Sword of Rome Read online

  Light from a passing torch streaked across her face, but her heavy head covering hid everything but her eyes. The same exotic fragrance he had smelled on Ramtat’s sister when she had danced near him drifted through the air, and he knew it was she.

  “I saw you ride in the contest today,” he said in Latin, not sure she would understand him.

  She whirled around, almost colliding with his powerful body, and when she regained her composure, replied in Latin, “Much to my shame, everyone saw me ride today.”

  “And I saw you dance tonight.”

  She shook her head, backing away. “Roman, you saw too much today. I beg you to forget my disgraceful actions. I only wish I could.”

  In that moment she stepped back and stumbled over the rope that secured his tent. Instantly, he reached out to steady her and found her in his arms. The sweet scent that clung to her was intoxicating, and her skin was soft to the touch. Marcellus found himself pulling her closer. “Sweet little dancer, what is that mysterious fragrance you wear?”

  “It is a scent extracted from the jasmine blossom,” she said breathlessly.

  “I think I will never forget you, although I have not seen your face.”

  At first she did not realize what she was doing. Something about the Roman made her feel safe. He was a comfort to her, his chest solid to lay her head against. His arms tightened around her, and she allowed it.

  A lock of her hair had escaped the veil, drifting across his face. “I think I would die if your brother caught us like this.” Reluctantly, Marcellus set her away from him. “And I have heard you are already in trouble.”

  Adhaniá took a hasty step away from him, wondering how many times she could shame herself in one day. “Please. I must go.”

  With a soft stirring of her robe, she moved away, leaving him staring after her. He wondered what the young girl’s punishment had been at the hands of her brother.

  Apollodorus, having just left Lord Ramtat’s tent, had viewed the exchange between Marcellus and Ramtat’s sister. “What you said was true. You could lose your life for touching her.”

  Marcellus watched the young woman disappear into the shadows before he answered. “There are some things in this world that are worth the risk.”

  “This is not one of them. You are a guest here … and an emissary for Caesar.”

  “Aye. But I would give up two years of my life to see her face and know what she looks like.”

  “Put those thoughts aside. We leave in the morning at first light, and Lord Ramtat has asked me to escort his sister as far as Alexandria. While she is under my care, no man will go near her.”

  “We leave so soon?”

  “We must. Lord Ramtat has asked that I pave the way for his sister to join Queen Cleopatra’s household in Rome.”

  Marcellus drew in a shallow breath. “So that is to be her punishment.”

  “It would seem so.”

  “What a strange young woman she is. Is she always so rash?”

  “That I do not know. But she is little more than a child. Perhaps she will learn her place in this world.”

  Marcellus stared toward the water well, and he watched the palm fronds sway in the night breeze. “She carries with her the essence of this place on the softness of her skin.”

  Apollodorus gazed into the night. “If you are beginning to think this way about Lord Ramtat’s sister, you could easily find yourself at the wrong end of a sword.”

  “It’s just that she is a mystery.”

  “Some mysteries are better left unsolved,” Apollodorus advised. “I will wish you a good night, Tribune Valerius. Make ready for the homeward journey.”

  Marcellus nodded absently. The desert called to his spirit, and when he left, he would leave a part of himself behind. He was enchanted by a young woman whose face he had never seen, and though he would be traveling with her to Alexandria, he would probably not even be able to speak to her.

  If he lived for endless years, he would never forget the sight of those sad amber eyes swimming with tears.

  Chapter Ten

  Makana, the personal servant Ramtat had chosen to accompany Adhaniá to Rome, was red-eyed from crying. Adhaniá judged the girl to be about her own age, but from the way Makana carried on, it was obvious she had never been away from her family. As the maid helped Adhaniá dress for the journey, she kept sniffing and drying her eyes.

  Once she was dressed in her leggings and a heavy robe, Adhaniá could no longer endure Makana’s whining. “Stop crying in my presence. Do you think I look forward to this journey with any more enthusiasm than you? Yet I do not give in to my feelings and annoy others.” She jerked the heavy veil she was to wear about her shoulders, then drew it across her hair. “Get to your horse lest I ask my brother to choose another to take your place.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Go now!”

