Sword of Rome

by Constance O'Banyon

  The litter bearers slowed their pace when they approached the grand home of his stepson. He thought of all the years he had coveted the Valerius holdings. He still did. Marcellus had powerful friends, but then, so did Quadatus, if he could count Cassius as his friend.

  The huge grounds were ablaze in torchlight. With a satisfied smile, Quadatus walked up the wide steps, speaking to several important senators as he advanced. He was met by his stepson and smiled at him.

  “It is a pleasure to be here, Marcellus.”

  Marcellus nodded. “It is a visit long overdue. I trust you left my mother in good health.”

  “She is in fine spirits.”

  It was all Marcellus could do to make polite conversation with the man he suspected of murdering his father. “Let us go in,” he said, stepping aside so his guest could precede him.

  As they entered the marble and mosaic chamber, Quadatus stared in awe at the high ceiling depicting scenes of Diana the Huntress. “Magnificent,” he said, turning around so he could take in the entire mosaic. “I have always admired this room.”

  A frown creased Marcellus’s forehead. “Have you? I am told my mother chose the scene when my father built this house for her.”

  Quadatus’s mood darkened, and Marcellus was wise enough to change the subject. “I believe you will like the entertainment tonight. Queen Cleopatra herself furnished the dancers.”

  Quadatus’s jaw dropped. “If that be the case, they must be fine dancers indeed.”

  Marcellus watched Quadatus’s face glow as he recognized several important men among the guests. Couches had been placed beside low tables, and already refreshments were being served by silent servants. Marcellus felt distaste rise in his throat like bitter wine. Just having this man in his house was an abomination. He forced a smile when what he really wanted to do was toss Quadatus out the front door.

  There was a shadow of suspicion lurking in Quadatus’s dark eyes. “Tell me, Marcellus, what made you change your mind about inviting me to your gathering? You were so against it when last we spoke.”

  “You can thank my mother. I reconsidered for her sake. After I had time to think about it, I realized it meant a great deal to her. And Marc Antony mentioned to me that he would like to meet with you socially.”

  The older man’s eyes were gleaming with delight, and he looked like a snake about to strike. “I’m grateful, although I had not expected such an honor.”

  “I do not honor you—I merely placate my mother.”

  “Will Caesar be here tonight?” his stepfather asked cunningly, ignoring Marcellus’s remark.

  “He was not invited,” Marcellus practically snarled, attempting to restrain his temper. Before the evening was over Quadatus’s ego would convince him that he had won his way into the inner circle on his own merit. But whatever else Quadatus might be, he was certainly no fool. Marcellus would be forced to play a game with the man if Quadatus was to be of use to Antony.

  At the moment Quadatus was looking around, smiling. Marcellus directed him toward Antony, just as the two of them had planned beforehand.

  Quadatus stiffened as Marc Antony walked toward them, and Marcellus noted that the man could hardly contain his glee. “Antony, may I present my stepfather, Senator Quadatus?”

  No one could playact better than Antony when it suited him. Tonight Quadatus was the prey and Antony the hunter. “Good Quadatus, I have often seen you from a distance, but we have not met, have we?”

  “Indeed, we have spoken on occasion but have not been formally introduced.”

  “Marcellus,” Antony stated loudly, so his voice carried to the others in the room, “I hope I am among the first to congratulate you on your promotion to Master Architect of Rome.”

  “What is this?” his stepfather asked. “I was not aware of such a promotion. Why was your mother not told?”

  Marc Antony shook his head. “It has not been formally announced yet. Come, let us not dwell on anything but amusement tonight. Do what you must, Marcellus, to liven up this dull gathering. All the others have talked about is politics and war. I came to be entertained. I believe we have a surprise this evening.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve already spoiled the surprise,” Marcellus said contritely. “I told Quadatus that the Queen of Egypt has sent her personal dancing girls to perform for us.”

  Antony placed his arm around Quadatus’s shoulders and led him to the couch he was to occupy. “You will sit with me, and we shall discuss the merits of the dancers. You will be my honored guest tonight.”

