Sword of Rome

by Constance O'Banyon

  The admission came hard. “I must see her.”

  “I have never seen you so desperate over a woman. I warn you, you tread dangerous ground.”

  “I’ve also considered that.”

  “I will approach Caesar about it, young architect. But remember, this puts you in my debt.”

  Since the storm had blown the Parnethous off course, the ship had been at sea thirty-six days when the captain informed the passengers that their destination was within sight and they would disembark by midafternoon.

  Adhaniá strained her eyes, looking toward the shoreline. Instead of the huge, sprawling city she had expected, she saw what looked like a small fishing village.

  Adhaniá had dressed with care, donning the heavy robe of the Bedouin and placing an equally heavy covering over her head. “Surely that cannot be Rome,” she exclaimed to Heikki, who stood at her side.

  “Nay, it is not. The captain has arranged to put us ashore at that village, where we can more easily make the journey downriver to the villa Queen Cleopatra occupies.”

  The air was hot and damp, and she lifted the weight of her hair off her neck, wishing she could remove the stifling veil so she might find some relief from the oppressive heat.

  “I would imagine Apollodorus has already informed Queen Cleopatra of your arrival. The queen will no doubt send someone to be your escort.”

  Adhaniá imagined Apollodorus had also informed the queen about her disgraceful actions. She was determined to conduct herself in a manner that would reflect well on her and Ramtat, so perhaps, in time, everyone would forget what she had done.

  Makana was leaning heavily against the railing, her head bent low, keening softly.

  Adhaniá’s fury exploded. Makana had no knowledge of dressing hair or preparing Adhaniá’s clothing—so what good was she? She made a quick decision.

  “Makana, your constant wailing has worn away my patience; therefore, I shall send you back to Egypt.”

  The woman’s face whitened. “Mistress, how can I make amends? If you send me home in disgrace, my father will not speak to me, and I will be shamed before the whole tribe.”

  “You should have thought of that before now. I will not have you in the presence of our queen. You are no credit to yourself, and your behavior casts disparagement on the Badari tribe.”

  The woman cried out and clung to Adhaniá’s robe. “Please, mistress. Have mercy!”

  The woman’s sobs drew attention, and Adhaniá stepped away from her. “Hush. Do you want everyone to know of your complaints? You asked to go home and I am granting your wish.”

  “Forgive me, mistress,” Makana cried. “I can’t help missing my mother. I didn’t want to come with you, but neither do I want to return home in shame,” she whimpered.

  Adhaniá knew only too well what it felt like to be in disgrace. Though Makana had served her ill, the poor girl was in misery. “Heikki will write my brother and explain to him that you fell ill on the voyage and I decided to send you home. When you reach our village, you can tell them what you will.” She looked at Heikki. “Make arrangements immediately for Makana to be on the Parnethous’s return voyage to Egypt. Then write instructions to my mother that Makana is to be escorted to the Bedouin camp as soon as she reaches Alexandria.”

  Heikki was well aware of the servant’s dissatisfactory behavior. She had complained and cried all the way across the desert and now across the sea. It had irritated him, and he wondered how Adhaniá had tolerated Makana as long as she had. He nodded. “I will speak to the captain at once and make out the scrolls for Sheik El-Badari and Lady Larania.”

  The wretch dropped to her knees and tried to kiss Adhaniá’s hand, but she jerked it away just in time. “Thank you, mistress.” She blinked owlishly. “You are kindness itself.”

  “Leave me.”

  “But suppose there is another storm like the one on the voyage here?”

  Adhaniá was having difficulty holding her temper. “If that be the case, you will be ill again, only this time I will not be there to tend you. Go now from my sight.”

  The young woman looked doubtful for a moment before hurrying across the deck, as if she feared her mistress might change her mind.

  Adhaniá stared after her with her most censorious glare. To arrive at Queen Cleopatra’s residence without a personal servant would be one more disgrace to add to all the others. Her back stiffened. This time it was not her fault—Ramtat had chosen her servant unwisely.

