Sword of Rome

by Constance O'Banyon

  The biggest obstacle to her plan was standing with hands on hips and looking at her suspiciously.

  Filicia.

  Adhaniá must convince the head woman to allow her to join the dancers tonight, and that was not going to be easy.

  A shadow crept across Adhaniá’s heart as she approached Filicia, who was busy fastening a bracelet on the wrist of one of the dancers. The woman’s dark skin was wrinkled with age, and although it was said she had been an unequaled dancer in her younger days, her hands were now misshapen, and her eyes had been dulled by the passing years. But on occasion as she had watched the others dance, Adhaniá had observed the woman’s hips swaying to the music.

  Adhaniá cleared her throat nervously and quickly blurted out before she lost her nerve: “I want to dance tonight.”

  Filicia’s hand went to her mouth. “Aiee! Sheik El-Badari will never allow his own sister to do such a thing. Nay, nay,” the woman croaked in protest. “You must not ask such a thing of me!”

  Adhaniá tilted up her chin stubbornly. “You often allowed me to dance with the women in the past.”

  “But that was only in secret. No men were present. Nay. I will not allow it.”

  “My brother will never know. I will wear a veil. Did you, yourself, not say I was as good, perhaps even better, than most of your dancers?”

  Filicia clicked her tongue. “Being able to dance and being allowed to dance are on opposite sides of a camel.”

  Adhaniá looked at her pleadingly. “I must do this.”

  The woman’s face whitened, and it took her a moment to find her voice. “But your brother—”

  “If Ramtat finds out, he will be told that you had nothing to do with my decision. Indeed, you can go to your own tent now and tell everyone you suffer with a sour stomach and cannot be present for the dancing.”

  Filicia pursed her lips. “I cannot do that.”

  Adhaniá slipped out of her shoes and reached for a bright blue costume. “I am determined.”

  Two of the dancers swirled around Filicia, adding their pleas to Adhaniá’s. “It would be such fun to have her dance with us, and she is a very fine dancer.”

  “She is worthy,” said another. The others joined in the chorus. “Allow her to dance.”

  Determined amber eyes stared into Filicia’s dark ones. “I will do this. You cannot stop me unless you go to my brother and tell him. Then Ramtat would want to know how I learned to dance.”

  Filicia looked troubled. “The sheik will demand the truth from me, and I will never say anything to him that is untrue.”

  “I will do this.”

  The dance mistress raised her hands and shook them at the heavens. “I am too old for this—I am at an age when I should retire; then I would no longer have to listen to the chattering of women.”

  Adhaniá smiled, knowing she had won. A moment of doubt twisted inside her, but she ignored it. The dancers swarmed around her—one woman tied bells to Adhaniá’s ankles and wrists, while another dyed her palms and the soles of her feet with henna.

  “Aiee! Aiee!” Filicia cried, her lips pursing tightly when the women would have dressed Adhaniá in a thin costume such as they wore. “If the sheik’s sister is to dance, she must be covered.” She turned with displeasure to Adhaniá. “I insist that you wear thick robes and cover your face. Do not think I will allow you to show your skin. The truth is, when a woman wears more clothing, she is a mystery, and a man will be intrigued, wondering what lies underneath.”

  Adhaniá agreed with a nod. She had no wish to wear a revealing costume.

  When at last the dancers filed out into the night and approached the huge tent where important tribal leaders were being entertained, Adhaniá felt as if she were going to be sick. No man had ever seen her dance before. She tried not to dwell on her nervousness and, instead, went over in her mind some of the dance steps. Let it be on Ramtat’s head—he had challenged her to learn how to please a man, and that was just what she would do.

  The essence of some exotic scent curled through the air along with the aroma of food and drink. The boisterous laughter of the men became louder as they relaxed after having eaten well and drunk their fill. One of the lesser sheiks from the north stumbled to his feet and drunkenly recited a glowing tribute to Sheik El-Badari’s wondrous hospitality.