  Quadatus beamed, and his hands shook as they approached a table laden with food and wine. There was wild fowl stuffed with mushrooms and spices, fish smothered with olives and garlic, honey and spice cakes, bowls of dates, nuts and ripe olives. “I have rarely seen such a feast,” he remarked, practically licking his lips. “And it will be an honor for me to join you, Great Antony.”

  Marcellus couldn’t help smiling at Antony’s tactics. He would ply Quadatus with wine and try to pry secrets from the man under the guise of friendship. And no one could ferret out secrets better than Marc Antony.

  Adhaniá’s hands shook as Layla fastened a gold bracelet about her upper arm. Her black hair had been threaded with golden beads, and her hands and feet dyed with henna.

  She stared into the beaten silver mirror, hardly recognizing herself. The two other dancers were to wear bright yellow costumes, but Adhaniá’s was as white as a vestal virgin’s gown.

  Even though she had practiced dancing for weeks, she still feared she would make a mistake. Tonight she would face a room full of strangers, all except for Marcellus. Cleopatra had said to follow his instructions, so he must know she would be one of the dancers. Adhaniá focused on her image in the mirror after Layla outlined her eyes in kohl.

  Turning away, she closed her eyes, gathering her courage. What she did tonight was for the queen, and she must not fail. She concentrated on duty and her love of Egypt, hoping to chase the shadows of fear from her mind.

  Marcellus took a glass of wine and nursed it along, taking small sips and refusing refills. He wanted to keep a clear head tonight so he could watch Antony set a trap for his stepfather. Marcellus shared a couch with General Rufio, and they were near enough to overhear Antony and Quadatus’s conversation.

  Suddenly a lone flute player appeared, sinking to his knees, his haunting notes catching everyone’s attention. Another musician entered, sank to his knees and strummed a lyre, stilling the roar of conversation. Two dancers bounded into the room, their transparent yellow costumes revealing more than they hid. Their hips moved invitingly, their arms weaving and reaching toward the men. Their exotic beauty was unquestionable, and all eyes were upon them. Many remarked on which one they thought was the more comely.

  Marcellus heard Antony’s voice raised above the din. “Trust Queen Cleopatra to bring such beauties with her from Egypt. I visited their dressing chamber earlier in hopes of speaking to them, but none of them understood one word of Latin. I am told they speak some barbaric Bedouin dialect.” He smiled and poked Quadatus in the ribs with his elbow. “But they do not need to talk, do they? Have you ever seen prettier females?” He poured more wine into Quadatus’s nearly empty chalice. “Admit it—they are incomparable.”

  Marcellus’s attention was drawn back to the flautist when a drummer joined the group, his heavy drumbeats reverberating through the air.

  Suddenly a new dancer leaped into the room, her movements so graceful she stunned those who watched her. Her white costume was not see-through like the dancers in yellow, and she was the only one who wore a veil.

  The other dancers wove their hands upward and moved their hips, inching closer to the men, while the dancer in white circled the room, elegantly arching her neck.

  Marcellus sat forward, aware that the other men had done the same. A lone flautist played a plaintive tune, and the drummer thrummed a slow beat. The dancer in white slowly swirled her hips, her dark eyes meeting every gaze except M
arcellus’s.

  He felt a tightening in his chest. He had seen those eyes before. There could not be two women with the same melted-gold-colored eyes.

  The dancers in yellow were flirtatious, arousing the men with their exotic movements, but Marcellus could not tear his gaze from the dancer in white, who clearly avoided looking at him. He observed the modest way she swayed her hips, as if to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

  The drumbeat echoed in his head, and he took a sip of wine to cool the ache inside him. He felt her movements in every beat of his heart. He had dreamed of this woman for weeks … knew what it felt like to hold her in his arms, and he still carried her veil close to his heart.

  It was Adhaniá!