  Heikki soon returned to her side, and they both watched as the sails were lowered and the ship drifted closer to the shoreline. He watched Adhaniá out of the corner of his eye—she had found a new independence. Lately there had been a glow about her that enhanced her beauty. He wondered if Adhaniá was aware that their relationship had changed: No longer were they the carefree companions they had once been—he had become the servant, she the mistress—just as his father had predicted.

  Adhaniá listened to the sound of the oars slapping against the water. “Thus far, I am unimpressed by what I see. Do you know the name of that village?”

  “I am told it is Ostia.”

  “ ’Tis little more than mud huts and dirt roads.” She gazed in every direction, disappointed. “Are we not to see Rome?”

  “It would appear not at this time. That river you see in the distance is the Tiber. I am told Queen Cleopatra dwells outside Rome at Caesar’s villa, which is located on its banks.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “What is that unusual fragrance that clings to the air? It is unknown to me, but I do not find it unpleasant. Do you know what it can be?”

  Heikki had already asked the same question of the boatman. “I was informed the aroma comes from those trees you see in the woods.” He pointed in the distance. “They are called pine trees. Notice their odd shape, and the leaves are long and splintery.”

  “Everything is different here—the trees, the river—even the sky does not seem as blue.”

  “So it would seem,” Heikki said, watching the gangplank swing into place.

  It appeared they were the only ones to disembark, and they drew curious stares from the other passengers. Dockworkers swarmed forward, hastily loading amphorae of olive oil and wine aboard the Parnethous.

  Adhaniá’s first step onto dry land was jarring. Pausing, she drew in a breath; the wonderful pine scent was much more pronounced on shore. She stepped around a heavy crate while her gaze ran along the docks, so different from those in Egypt. Alexandria was a patchwork of civilization with ships from every nation crowding the waterfront. Tradesmen from all over the world flocked to the magnificent city to sell their wares.

  “Look you there,” Heikki said, indicating a curtained litter. Six strong bearers wearing the amulets of Queen Cleopatra stood nearby. “You shall ride in comfort today.”

  Then Heikki froze, his eyes darkening as he nodded toward the distance with a contemptuous snarl on his lips. “Roman soldiers. No doubt your welcoming committee and escorts. I’d hoped Apollodorus would send our own Egyptian guards.”

  Adhaniá nervously drew her veil across her face, her heart beating faster as she stared at the soldiers through a thin layer of gauze. They were at too great a distance to distinguish their faces, but she found herself hoping Marcellus would be among them.

  Her heartbeat stopped—one of the Romans was a head taller than the others, and she knew at once it was Marcellus. Unexpected joy sang through her heart. She watched him dismount, his scarlet cape flourishing about him. He was expressionless as he approached her with a steady tread. He looked magnificent in his uniform. His breastplate was of bronze, molded to fit his upper torso, and embossed with the emblem of the imperial eagle. Leather strips tipped with bronze fell to his knees, while his tall sandal boots were strapped about his muscled legs.

  When he stopped before her, he unhooked his red-plumed helm and tucked it under his arm. Bowing his head, he spoke: “Lady Adhaniá, welcome to my country. I have been given the honor of escorting you t
o Queen Cleopatra.”

  His formal greeting was a disappointment. He merely seemed to be a man who had been given a mission. Her hands shook, and she clasped them behind her so he wouldn’t notice. When she started to speak, she found her throat had suddenly gone dry. At last she managed to utter, “I am grateful to you, Tribune Valerius. Can you tell me how long it will be until we reach our destination?”

  His answer was clipped, and his gaze moved away from her to watch as her personal belongings were loaded onto a donkey-drawn cart. “Within two hours, I should think.” He nodded behind him. “I have brought an extra horse, should you wish to ride to the villa.”

  Heikki had been directing the placement of Adhaniá’s trunks and now appeared beside her. His frown showed how little he trusted the Roman. “My lady will travel in the litter, but I will be happy to use the horse to ride beside her.”

