by Tessa Afshar
Theo looked around the table like he needed help. “They are . . . very pretty?”
“Never mind that. I wore them to the palace because they are my only Cushite shoes. I did not want to stand out.”
Her father straightened. “None of the servants wear colorful shoes at the palace. They are expected to wear plain leather, no beads.”
She nodded. “I noticed that when I arrived at the palace. I worried someone might question me about them, about all my garments, in fact. But no one did.
“After I hid in the alcove, I heard Sesen leaving. I tried to sneak a look at him from behind the curtains. But Sesen turned around. I am certain I managed to pull my head in before he could see me.”
“But your feet were visible,” Theo guessed.
“And Sesen would have recognized your distinctive sandals!” Natemahar’s eyes widened.
Chariline pursed her lips in thought. “You must take into account that the corridor was dark. It would have been hard to catch such detail. Unless he had the eyes of a hawk. Or, er . . . eye, rather, since he only has the one.”
“Were the curtains drawn in the room where he had his meeting?” Natemahar asked.
Chariline nodded slowly. “Yes. The windows were covered by a heavy material. Lamps were the only source of light.”
“His eye would have been adjusted to the dark. He saw your sandals and recognized them. He knew, then, that you had overheard him plotting to kill the queen. Not the kind of loose end a man wants to leave behind.”
Theo rapped his fingertips on the tabletop. “I have never met these people, so my conclusions do not have the advantage of personal knowledge. Looking at the bare facts, the queen still seems the logical choice. We know with certainty that she saw Chariline with this Sesen.”
He turned to her. “She knows you are Natemahar’s daughter. In her eyes, that must give you motive to want her dead. To want revenge for what she did to your parents. It would be easy for her to believe that you are part of this conspiracy.
“Whether Sesen saw your sandals in the dark and recognized them is mere conjecture, and a stretch at that, when you consider that he is blind in one eye. He would have motive to want you dead if he knew you overheard him, I give you that. But it’s a slim possibility.”
Chariline tugged on her ear. “But if Sesen is behind the attempts on my life, that means the Kandake is not aware of the plot. Her life is in danger.”
“And we need to warn her,” her father said.
“On the other hand, if the Kandake already knows about Sesen’s scheme and believes I am conspiring with him . . .”
“Then we need to keep you as far away from her as possible,” Theo said.
Natemahar studied Chariline. “If the queen believes you guilty, she will hound you as long as she lives. You may think me imprudent, but I believe you need to face her. Tell her the truth. Convince her that you were not part of this plot, if that is what she thinks.”
“The truth? Father, the truth is that I did not warn her as soon as I discovered Sesen’s plan.”
“If you were a Cushite, that would be a grievous charge against you. But you are a Roman. By coming forward now, in time to alleviate serious danger to her person, you are proving your allegiance.”
Theo frowned. “Forgive me, Natemahar. But that is a dangerous gamble. You are speaking of a monarch who tortured you for daring to marry the wrong woman.”
Her father dropped his head. “One way or another, Chariline must face mortal danger. I wish it weren’t so. But I do not have the power to change that fact. In my opinion, this is the safest course.”
Rising purposefully, he faced Chariline. “My dear girl, I have no right to ask this of you. But would you be willing to come to Meroë with me? Tell the queen what you heard? I believe she is ignorant of Sesen’s plot. Her life is in danger. I can warn her myself, of course. Save her life, at least of this particular scheme. But you are the only person who can reveal the identity of Sesen’s accomplice. The only one able to pull this scheme up by its roots and put an end to any future attempts by these men.”
“And if the queen believes Chariline is involved in the plot?” Theo’s face had turned an odd shade of gray.
Natemahar splayed his hands like a shield before his chest. “I do not think that is the case. But even so, I believe the Kandake will be able to recognize the truth when she hears it.”
Theo’s hands fisted on the table. “You are willing to take a chance with your daughter’s life, Natemahar?”
Her father drew a trembling hand down his face. “If the queen has truly dispatched that assassin, she will not give up. Should this warrior fail, she will only send another. And another, until she succeeds. What I suggest might be a gamble. But it is the only way to restore to my daughter a life of security and peace.”
He turned to face Chariline. She sensed, in the rigid lines of his shoulders, the fear he could not wholly overcome. “I am so sorry, my dear girl. The choice rests with you. For seventeen years, I stole the decision from you. Made the choice for us both. I will not make that mistake again.
“You have heard my opinion. Theo’s concerns also have merit. You need to choose, my dear. Come to Meroë with me, or try to find safety outside its borders. Either way exposes you to danger. Danger I wish I could take away, and cannot. Whatever your decision, Daughter, I will stand by you.”
Chariline struggled to swallow. Should she go to Cush? Face that dragon of a woman and admit to sneaking into her palace uninvited? Admit to knowing about the plans set in motion for her demise? Condemn a man to certain death by her testimony? Risk her own life if the Kandake believed her part of the assassination plot?
And if she had not already thought of enough excuses to avoid setting foot on the dust of Cush, she had another more private reason. A bitter taste filled Chariline’s mouth.
Going to Cush immediately meant leaving Theo behind.