  Ramtat stood, wishing all a good night and encouraging them to enjoy the entertainment that had been provided. As he made his way to his tent, he frowned, thinking of his sister. What she had done today had been unacceptable and daring, but he had decided to forgive her. She had been humiliated enough, and surely she had learned the error of her ways. She was young. It would not happen again.

  He entered his tent and made his way to the small curtained area where his son slept. Bending, he touched his mouth to the child’s forehead, then stood back to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. Did every father think his child was the most beautiful? He dropped the curtains and moved across the soft rug.

  He found Danaë in bed but still awake. No words passed between them, just the passion that shone in their eyes. He went down to her, and her arms slid around his shoulders.

  “You did not stay for the entertainment?”

  He smiled. “I came to you for that.”

  Adhaniá was so nervous, she stumbled and would have fallen had not one of the women steadied her. This drew a giggle from the other girls, and her cheeks became stained with embarrassment.

  “How can I dance,” Adhaniá asked, smiling, trying to appear lighthearted, “if I cannot even walk?” Her stomach was in a knot. What had made her think she could do this?

  The light from well-placed lanterns flickered brightly as she stepped inside the tent. She reached up, making sure her veil covered the lower part of her face so she would not be recognized. No one would notice her among the dancers, especially if she stayed behind the others. Later, she would take great satisfaction in telling Ramtat exactly what she had done to please a man.

  Two flute players were seated in the shadows, their legs folded, their music blending with that of the drummer who knelt beside them. Their melody was haunting, and the men’s attention was riveted on the dancers. Adhaniá swept forward just behind the others and slowly began to sway her hips to the rhythm of the music.

  Sickening bile rose in her throat when she saw the lustful glances on some of the men’s faces, and she blushed at their crude comments. She felt ashamed that the men might be focusing on her body. She tried to think about the dance steps, to concentrate on the feel of the soft carpet beneath her bare feet—the sound of the silver bells on her wrists and ankles.

  In truth, she was trembling with fear. Raising her head the merest bit, she scrutinized each face in the crowd, and it was with relief that she realized her brother was not among them.

  All she had to do was get through this first dance, and then she would leave. With luck, Ramtat would never discover what she had done. One of the dancers bumped into her, and Adhaniá realized she had missed a step—she must concentrate on what she was doing or she would draw every eye in the tent. She hung back, hoping to be inconspicuous.

  No one must learn of her shameful behavior tonight. The dancers might talk about it, but they would not betray her to Ramtat. Of course, there was no fear the dance mistress would tell anyone—she did not want to be reprimanded by Ramtat.

  Her hips swirled to the beat of the music, and she swallowed deeply.

  All she had to do was make it through this dance.

  Her frightened gaze fell upon the Roman, and she almost missed another step. Peering at him through half-lowered lashes, she thought he was indeed handsome—she wondered what he would look like in his Roman uniform. He was tall, his skin bronzed—he had a proud, haughty look, almost as if he was indifferent to everything around him, but his eyes said otherwise. She felt his gaze sweep down her body, and she whirled behind one of the other dancers so he could not see her.

  She promised herself she would neve
r again be so foolish.

  Chapter Nine

  Marcellus was seated next to Apollodorus, enjoying the entertainment. He had never met friendlier people, and they often spoke to him, although the Sicilian had to translate. One tribesman spoke of increasing his herd of goats, while another spoke of increasing his harem. These were happy people, and they made Marcellus feel carefree, if only for tonight.

  He glanced with interest at the dancers in their filmy costumes. They were all comely, and he had never seen dancers move with such abandonment. The swaying of their hips and the weaving of their hands was almost hypnotic. He looked at each woman individually before moving on to the next. His gaze halted, and his attention centered on a dancer in blue who seemed more modest than the others with her movements. Her hands circled above her head, and her hips moved only slightly.

  Clingy blue material swirled around her, and it seemed she was suddenly taken by the music. Marcellus watched her spin and whirl, her hips moving like an invitation to every man in the tent. She was the only one who wore a veil, and that somehow made her more beguiling than the others.