  The girl ducked her head and hurried from the tent, sobbing as she went, further annoying Adhaniá.

  Moments later Adhaniá emerged from the tent and found Ramtat waiting for her. He stood rigid, his expression uncompromising. There was no sign of her loving brother, only her sovereign lord who had passed judgment on her. There was no softening in his eyes, and she knew by the fierceness of his countenance that his judgment was final.

  Danaë looked at her with sympathy. “You must be brave, Adhaniá—all will be well in time. Take comfort in the fact that I have given Apollodorus a message to the queen, asking her to see to your welfare. Look upon this as an adventure, and the time will pass quickly. We will soon be reunited. When you return, there will be a new baby for you to hold and spoil.”

  Adhaniá’s grief was momentarily pushed aside until realization hit her that she would not be with her family when the baby was born. Trying to hold back her tears, she looked at her brother. “I am happy for you,” she murmured.

  He nodded, although he did not change his rigid stance. “A child is always a blessing. I recall the night you were born—I thought I had never seen anything so beautiful. You brought joy to our family.”

  The color drained from Adhaniá’s face as she met Ramtat’s softened gaze. “I will attempt to overcome my willfulness,” she told him. “I will make you proud of me.”

  He touched her cheek. She saw his chest rise and fall, and she knew he was having difficulty sending her away. “Look well to Queen Cleopatra for guidance. Obey her in all things.”

  She bowed her head, a shivering chill moving through her body even though the day was sweltering. “I shall. Her majesty’s word is law.” Suddenly she was hit by a great fear: Soon she would be going into the unknown. Grasping her brother’s hand, she tried to hide her trepidation. “You will send word to me when the baby is born?” Panic lingered on the edge of her mind, and she struggled to keep it from showing.

  Danaë answered her because Ramtat seemed unable to find his voice. “You can be assured we shall.”

  Adhaniá sighed and then turned to her nephew, who was twisting in his nurse’s arms and reaching out to her. Grabbing him up and holding him close, she laid her cheek against his, inhaling the sweetness of his soft skin. Then she reluctantly handed him back to his old nurse, Minuhe.

  “He will forget me,” she said, looking at her sister-in-law woefully.

  “I will not allow that to happen,” Danaë assured her. “I will speak of you to Julian each day.”

  Heikki led her horse forward, and Adhaniá saw Apollodorus some distance away, mounted and waiting for her. Her glance rested momentarily on the Roman at his side, still dressed in a Bedouin robe. He did not look in her direction; she was sure Apollodorus had warned him against it. There were twelve mounted warriors who would be her escort as far as Alexandria, and, of course, there was the ever-woeful Makana, who Adhaniá was determined would not ride at her side if she kept sniveling.

  She wrapped her headdress about the lower part of her face and quickly turned, mounting her horse. With a stabbing ache in her heart, she rode away from the encampment. She was
not happy that Heikki would be accompanying her to Rome, and she glared at him, then twisted her head so she did not have to look at him. Apollodorus rode beside her, and the Roman on the other side of him.

  A subdued and silent Heikki dropped back behind Adhaniá to ride beside Makana.

  Adhaniá could hear the girl’s muffled sobs, and in exasperation, she nudged her mare forward to put some distance between them. The ever-watchful Bedouin warriors closed in around the rest of the party like a shield.

  Smoke from early morning cookfires curled through the air as the encampment stirred to life. The celebration would continue for several more weeks, but Adhaniá wouldn’t be there to enjoy it.

  As they topped the first sand dune, the poignant smell of the desert filled her senses. She forced herself to look straight ahead, although she wanted to turn back to her brother. She knew he would be watching until she rode out of sight.

  She would bear her exile as best she could.

