by Tessa Afshar
Chariline wilted. For the first time since they had left the ship, she managed to gulp down a lungful of air. The queen did not think her involved in the plot, after all.
They could hear the men’s denials, their cries for mercy. Chariline began to shiver, forced to listen to the plotters’ desperate pleas as they were arrested and dragged from the throne room.
She turned into Theo’s arms, burrowing against him. “What do you think she will do to them?”
“That is not for you to carry, love. You saved her life. It is all Yeshua asked of you. Now you must give the fate of these men to him.”
She remembered Hermione telling her that she might not have the power to save both Sesen and the queen. Chariline held Theo tighter, knowing he was wrapping her in his prayers just as tightly as in his arms.
When the throne room grew silent, the echoes of the doomed men receding down the corridors of the palace, the queen sent for Chariline again.
Theo and Chariline bowed to the Kandake, who was sitting on the edge of her throne, back ramrod straight, face like stone. Chariline thought, looking at the inscrutable features, that the dark eyes betrayed a storm of anger not yet spent. And something more. Hurt.
The queen gazed back at the young couple. Her face softened. “It’s never easy to send a man to his death,” she said. “You will carry this all your days, Chariline.”
“Yes, Kandake,” she whispered.
“Then carry this also: You saved not only my life, but the peace of Cush. For were I to die a violent and untimely death, this nation would plunge into civil war.”
“Why did they do it?” Chariline asked through dry lips.
“Thwarted ambition can become a sick thing. I did not give them what they asked for. Position for one, and a lucrative deal for the other. I blocked their desires. For that, they thought I should die.” Her expression changed. “You must be happy Sesen is not your father.”
“Very happy, Your Majesty.”
“I suppose I will have to forgive you for not telling me about the plot as soon as you found it out. I may be somewhat responsible for your delusions about Sesen. Had I allowed Natemahar to reveal his relationship to you, you would not have jumped to such ludicrous conclusions.”
Chariline exhaled. “Thank you, Kandake.”
“At least now we know who hired an assassin to kill you. I will take care of it. You need not worry on that score.”
“You are generous, Kandake,” Natemahar said.
“But how will you find him?” Chariline asked.
“I have my ways.” The queen smiled at the commotion by the door. “And here comes one of them, if I am not mistaken.”
Chariline turned as the door to the throne room opened. A skinny boy, dressed in white linen from shoulder to calf, sauntered in.
“Arkamani!”
The boy grinned and walked confidently to the throne to bow beautifully. “Hello, Auntie.”
The queen rapped him softly over the head with her fan. “Kandake to you, brat.”
“Yes, my lady,” the boy said dutifully, eyes sparkling.
“The queen is your aunt?” Chariline squeaked.
“Only by marriage,” the queen clarified.
“I thought you were my spy,” Chariline said, indignant.
“I was under the impression you worked for me,” Natemahar added.
“You were both wrong,” the queen said with satisfaction. “The boy has potential. I recruited him before both of you.” She turned to address Arkamani. “What news, brat?”
“I know where he is hiding, Auntie.”
“Kandake, I said.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
The queen ignored the boy and turned to Natemahar. “We’ve located the assassin Sesen hired to kill the girl, it seems.”
“May I help, Kandake?” Theo offered.
Chariline stepped forward. “If he goes, so do I.”
He counted his dwindling coins dolefully. He had been reduced to downright poverty thanks to that detestable girl and her prancing boy. Both had disappeared from the barge, gone like smoke on a windy day. He was done with them. If that one-eyed courtier wanted to kill girls, he could do it himself. From now on, he intended to stay away from any job that had anything to do with women.
He would have to find fresh employment. He drank the last of his cheap barley water and slapped the cup down. Donning his old armor, he strapped on his sword, its weight comfortingly familiar, and slung his leather quiver over his shoulder. He looked respectable again, like a proper warrior ought.
Opening the door onto the street, he sidestepped a pile of warm manure. Looking up, he caught his breath. There she stood, like a wraith, smiling at him. She waved, as if she knew him. Glorious day! Good fortune had returned to him. Brought her right to his door. He would get rid of her and be paid the rest of his wages.
He sprinted toward her, and she stood, unmoving, like a lame rabbit, just waiting for him to skin her. He dragged out his knife and let it dance between his fingers, until its cold haft settled like a familiar lover’s hand in his palm.
Three steps from her, a broad chest that hadn’t been there a moment before smashed into him. “Watch where you’re going,” he growled and looked up.
Not again! The prancing boy stood in front of him, grinning his manic grin.
The warrior shoved against the broad chest and turned, intending to run the other way, only to find himself face-to-face with another broad chest. Without warning, a whole row of them stood in front of him, blocking the way. The barley water had slowed his brain a touch. It took him a blink and a belch to recognize the uniforms. Royal guardsmen.
He circled fast, only to come to an abrupt halt as he ran into another wall of muscle. The wall parted a little and a woman walked through, tall and stony faced. His mouth turned into a sandy wilderness when he noticed the way the sun’s rays reflected off the shining skullcap on her head.