  The bells she wore jingled in time with the flute, her arms wove in the air with the beat of the drum, and Marcellus was entranced. He wondered what beauty lay hidden behind that veil. The lantern light flickered across amber, kohl-lined eyes. His gaze swept across the outline of her body—she was young, firm and beautiful. When she turned, dipping her head back, he inhaled the haunting aroma of some exotic flower.

  He smiled to himself. No female he’d ever seen could seduce like these Bedouin dancers, and the veiled one more than the rest. She was incredibly alluring, reaching inside him to a place no woman had ever touched.

  It took Adhaniá a moment to realize the other dancers had dropped back behind her, and she alone was dancing. They either thought it was a good joke on her to let her dance alone, or perhaps they were paying her an honor by allowing her this solitary moment to display her skills.

  The music wound through her mind and circled her heart, and she forgot everything but her dancing. As she whirled by, her gaze settled on the Roman. He seemed to be enjoying her dance; hence, she would give him something to take back to Rome with him. Circling her hips, she began to dance for him alone. Adhaniá knew the moment she had captured him, the moment his gaze locked with hers and his lips curved into a long, slow smile.

  She had not noticed the young man who was serving the guests. She did not see him carefully place his tray on a cushion and stalk toward her. She was taken completely by surprise when he grabbed her wrists and pulled her toward the tent opening.

  “Come with me!” Heikki hissed through gritted teeth. “Have you not shamed yourself enough today?”

  Adhaniá saw the shocked look on the Roman’s face as Heikki pulled her across the rug. She heard the protests that rose from the other guests as he led her into the night.

  “No doubt the man is a jealous lover,” one remarked.

  “Or a jealous husband,” added another, who was not familiar with many of the younger people of the sheik’s encampment.

  “Too bad,” another man said. “She was a feast for the eyes—surely the youngest and most delectable of all the dancers.”

  Adhaniá wanted to flee into the night. She pulled back and twisted, but Heikki held her tight. She heard the music fade in the distance and knew she had been foolish.

  Ramtat would never forgive her.

  Marcellus, looking puzzled, bent toward Apollodorus. “What was that about?”

  The Sicilian had the power to observe and discern. Many times his astuteness had kept him, and sometimes even Queen Cleopatra, alive. He had known the moment he saw the young dancer who she was. He also knew she would be punished severely for her actions tonight.

  “That was Lord Ramtat’s sister,” he told the Roman.

  Marcellus sobered. “The one who rode for the Golden Arrow today?”

  “Ramtat has but one sister.”

  Marcellus shook his head. “She seems to cause quite a stir wherever she goes.”

  Heikki whirled Adhaniá around to face him. “You have gone too far this time. Since you never heed my words, I am taking you to Sheik El-Badari,” he growled, furious with her for exposing herself to the gaze of other men.

  She shoved his hand away. “You are not allowed to touch me if I do not wish it. And I do not wish it. Leave me alone.”

  He gripped her arm, sliding his hand to her wrist. “It is my duty to keep you safe.”

  Hot tears scalded her eyes and she began to tremble. “No, Heikki, do not do this. I know I did wrong. Let me go.”

  “I will not.” He jerked her forward, and she had no choice but to run along beside him to keep up with his hasty steps. “You are not the woman I thought you were,” he said angrily. “If you keep up this behavior, no man will want you for his wife.”

  She said nothing because she had no defense.

  When they reached Ramtat’s tent, Heikki called out, “Sheik El-Badari, may I enter? I have a matter to discuss with you that is of great significance.”

  After a moment, Ramtat bade him enter.

  With his hand still gripping Adhaniá’s wrist, Heikki led her inside the dimly lit outer room of the sheik’s tent. There was a long moment of silence as Ramtat stared at them. Then he angrily grabbed a robe from one of the couches and threw it over his sister’s shoulders.