  His cheering guests were yelling praises for the scantily dressed women who were reaching out to them with enticing movements. Quadatus, in a drunken state, pulled one of the women down beside him and tried to fondle her breasts. But she merely smiled and pushed Quadatus away, dancing out of his reach.

  Marcellus’s attention went back to Adhaniá, and he watched her lower her veil. The sight of her face brought gasps from his guests. Marcellus had only glimpsed that face one night onboard a boat and only in shadow. He reached deep for a clear breath as he stared at luscious lips that parted seductively, twisting knots in his stomach and heating his blood.

  Adhaniá finally met his gaze, and he knew she was holding on to her courage by a thin thread.

  Anger suddenly flared inside him because Adhaniá had been chosen to join the entertainers. He intently examined each woman’s face and sudden realization hit him. With new understanding, he stared into the amber eyes of Cleopatra’s spy.

  Adhaniá!

  The other dancers struck a pose and dropped to their knees while Adhaniá whirled, dipped and turned—her costume fanning out gracefully around her, showing no more skin than her shapely ankles.

  The others in the chamber didn’t notice the fear in Adhaniá’s eyes, but Marcellus did. His guests seemed to be concentrating more on the dancers in yellow costumes, no doubt because they showed more skin and were more daring in their movements.

  Fools, he thought, shaking his head in disgust—they were missing the greatest treasure of all. Adhaniá brushed past him, her gown touching his hand.

  The music slowed, and the other dancers moved forward. One came close to Marcellus, and it was obvious she was flirting with him. But he paid her scant attention. He was staring into Adhaniá’s tear-bright eyes.

  He shook his head to clear it. She tugged at his heart, and he wanted to protect her from the other men’s leering gazes.

  But he was no better than they because he could not control the reaction of his body to her swiveling hips. She had entrapped him, and he could not look away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Adhaniá caught Marcellus’s steady gaze, and she no longer felt like crying. Somehow he brought her a calmness that helped her get through the dance. He gave her courage when she needed it most.

  Apollodorus had informed Adhaniá that the man of suspicion would be seated next to Marc Antony, and one of the dancers had described Antony to her. If she was supposed to make the man interested in her, she had failed miserably. His attention vacillated between each of the other girls, and he never seemed to focus on her.

  To her relief, the dance had finally ended.

  The men called out to the women, urging them closer. As they had been advised to do, the Egyptian dancers approached. Marc Antony motioned Adhaniá to him. She forced a smile and did as he bid.

  “This little jewel is a favorite with Cleopatra,” he informed Quadatus. “Is she not a rare beauty?”

  The man’s bleary red eyes swept over Adhaniá with interest. “She’s wearing too many clothes,” he said, grasping at her arm and pulling her toward him.

  Marcellus’s anger flared when he saw his stepfather’s hands on Adhaniá. “This one is for me,” Marcellus told Antony with a look that dared him to deny it.

  Antony glared at his young friend, reminding him of his duty. “Nay. She will entertain me and Quadatus.”

  Marcellus took a steadying breath and realized his emotions were showing. “I beg pardon,” he said stiffly, settling back on his couch with General Rufio.

  Antony seated Adhaniá between himself and Quadatus. “Pretty little thing, but she does not speak a word of Latin. As I told you, she only speaks some babbling language of the Bedouin tribes in the Egyptian desert.”

  Quadatus ran his hand down Adhaniá’s arm, and she showed no outer sign of the revulsion she felt.

  “Would it be possible for this pretty dove to grace my bed tonight?”

  Antony took Adhaniá’s hand in his, giving her a guarded look. “Not this one. I am told the other two are trained in the ways of pleasing a man, but as I said, this one is Queen Cleopatra’s favorite, and her purity is her trademark. To go too far with her is to die.”

  Quadatus pulled her back into his arms, reluctant to let her go. His mouth touched her neck, and he was panting when he whispered in her ear so no one else could hear, “You do not understand my words, little beauty, but soon I will have money and power, and perhaps I can entice you to share it with me.”