She pressed the tip of her sword to the delicate place where his neck and throat met. “Kneel to your queen, scum.”
He fell to his knees. He should have known his end would come at the hand of a woman. “I can give you a name,” he croaked.
“I am sure you can,” she said pleasantly.
The queen insisted that Theo and Chariline occupy a couple of small, private chambers attached to her own apartments. She did not want Quintus Blandinus Geminus to get wind of Chariline’s presence in Cush. In the evening, she arranged for a simple supper in her personal dining room, with only Natemahar, Chariline, and Theo as guests.
“You can stop staring at me like I am going to eat you, girl,” she told Chariline as she seated herself. “I had to be sure you were not part of the plot.”
“I don’t suppose you could have taken my word for it.”
“No. I could not.” She unfolded her napkin. “So, what do you plan to do now?” she asked as a young Cushite slave with round curves served a dish of vegetables around the table. “Will you go back to your aunt in Caesarea? Blandina, I believe.”
Chariline gaped. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
Natemahar cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, Chariline is betrothed to Theo. They will marry soon and return to Corinth.”
“Betrothed?” The queen raised a brow. “I see no ring on your finger. Is that not the Roman custom?”
Theo’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “I have not had a chance to purchase one yet. I proposed while we were on board my ship, and given our haste to warn Your Majesty, we could not delay the voyage by stopping at a port along the way.”
The queen pushed her plate away. “I suppose you are a Roman citizen.”
“Not by birth,” Theo explained. “My brother arranged for my citizenship several years ago. A merchant’s taxes to Rome are gruesome, otherwise.”
“I have some knowledge of that myself,” the queen said dryly. She turned to address Chariline. “You may be a Roman on your mother’s side. But your father is a Cushite
nobleman. As such, Theodotus of Corinth, you need my permission to marry her.”
Chariline’s eyes widened with alarm. She looked to her father for help. But her father seemed as shocked as she. “Kandake,” he began.
She waved him quiet. “I am not addressing you, Treasurer. I am speaking to Theodotus of Corinth. Well?”
“My lady?”
“I am waiting to be asked.”
Theo came to his feet, stared down at the seated queen. With a smooth motion, he knelt before her on one knee. “Kandake, will you permit me to marry Chariline Gemina, daughter of your chief treasurer, Natemahar?” His voice emerged sure, unwavering. If he felt any anxiety, he kept it tucked up where no one could see.
“Do you want to marry this man?” the queen asked Chariline.
“Yes, Kandake. Very much.”
“What does your grandfather have to say about it?”
“He doesn’t know, my lady. But my father has given his blessing.”
The queen’s lip tipped up. “Quintus Blandinus would explode a vein in vexation.” She returned her attention to Theo, still kneeling before her. “You may marry her,” she said.
Theo bowed his head, managing to look graceful rather than awkward. “Thank you, Kandake.”
“I am sometimes in need of a ship that could run an errand or two for me,” she said. “Without being too obviously Cushite.”
Theo raised a brow, his face smooth. “I can carry scented soap for you, my lady.”
“Soap?”
“Soap.”
“I am looking for a shipmaster, not a merchant. Can your pomade make or break a nation?”
“Perhaps not. But it can definitely make one smell nicer.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Well, get up from down there. Your chicken is growing cold.” She waved to the slave. “Fetch my box. The alabaster and gold.”
Chariline watched the Kandake sort through her chest. Eventually, she extracted a trinket that twinkled gold and closed the lid of her box.
“Theodotus of Corinth,” she said formally.
“Yes, Kandake?” Once again, he knelt before her.
“Here is a small reward for your services to the queen of Cush.” She dropped something into Theo’s palm. A beaming smile lit up his face. It was precisely the kind of bright, breezy smile that could make a matron’s heart beat a trifle too fast, Chariline thought. She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Theo’s prize, but he closed his fingers around whatever he was holding.
Theo bowed. “My thanks, Kandake.”
“Well?” the queen said. “What are you waiting for?”
“I was thinking of keeping it. It’s not every day a man receives jewelry from a monarch, after all.”
The Kandake made an odd noise in her throat that sounded alarmingly like a growl.
Theo laughed. Laughed! He flicked the flashing jewel up in the air, caught it with ease, and gave the queen an impish grin.
The dark eyes narrowed. Then to Chariline’s shock, the stern lips twitched. “Get on with it, boy.”
“Yes, lady.” Theo turned to take Chariline’s left hand in his. “The queen has helped me with a delicate problem, my love.” He extended Chariline’s hand and slipped something onto her third finger. She looked down and saw a ring made of polished yellow gold, marked with delicate swirls and etchings on both sides, with a sparkling oval ruby set in the center.
Chariline gasped. “It’s enchanting!”
The queen smiled. “I regret I don’t possess a traditional Roman wedding ring with a carving of hands clasping. But perhaps you can have a jeweler carve that into the ruby later.”
Chariline shook her head. “I would not change a thing. It’s perfect.”
“I suppose you are going to want an iron band as well,” the queen said, curling her lips, referring to the tradition of Roman women wearing a simple iron band for daily use and only donning their bejeweled betrothal ring on special occasions.