  Marcellus nodded. “As you like.”

  Adhaniá hid her disappointment. Heikki was right, of course; she should not arrive at the villa on horseback. It would be unseemly.

  When she was seated in the litter, Adhaniá heard Tribune Valerius’s deep voice as he gave directions to the servant who would be transporting her belongings to the villa. How different he was from the man who had asked for her veil. She saw only a high-ranking officer, self-assured and doing his duty. She imagined Apollodorus had suggested Marcellus as her escort since they were already acquainted.

  She studied him through the thin curtain. His dark hair was clipped short in the Roman fashion. His jaw was square and seemed to be carved of granite. Then he glanced her way, and his eyes held the same warm glow she remembered. She watched him slide his helmet into place, and her heart was gladdened just to look upon him again.

  “Are you comfortable, Lady Adhaniá?” he asked solicitously.

  “Aye,” she managed to say past the thickening in her throat. “Very much so. Thank you, Tribune Marcellus Valerius.”

  Adhaniá watched Marcellus swing onto his horse and take a position on the left side of the litter, while Heikki rode at her right.

  What was happening to her?

  Why was she suddenly so happy to be in this strange land?

  As the procession moved away from the docks, Marcellus took his position at the head of the column, and she could no longer see him. She sighed and gazed across the river, where she glimpsed the tops of sprawling buildings and huge colonnades.

  Rome, she thought with trepidation.

  Marcellus, she thought with yearning.

  Several hours passed before they reached their destination. When they passed beneath the arched entry to Caesar’s huge villa, Heikki dismounted and helped Adhaniá from the litter.

  “Thank you, Tribune,” he said dismissively. “I will see Lady Adhaniá inside.”

  Already servants were rushing forward to see to her needs. She had only a quick glance at Marcellus before he nodded, spun his horse around and rode away in the gathering dusk.

  Adhaniá felt suddenly empty inside, as if the light had gone out of the sun and a cold wind blew off the Tiber.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The hour was late, and only a pale crescent moon strained through tattered clouds, casting the streets of Rome in darkness. Even so, Senator Quadatus stealthily crept between darkened corridors, using every means available to pass unnoticed. Hearing voices just ahead, he quickly ducked into a dark alleyway, stepping into unidentifiable puddles. The stench permeating the air made him gag. Waiting impatiently until two men passed, Quadatus hurried out of the alley in the direction of his home.

  He trembled with excitement, and at the same time shuddered with fear. Tonight, Senator Cassius had taken him into his confidence and revealed a plan that would rock Rome to its foundations.

  Unaccustomed to moving with such haste, he was sweating and puffing, having trouble catching his breath. When he reached the street where he lived, he dashed forward, seeking the safety of his home. For some time he had been aware that Cassius was meeting with others, and he’d suspected they were hatching a plan to strip Caesar of his power—but never had he thought they would go so far as to take the dictator’s life!

  He gasped, bending to catch his breath. He had been flattered that the elder statesman had asked him to his home tonight. But now, he felt only fear and dread.

  He pounded on his front door, where a yawning servant admitted him. He stood for a moment, still having difficulty catching his breath. He had never considered himself a coward, but tonight’s dealings introduced him to real terror. One wrong move, or an ill-spoken word at the wrong time or place, and Cassius would have his throat slit.

  “Are you ill?”

  Quadatus turned to his wife. She was still beautiful to him, and he still desired her as much as he had that first moment he’d laid eyes on her. He ached for her, even knowing her heart would never belong to him. He wished he could confide in her, explain his hopes and fears, but she must never know the secrets he had discussed with Cassius tonight.

  Sarania would undoubtedly betray him if she could.

  Quadatus looked into beautiful, frigid eyes and found no warmth there for him.

  “Is something the matter?” Sarania asked again. “You seem out of breath and pale.”

  “Nay. Everything is as it should be. Everything I desire is about to be mine.”