  The galloping hooves stirred the grains of sand into smothering dust. She gazed sideways to see how the Roman was faring. Most probably he was not accustomed to the arid desert heat—she did notice he drank more often from his waterskin than the others. She remembered how it had felt to be touched by him, and her thoughts were unsettling. The only man who had ever been allowed to lay a hand on her was Heikki, but he did not matter since he was like a brother to her. She mentally shook her head, not wanting to think about Heikki.

  Adhaniá glanced at Apollodorus, who rode silently, his dark gaze moving over the land, ever watchful and ready for any trouble that might come. He knew, as did the guards, that there were warring tribes in the area who would like nothing better than to kidnap Sheik El-Badari’s sister.

  Intermittently Adhaniá could hear Makana sniffling, and her annoyance intensified. Makana behaved as if she were being punished rather than honored. In her heart, Adhaniá would have liked to turn her horse and ride back to the encampment, but she kept her eyes ahead, determined to make the best of her situation.

  It was dusk when they stopped to make camp. Under Heikki’s direction, three Badari tribesmen erected Adhaniá’s tent, and Makana arranged the bedding. The rest of the party would sleep beneath the stars, and they began laying out their bedrolls in a protective circle around Adhaniá’s tent. Apollodorus told Marcellus they would make camp away from the sheik’s sister, so the two of them settled on a rise overlooking the distant sand dunes.

  The setting sun spilled across the sand, painting it with a golden glow. Adhaniá stood just outside her tent, the evening breeze whipping at her robe. She was affected deeply by the beauty that surrounded her. Her family had many homes, grand villas and even two huge farms along the Nile. But she was always most at home in the desert—it called to her, it was where she had been happiest … until now.

  The horses had been fed and hobbled, and she walked to her mare and laid her head against Sabasa’s sleek neck. Her fingers drifted into her silken mane, and she ached because she would have to leave her mare when they took the boat to Alexandria.

  She was so deep in thought she did not hear the bootsteps that approached her from behind.

  “She is a real beauty,” remarked Marcellus.

  Adhaniá kept her eyes averted as a faint flush stole up her cheeks. “You should not be seen speaking to me,” she warned him in perfect Latin. “ ’Tis not wise.”

  His dark gaze moved over her, as if he were trying to see beneath the heavy veil that hid her face. “I only stopped to compliment you on such a fine animal.”

  She saw that he had removed his kiffiyeh, and his dark hair fell across his forehead. He was taller than Ramtat, and his eyes were the most expressive she had ever seen. Her heart fluttered when he smiled. “If you are caught, it will mean trouble for you, and I have enough problems without having to save you from my Bedouin’s swords.”

  He bowed his head and stepped away, but she saw the smile playing on his beautifully shaped lips. Adhaniá knew nothing about the man save that he was a tribune of Rome. She did not even know his name, or if he was married. But she did know he could mean trouble for her if she wasn’t careful.

  She wanted to walk up to him and press her mouth against his.

  What was wrong with her?

  She had never had such thoughts about a man before.

  Why now? And why this man?

  Pushing the Roman out of her mind, Adhaniá smelled the aroma of roasting meat that wafted through the air. She moved toward her tent. She was hungry, and she was weary.

  Later in the night, when she sought her bed, she closed her eyes, seeking sleep. Makana lay on a bedroll at her feet, and Heikki was sleeping just outside the entrance of her tent. She rested her head on a soft cushion, and despite her resolve not to, she thought of the Roman. She remembered his smile, and her stomach tightened.

  She warned herself it was too dangerous to think of him. But the warm glow in his dark eyes followed her into sleep.

  Each day followed the same routine as the one before, and each night Adhaniá was forced to listen to Makana’s mournful sobs. The woman complained because she missed her mother, and she lamented because she was saddle-sore, being unaccustomed to such rigorous riding. It was all Adhaniá could do to keep from sending her back to Ramtat.

  It took them five days of hard riding to reach the Nile Valley. When Adhaniá saw the green strips of land that snaked along both sides of the river, she breathed in the damp air. From there, they would board a boat that would take them on to Alexandria.