“It would be a pity to lose this marvelous jewel, since it is irreplaceable.”
“Besides,” Theo added, “I intend to have the other ring made from iron mined and forged in Cush, so that Chariline can always have a piece of her second home close to her heart.”
“This one is going to go far,” the queen said to Natemahar. “He always has just the right words at the ready.” She waved the slave forward again, who placed a pouch in her hand. “Merchant!”
Again Theo abandoned his dinner to kneel at the queen’s feet. “Yes, Kandake?”
“I gave you your reward for helping to save my life. But I still owe you a payment. Never let it be said the queen of Cush does not honor her debts.”
“I was honored to serve, lady.”
As Theo resumed his seat, Chariline cleared her throat.
“What now, girl?”
“I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Of course you do.” The queen sighed. “You saved my life. For that, you deserve a great reward. What is it? You want a ruby bracelet for your ring? Fertile land near the Nile? A pair of matching horses?”
“I thank you, Kandake. But I want none of those things.”
“Well?”
“I want my father.”
The Kandake’s face grew very still.
“I have not had a father for twenty-four years while you have had your treasurer. He has lost everything in your service and never ceased to labor for you faithfully. If he is willing to retire from his position, then Theo and I would like to take him with us to Corinth. He can have his own house on our land. Eat with us every day. Pray with us. Play with our children, should God choose to bless my womb.”
The Kandake’s hand fisted around her silver table knife. “You ask for much.”
Chariline wanted to say that the queen had taken much. Instead, she tamed her tongue. “You said I deserved a great reward, and I have asked for one. Having seen the kind of men you have to contend with every day, I know it will be hard to lose someone like my father. A man you can trust. But we both know he is not strong in body. He needs rest, now, and peace. A queen can impart many blessings. But she cannot give the love of a family.”
The knife dropped to the table. The Kandake turned to Natemahar. “Is this what you want?”
“I had never thought it might even be a possibility, my queen. It is the first I have heard of it.”
“But is it what you want?”
Her father gazed at Chariline. His eyes shimmered. “More than anything,” he rasped with a desperation that twisted Chariline’s heart.
The queen grew silent. When at last she lifted her head, her whole body seemed to have shrunk a little. “Then you shall have it,” she said.
EPILOGUE
Let not the eunuch say,
“Behold, I am a dry tree.”
ISAIAH 56:3
They held the wedding in Corinth. Philip and his daughters accompanied Aunt Blandina so she would not have to travel alone. Priscilla and Aquila managed to leave their business for a short while, excited to visit old friends from the church they had hosted in their home while they had lived in Corinth five years earlier. Vitruvia and Galerius also arrived, bearing a cartload of gifts.
Several weeks before the wedding, Theo paid a brief visit to Chariline’s grandfather in his new farm on the outskirts of Pompeii.
“I must ask his permission to marry you,” Theo explained to Chariline.
She assured him that he need not have this conversation for a third time. But Theo insisted.
“Quintus Blandinus did not receive this courtesy from your parents when they married. Let us not break his pride again.” And so, Theo set off for Pompeii and asked, once again, for Chariline’s hand in marriage.
“You must really want me,” she teased.
He shrugged. “After a queen with her own private torture chamber, your grandfather does not seem very scary.”
Grandfather gave his permission, of course. Who could resist Theo? Even though he had not been
born a Roman, he made up for it by being an affluent merchant and a citizen. Besides, he did not argue when Grandfather offered him an insultingly small dowry.
Theo invited Quintus Blandinus and his wife to the wedding but gave so frightful a description of the sea journey to Corinth that both her grandparents decided not to make the trip. A relief, since no one had bothered to tell Blandinus that Chariline had found her father, and he had moved to Corinth.
Because Natemahar’s house would be smaller, they decided to build it first. Having lived frugally for much of his life, he was able to hire extra workers so that his house was ready by the time of the wedding in October. Chariline had designed the building to his specifications, with a walled garden and an airy tablinum. It was the first of her designs to be built, and Chariline spent every day on site, supervising the work with an eagle eye.
A few hours before the wedding, Theo found Natemahar and Sophocles decorating the atrium of the new house with the last of the scented jasmine and roses. Natemahar had invited the old sailor to retire from sea life and come to live with him as a steward.
To Theo’s surprise, Sophocles had accepted. “I’m too old for the sea,” he told Theo. “Can’t keep falling overboard. A nice bath is better suited to my advanced age.”
Theo found his freedwoman, Delia, directing the two men’s effort at decoration. Having once served as a hairdresser to the rich, Delia had impeccable taste and a somewhat regrettable turn of phrase. Her faith in God had tamed her tongue a bit. But when excited, she could still expound amazingly colorful language. “No, don’t stick that rose there,” she scolded Sophocles. “It looks like a pimple on Venus’s cleavage.”
Sophocles grinned. “Sounds good to me.”
Spotting Theo, Natemahar abandoned his sprigs of jasmine with obvious relief, greeting him with an affectionate embrace.
