reputation by accepting your most generous offer.”
To his surprise, Fran laughed and stepp
ed closer to him, reaching out her hands to grasp his tunic on either side of his hips.
“I’m not worried about my reputation,” she said through an indulgent smile. “The little queen isn’t keeping you warm, is she?”
“No,” Roman allowed, his neck heating even further.
“Do you not find me pretty?” She pressed herself closer to him, and Roman smelled strong drink on her breath as she wobbled on her feet.
“You are a very handsome woman,” he assured her and reached out to grasp her elbows to steady her.
“But not as pretty as herrrr,” Fran mused. Her tone was still mild, her eyes smiling.
“Your beauty is unique to you,” Roman defended, and indeed, he did feel it important to let the woman know he did find her attractive. “In another circumstance . . .”
He stopped himself. What other circumstance could there be? He was free from Melk, free from any authority save his own for the first time in years. Yea, he could sore use the comfort of a woman. So why did the image of dark hair and eyes, of a whispered, twirling accent prevent him from taking what was being willingly offered?
Did Roman want Isra Tak’Ahn?
“I wish to return north,” Fran said. “I tire of the feast or famine of this life.” She shook her fists, still clutching his tunic. “Come with me.”
“But,” Roman hedged, taken aback by her offer, “what about the people looking for you? Your husband’s benefactors?”
“That was so many years ago,” she said. “They were all old men even then. No one is looking for me now. And besides,” she added, “I have more than gotten used to a common life. I only want a home of my own. Somewhere clean, and quiet, and still.”
Roman heard the longing in her voice, softened by drink, and he recognized the reflection of his own wants. He remembered the fantasy he’d had in the wagon, of the little cottage he would build. Hadn’t thoughts of Fran spurred that dream?
But Isra’s absence was making it impossible for Roman to think of anything or anyone except her.
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