  She dismounted and laid her head against the neck of her mare, wishing she did not have to send her away. Sabasa was her last link with her desert home, and she was loath to part with her. “Take good care of her,” she told the Bedouin who would return Sabasa to the encampment.

  He bowed his head. “I will be as gentle with her as you have been, mistress.”

  The small village where her family usually boarded a boat to ferry them to Alexandria was familiar to Adhaniá. She knew many of the people who dwelled within and acknowledged their greetings as she walked past. She absently watched fishermen casting their nets, and then focused on one old man as he sat with his back braced against a weathered boat, a net spread across his lap as he plied a fishbone needle with nimble fingers.

  Her mouth quivered. Most young women would be happy at the prospect of joining their queen, but although Adhaniá revered Queen Cleopatra, she did not really know her all that well. She had spoken to her on occasion, but if the queen remembered her at all, it would only be because she was Ramtat’s sister. She was leaving her friends and family behind, and the prospect was tearing her apart inside.

  Rome, so far away. What would it be like?

  The city of the masters of the world.

  Like poor Makana, Adhaniá, too, wanted her mother.

  Heikki touched her arm. “We can board now.”

  She glared at him and pulled away, still harboring anger toward him. “I don’t want to talk to you. Just stay away from me.” She saw his hurt expression and wished she could recall her cruel words. Did he not know he’d destroyed the trust she had in him? She was not yet ready to forgive him.

  With her head held high, Adhaniá walked up the gangplank, looking neither to her right nor left. But Makana’s hand flew to her throat, and her eyes darted about, nervous and frightened—she had a firm grip on the railing as the sails caught the wind and the boat shifted to the middle of the Nile. Adhaniá had to remind herself the poor wretch was a desert dweller and frightened out of her wits.

  Heikki took up a protective stance near Adhaniá, and she purposefully moved away from him.

  Apollodorus saw the misery in the young Badarian’s eyes and said, “She will forgive you in time.”

  “I am not convinced she ever will.” He looked at the Sicilian. “Even if I’d known Adhaniá would be banished to Rome, I would have acted no differently.”

  Marcellus overheard the conversation and glanced at the young Bedouin. “Is s
he promised to you?”

  Heikki met Marcellus’s gaze. “She is not, nor can she ever belong to me. She is a lady of great standing, and I am her servant.”

  Marcellus glanced across the deck of the small papyrus boat, observing Adhaniá. The afternoon breeze caught her green veil and tore it off her head, sending it fluttering across the deck. Heikki dashed forward and grabbed it, carrying it back to her, but not before Marcellus had caught a quick glimpse of smooth skin and delicate cheekbones.

  “Poor Heikki,” Apollodorus said. “His love for Lady Adhaniá is hopeless.”

  Marcellus remembered the Bedouin dragging the sheik’s sister out of the tent the night she joined the dancing girls. “Will she really forgive him?”

  “You have not seen Lady Adhaniá at her best. She is worthy, kind and joyful. I am accustomed to her laughter. I have not heard it of late.”

  “You sound like you have feelings for her yourself.”

  The Sicilian glanced at the disappearing shoreline. “I serve the queen.”

  There was a world of meaning in Apollodorus’s words, but Marcellus did not ask him to explain. He suspected Apollodorus, too, could not reach so high as to touch the woman he favored … that woman being the Queen of Egypt.

  When Adhaniá rewound her headdress, she spoke to Heikki. “You are now exiled with me. I hope that makes you happy.”

  “I don’t apologize for seeing to your welfare.”

  “And I no longer look upon you as my closest friend. You betrayed me.” Until she was ready to forgive him, she would rather not have him near her, and she moved away.

  For more than a week the dreary little boat made its way toward the Mediterranean. Adhaniá paid little attention to the journey since she had made it many times in the past during happy and carefree times. She had long hours to dwell on how she had disgraced her family. She had brought Ramtat’s wrath down upon her head, and now she would cause pain to their mother, who would blame herself for not being present.