CHAPTER 30
If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him.
JAMES 1:5
Chariline tried to sift through the logic of the arguments before her. Her father knew the court of Cush, knew the Kandake. But Theo’s concerns were built on rock-solid evidence. How could her father place any confidence in what that woman might choose to do?
Two prudent men whose judgment she trusted, each one offering opposing views.
Either choice came with the burden of a responsibility she did not wish to carry. Whether she acted or did not act, other people’s lives would be impacted. Not to mention the fact that both options could lead to her untimely demise. Chariline chewed on her lips, feeling dizzy. How was she to make such a decision? Unexpectedly, Hermione’s sweet voice echoed in her mind: What we need is to ask Iesous. Ask him to show you the way.
She turned urgently to face Priscilla and Aquila. “I cannot make this decision alone. We need to pray! Would you intercede for me?”
Priscilla beamed. “I have been waiting for someone to ask.”
As they prayed, Priscilla and Aquila turned their focus upon the Lord. They thanked him, praised him, sang snatches of song to him, and recited ancient Scriptures that made them more mindful of God than of their difficulties. Bit by bit, Chariline felt the heavy weight on her soul lifting. Felt the grip of fear dissolving.
The cacophonous noise in her head silenced. Within that welcome quiet, she finally heard the call. The call for surrender.
She knew what she wanted. Knew the answer she preferred. Now, she needed to willingly accept what Iesous asked of her.
Again and again, God was bringing her to this point. To insurmountable blocks that forced her to accept God’s will over her own. Clearly, her soul needed to learn this lesson more than once. Needed to travel down this path over and over until she found it the natural choice rather than a bloody battle.
She nodded to herself. Show me the way, Lord, she prayed silently. Show me your will. I want to go w
here you go.
When she looked up into her father’s ebony eyes, she knew what to do. Knew the hard path God had set before her. The sacrifice he required of her. To obey Iesous and honor her father, she had to walk away from Theo and any possibility of a future with him.
“I will go to Cush with you,” she whispered.
Natemahar drew her into his arms and held her, tucking her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, Daughter. Thank you,” he whispered, not truly understanding what her agreement had cost.
The time of prayer had changed more than Chariline’s heart. She caught a glimpse of Theo’s expression, and saw that he seemed unsurprised by her decision. His face was a mask of calm. A small part of her had hoped that he might fight this choice. Fight to keep her with him. Not that she would have given in. She knew what she needed to do. But Theo’s objections would have revealed something of his heart. This easy acceptance said as much about his feeling for her as it did about his faith, she thought.
She was not worth a fight.
Natemahar addressed his hosts. “My thanks for the welcome you have shown my daughter and me. For the treasured fellowship of this evening. And I especially thank you for your prayers.” He dropped his chin in the courtly manner that came so naturally to him after years in the service of a queen. “I am grateful for your hospitality. But I must attend to this matter as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” Aquila said, also rising. “It’s not often the fate of nations rests on our shoulders.”
Natemahar smiled. “More often than you might imagine, Aquila. Every time you and Priscilla host a fellowship of seekers and believers in your home, you are affecting the future of Rome. I have no such heavenly influence. But what I have, I must tend faithfully.”
Theo held out a hand. “Natemahar?”
“Yes, my friend?”
“I assume you will be looking for a ship to Alexandria, and from there, a river barge to Cush.”
“I will.”
“I have a proposal. Allow me to take you and Chariline on my ship. I can take you as far as Alexandria.”
Chariline’s heart stopped beating. She whirled toward Theo, mouth gaping. “But you never take passengers!”
Theo shrugged. “I like your father.”
Chariline stiffened. Was that a warning that he was only making this offer for her father’s sake?
Laughing, Theo held up both hands. “You look like you are about to spit. It was only a jest.”
Natemahar’s brow furrowed. “You do not like me?”
“Of course I like you.”
“I see.” Natemahar looked confused.
Theo blew out a breath. “Under ordinary circumstances, I do not carry passengers. Which is why Chariline had to sneak on board my ship. However, your daughter is being shadowed by a trained killer. Boarding some giant grain ship that carries a hundred passengers seems unwise at this time. You need a safe way to get to Cush. I will take you.”
Her father’s whole body seemed to deflate with relief. “That is very generous of you, Theo. The transport to Cush was my greatest concern. I would be a fool to refuse your offer. But I insist on paying your expenses.”
Theo shrugged. “I will pick up more wheat in Alexandria to bring back to Rome. It will cover most of my costs.”
“Given our mission to save the queen’s life, I can guarantee that Cush’s national treasury will compensate you. It’s the least I can do.”
Theo grinned. “It helps to be chief treasurer.”
“At times.” Natemahar blew out a breath. “I am glad that is out of the way. Can we leave for Puteoli in the morning?”
“Say the day after. It will take me a full day to make arrangements with the warehouse.”
Chariline barely followed the speedy agreement between the two men. A few moments ago, she had resigned herself never to see Theo again. To leave her heart in his keeping without the opportunity for anything other than a handful of memories.