  Adhaniá moved out of the senator’s arms, forcing a smile. Her gaze locked with Antony’s, and she gave a quick nod. Understanding flashed between the two of them, and Adhaniá knew she could trust him.

  “As I said, Quadatus, this one is not for you. Not yet anyway.”

  Quadatus took another drink of wine, looking peevish and sloshing some on his tunic. “Then let the others come to me. I want no queen’s favorite. I have grown too accustomed to my head to lose it.”

  Antony nodded to Marcellus, and he stepped forward, taking Adhaniá’s hand. “You will come with me.”

  She was aware that the other dancers were climbing on the couches, and she hid her face. “Where are you taking me?” she whispered.

  “Away from this drunkenness.” He was angry with Antony for allowing Quadatus to touch Adhaniá. “The stench of wine is too heavy in this room tonight. We will walk in the garden and breathe fresh air.”

  “But I should not leave. The queen—” She looked back toward the other women. “What should I do?”

  Her innocent question went right to Marcellus’s heart. “You should never have been allowed to become a part of this deception.”

  She was suddenly alert. “I do not know what you mean.”

  There was a bite to his tone. “It seems you are growing accustomed to dancing for men who lust after you.”

  She pulled back, jerking her hand free. “You have no right to say such things to me. I do not obey you, Roman. I serve my queen.”

  “Adhaniá, I didn’t know you were to be one of the dancers. I don’t like you being used in this way.”

  “Did no one tell you I was the spy? Did you not recognize me at first glance?”

  “I did not. Not until I saw your eyes.” When they stepped out into the garden, he clasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Do you know what danger you face?”

  “There is nothing I can say to you.” She moved away from him. “I believe I should return to the others.”

  His mood was dark. “Did you want that pawing drunk to touch you?”

  She rubbed her hand over her throat. “I want to wash every part of my body where that man touched. I did not like his hands on me.”

  “And I don’t want him to touch you again.”

  She gazed up at the crescent moon, wishing more than ever that she was safely back in Egypt. Drawing a deep breath, she said, “I will do as my queen commands.”

  “You are not the one to drag secrets from a man. You are too innocent in the ways of the world. I don’t know why you were chosen.”

  A shadow passed over the moon, giving her courage to speak because he could not see her clearly. “I was chosen because I can speak Latin and the others cannot. The house of Tausrat has always been in the service of the
royal family. I will do as I am bid.”

  He touched her hair because he could not help himself, and the exotic scent she always wore invaded his senses. “I want you to keep your innocence.”

  “It isn’t your choice.”

  He moved closer to her. “If I could have one wish, it would be that you could remain with me tonight.” He drew her closer, his mouth very near hers. “But only fools wish for the impossible.”

  Adhaniá trembled at the thought of lying with him, having him hold and touch her. More than anything she wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and have him keep her safe. “We both know that cannot be.”

  He raised her head, bringing her closer to him, his mouth briefly brushing against hers, and he felt her quiver. With this exceptional beauty in his arms, Marcellus had no mind of his own. He craved what he could not have—he wanted to touch her and make her his. He felt her melt against him when his mouth brushed across her lashes, gently moving back to her mouth. “You know you want to stay with me.”

  His wine-scented breath touched her mouth and she went weak. Adhaniá reminded herself that she was there for a reason, and she must not fail in her duty. “You grow too bold, Roman,” she told him, hoping he did not hear the tremor in her voice, for indeed she did want to stay with him. “My dance was not for you, nor are my favors. You forget we are united in a common cause.”

  Behind them a man cleared his throat, and Marcellus released Adhaniá and turned to see a tall man dressed in Egyptian fashion.

  It was Apollodorus.

  Marcellus straightened, looking into dark, menacing eyes.

  “I am here to take her back to the queen.” The Sicilian held out his hand to Adhaniá. “You must come with me now. Her glorious majesty will be expecting you.”

  With a mixture of relief and a sudden pang of disappointment, Adhaniá stepped away from Marcellus and turned to the Sicilian. “I am ready, Apollodorus.”