  “You had better have a good explanation for this,” he told Heikki, pulling Adhaniá to his side. “What are you doing with my sister?”

  The young man dropped his head. “I am to blame, El-Badari. I knew she was going to try for the Golden Arrow today, and I did not tell you. Then I was asked to serve the headmen tonight, and on entering the tent, I found your sister like this.” He lowered his head, as if he could say no more.

  “And—?” Ramtat said through gritted teeth.

  “She was dancing with the other women.”

  Ramtat looked at his sister in disbelief, unmoved by her tears. “You dared display yourself in front of my tribesmen?”

  Adhaniá grasped her brother’s robe in a pleading gesture. “I know I was wrong. I thought I could show you I knew how to please a man. Was that not what you said you wanted?”

  The silence was heavy, and she could hear every breath her brother took.

  “You deliberately misunderstood me,” he said quietly—too quietly. “You are reckless and spoiled, Adhaniá. Too long I have let you have your way. Tonight that stops. You will go to Rome to join Cleopatra. Perhaps under the guidance of the queen, you will learn your place.”

  Fresh tears streaked down Adhaniá’s cheeks. “Am I to be banished?” She dropped her head. “It is no more than I deserve,” she said with a heavy heart. “But must it be so far away?”

  “Queen Cleopatra will welcome your company, and you may well benefit by her instruction.”

  Adhaniá stared at her brother hopelessly. “Do not send me out of Egypt. If you will give me another chance, I’ll retire to our mother’s house and work hard to become a proper lady.”

  “The matter is settled. Go now to our aunt and tell her to make you ready for an early departure. You will go first to our mother in Alexandria so you can be properly attired before traveling on to Rome.”

  Adhaniá buried her face in her hands and ran from the tent. She had gone too far—she knew that. Had she so shamed the family that her brother would never want to see her again?

  Ramtat next turned his attention to the young Bedouin. “You will be going with her.”

  Heikki bowed his head. “My Sheik, am I to be banished as well?”

  “Indeed you are.” The muscle in Ramtat’s jaw tightened. “I give you the task of guarding my sister. You are to make certain she does not further disgrace herself. This will be your only chance to redeem yourself in my eyes.”

  Heikki bowed his head once more. “I failed in that today.”

  Ramtat’s voice held the hint of a threat. “That is why you will not fail
the next time.” He motioned to the tent opening. “I will have a message for you to take to my mother, since she will need to be informed why I have made the decision to send my sister to Rome.”

  Heikki bowed and backed out the tent opening, feeling like a traitor to Adhaniá, but what else could he have done?

  After Heikki left, Danaë came to her husband’s side and slid her arm around his waist. “I heard what happened. Please do not send her away. She is young and unthinking, as we all were once. She just needs guidance.”

  Usually Ramtat gave his wife whatever she asked, but not this time. “She needs a strong hand.”

  “And you think Cleopatra will be that hand? I think not, Ramtat. My sister sees only Caesar and the ambition they share to rule the world.”

  “I will send Cleopatra instructions.”

  “Only you, my husband, would dare to instruct a queen.”

  “My sister will learn obedience. I will bring her home before the year is out, and she will be ready to become a worthy wife.”

  “Perhaps you are right. Adhaniá may enjoy joining Cleopatra’s household.”

  But she doubted it.

  Marcellus stood beneath a star-capped night, breathing in the desert air that had a perfume all its own. It was peaceful here, like nowhere he had ever been. His mind drifted back through the day, and he thought of Lord Ramtat’s sister. The girl was unruly. Even in Rome’s more lenient society, her behavior would not be tolerated.

  But thoughts of her wound their way inside his mind. She was a mystery, exotic and beautiful. At least he thought she was beautiful from what little he had seen of her.

  He had just decided to go to his bed when a shadow emerged from one of the tents. He watched the slight figure move toward him, knowing it was a woman covered by a heavy robe. He was surprised when she stopped very near him, seeming totally unaware of his presence.