She was still going to be left with nothing more than memories. But at least she would not have to take her leave of him immediately. She would board the Parmys again, laugh with Sophocles, feel the wind in her hair, taste the sea on her lips. And she would talk to Theo, draw for him, tease him, and watch him climb his mast to talk to God. It would be enough.
Lord, she prayed. Please make it enough.
In the morning, Chariline sent a note to Vitruvia, explaining her hasty departure and expressing her regret for not being able to see her again. Without Theo and Taharqa, she dared not venture from the house.
Less than an hour later, Vitruvia showed up at Priscilla and Aquila’s door, her broad, old-fashioned litter stopping all traffic while she dismounted. She took a few moments to straighten her linen stola, heedless of the flow of riders, litters, and pedestrians that parted around her like water around a giant rock.
“Vitruvia!” Chariline ran to her side, her heart lifting at the sight of her mother’s friend. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“You did not think I would allow you to leave without bidding me a proper good-bye? Or showing me the rest of your designs?”
Chariline grinned. “You are welcome to all of them, Vitruvia. Come in.”
“That is well made,” Vitruvia said with a glance over her shoulder as they passed under the dark-green awning that shaded the main door. “I see it’s retractable. Galerius and I need one in our garden.”
“My friends make them. I shall introduce you before you leave. They just installed that one this morning. The last awning was damaged by a dagger.”
“A dagger?”
Chariline cleared her throat. “I have so much to tell you.”
“I confess, curiosity has been eating at me. Did you try to kill Natemahar? Was it your dagger that ruined the awning?”
Chariline laughed. “I was able to stay my hand. No, it was not my dagger.”
“What a charming place,” Vitruvia said when they had settled in the courtyard. “No elegant lines to speak of, crooked walls, and yet I doubt Mount Olympus itself could offer such an agreeable spot.” She dropped her stola to her shoulders and sighed. “Now tell me. What did Natemahar say when you told him he was your father?”
Without divulging Natemahar’s personal history, Chariline told Vitruvia the story of her connection with him and finished by explaining the reason for his presence in Rome.
“Someone is trying to kill you?” Vitruvia cried.
“Apparently.”
“Well, they better not succeed,” she sputtered. “I only just found you.” She tapped Chariline on the cheek. “So, this Natemahar is in Rome? As we speak?”
“He is staying at a nearby inn.”
“You better send for him right away.”
“Send for him?”
“You don’t imagine I am going to give up my only opportunity to meet my beloved Gemina’s husband, do you?”
Chariline wrote a note, asking Natemahar to join them for lunch. She did not mention Vitruvia, wanting to see the surprise in his eyes when, after all these years, he would finally meet his wife’s dearest friend.
Vitruvia bid her litter drivers to carry the note to the inn. “And pick up a basket of food on the way here,” she instructed. “A hot loaf of quadratus bread. Better make that two. Cheese, sausages, and honey cakes. Excitement always makes me hungry,” she explained to Chariline.
As they awaited Natemahar’s arrival, Vitruvia pored over Chariline’s designs. Scroll after scroll passed under her eagle examination. When she had studied the final scroll, she sat back, closing her eyes for a moment. “I wondered, when I studied the villa you designed for me, if it might be a fluke. If somehow you had managed to create something more beautiful than what might be your habit. I see I need not have worried.”
She turned to face Chariline. “Your gift shines through every single design. Each one is a small jewel of proportion united with function. What you lack in experience, you make up for in creativity.”
&n
bsp; Chariline felt warmed through by Vitruvia’s words. Hermione sometimes praised her designs. Natemahar, too, thought them brilliant. Even Theo had encouraged her. But none of them really understood the science of architecture. Not as Vitruvia did. Her words of praise meant something more than all the encouragement Chariline had received in her life. And that had not been a great deal. Vitruvia’s acknowledgment made Chariline’s work feel legitimate, somehow. Validated.
Vitruvia reached for Chariline’s hand. “I have brought you a gift.” She bent to retrieve a fat scroll, tied up with leather strings, from a cloth bag. The papyrus looked yellow with age, and across the fold, Chariline could read a partial number.
“This was one of my grandfather’s own copies. Book VIII of his famous theses on architecture. It is a short book that focuses on water, how to find it and test its quality, with general remarks on aqueducts, wells, and cisterns. Some of his personal notes are in the margins. You told me you had the first seven. Now you own the eighth.”
Chariline cradled the scroll in her hands. Vitruvius’s own book! “This is astounding!”
“I always meant to give Gemina a full set as a wedding gift. Now, we can start on completing yours.”
Chariline shook her head. “Are you certain you want to part with this?”
“I have 131 others. My grandfather had a mania for making copies of his work. Cost him a fortune.”
The sound of Ferox barking caused the women to look up. Natemahar approached them hesitantly. “I hope I am not interrupting.”
“Father!” Chariline jumped to her feet. “I have someone special for you to meet.”
Natemahar did not wait for introductions. “Vitruvia,” he whispered, instantly recognizing the woman he had never met. He did not step forward to greet her, but stood apart, his shoulders a rigid plank.
It came to Chariline then, in an avalanche of realization, that she should have warned him. Given him time to prepare his heart. Because meeting his beloved Gemina’s closest friend for the first time was no easy thing for Natemahar.