  Sarania shook her head as if she cared naught. She stepped away from him, seeming to cringe at the thought of his touching her. “I was just on my way to retire for the night.”

  “Shall I go with you?”

  She shrugged with indifference. “As you like.”

  He grasped her wrist and pulled her to him, tracing a finger across her lower lip. “Don’t forget, one word from me and your son is a dead man. Knowing this, should you not give me what I want more willingly?”

  Her head fell back, and Quadatus saw the naked fear in her eyes. “If I were not such a coward, I would have long ago driven a dagger through your black heart rather than submit to you.”

  His smile showed no warmth. “My dear, be kind to yourself,” he taunted. “It takes a certain malevolence to take a life. You do not have that in you.” He placed his lips near her ear. “Lest you forget, I do possess that ability.”

  She wiped her damp eyes on the back of her hand. “It does not take evil—it takes courage. Something I lack.”

  He followed her toward the bedchamber and grasped her arm, spinning her around to face him. Kicking the door shut, he thrust her onto the bed. “I have need of you tonight.”

  She stifled her cry and relented, allowing him to do with her whatever he wanted. She would do whatever it took to keep Marcellus alive. She felt only disgust as he put his hands on her breasts, and she felt sick as he rammed himself into her body. Every time he took her, it felt like rape. But Sarania closed her eyes and reminded herself that it was only her body he was using—he could not touch that place she kept as a shrine to her dead husband.

  “Look at me!” Quadatus ordered.

  Sarania showed him eyes that held no emotion and a body that was limp and unfeeling. When he finished with her, he shoved her away.

  “Try to find more delight in what I do to you or I can make it very unpleasant for you.”

  “If you want to delight someone, fill your bed with servant girls who might welcome their master’s touch.”

  He stared down at her. “Have a care,” he warned. “You tread on dangerous ground.”

  She sat up and stared into his dark eyes. “If anything happens to my son, I will no longer have a reason to live. Though I am too much of a coward to harm you, I will have no trouble ending my own miserable existence.”

  “Perhaps I no longer care what you do.”

  “I pray to the gods every day that you will lose interest in me.”

  “You do not know of what you speak. I am about to become one of the most important men in Rome. Think you I will not be rewarded if I help Cassius eliminate Caesar?”

  Her hand w
ent to her throat. “You would not dare!”

  Quadatus realized he’d said too much—if Sarania repeated his boast to anyone else, he would be a dead man.

  “Think nothing of what I said. Wine tends to loosen my tongue.”

  She saw fear reflected in his eyes. “You were with Cassius tonight—is that what the two of you discussed?”

  He took her chin and raised it to him. “Forget what I said; I was merely boasting.”

  She jerked her head away from him, knowing he had spoken true, but that she must dissemble so he would not be wary of her. “I have already guessed you had too much wine,” she replied wisely, then shrugged. “I take no account of what you say when you have drunk overmuch.”

  He managed to smile. “Aye, that was all it was.”

  Sarania rolled over in bed, pretending to be sleepy. She listened to his fading footsteps and heard the door close behind him as he left her chamber.

  She had to find a way to warn Marcellus. By the gods, Cassius and his followers were treasonous and ambitious, and they must be stopped.

  What must she do?

  No one would believe her.

  Once again, she must get word to Marcellus.

  But how?

  Tears dampened her face. Her son would be the last one to believe anything she said.

  Sarania muffled her cries against her folded arms. She must keep watch on Quadatus without him becoming suspicious.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lapidus took a sip of wine, rolled it around on his tongue and gave Cassius a satisfied smile. “Everything is beginning to come together. Our numbers are growing. When we gain enough followers, we can topple Caesar. At the moment everyone is cautious, and most of the senators believe Caesar is godlike.”

  “It will not be easy to win others to our side and keep everything secret. Someone may talk,” Cassius said with concern.

  The two senators studied each other for a moment, and then Lapidus said, “Your guest tonight, Quadatus, is an ambitious man. I could read the greed in his eyes from my hiding place. I say line his palm with silver and he will be your man.”