“No one will tell you anything,” Minuhe declared.
“Anyone who can give me the information I seek will be rewarded with twelve silver pieces.” Lord Ramtat nodded at the woman called Minuhe. “How about you—would you like to have silver of your own?”
“I scorn your offer. I’ll tell you naught, and neither will any of the others. You’ll leave with no more than you had when you came.”
Ramtat fixed his gaze on a young kitchen maid who was trembling with fear. “How about you—do you know anything?”
“No … lord. The last I knew of the mistress, she’d gone into the courtyard.”
“And how long ago was that?”
“Just before you came.”
One of the guards entered, dragging a boy of no more than twelve summers. The soldier shoved the grimy-faced lad forward. “He says the lady left on horseback accompanied by a man named Uriah.”
“Is that true?” Ramtat demanded of the boy, who trembled with fear.
“Yes, lord.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“Did I hear you offer silver for information?” The boy asked, avoiding the great man’s gaze.
Ramtat smiled. Now I have the rat that will spring my trap. “Yes, if you tell me what I need to know, I will pay you well.”
The boy looked down at his feet. “If I tell, I’ll be punished. Faraji will pluck my eyes out to feed to the crows.”
“I will take you away from here if you cooperate with me.” Ramtat watched relief appear on the boy’s face. “Tell me what you know.”
The boy wiped his grimy face with an equally grimy hand. “I heard Uriah mention something about joining a caravan—that’s all I know.”
Ramtat bent down so he was at eye level with the boy. “Did he say when?”
“Not that I heard.”
“There are many caravans leaving the city. For which one should I look?”
“I know not, lord.” The boy looked at Minuhe, whose gaze was poisonous, and he shifted uncomfortably. “Truly I don’t.”
“Bind him and bring him with us,” Ramtat ordered. “If he speaks true, he shall have his freedom and the promised silver. If he speaks false, he’ll not see another sunrise.”
Minuhe spoke, reaching for the boy, who cringed away from her. “You cannot free a slave who belongs to Lady Danaë.”
Ramtat watched his guards lead the boy away. “Then let your lady come for him.”
Danaë hurried down the clay-packed streets in the direction of the Golden Horn Tavern, where she was to meet Uriah. He had gone ahead to find a caravan to take them out of the city. The streets were clogged with humanity; shepherds herded their flocks into the city to sell at the slaughterhouses, and many two-wheeled donkey carts rumbled past, hauling fruits and vegetables for the next day’s market. Throngs of people were trying to make it out of the gates before they closed for the night, and several camel caravans waited by the high arched gateway for their turn to pass through.
Since Danaë had fled from her home, she’d been unable to bring anything with her. Uriah had managed to sell the horses and borrow money from a silversmith friend. Danaë had purchased plain garments and a black headdress, hoping to blend in as a Bedouin.
Just as she reached the front of the tavern, people began scattering to the side of the roadway, and Danaë heard the sound of riders approaching. Soldiers in bronze armor over light blue togas passed by—Lord Ramtat’s men were on her trail! With fear driving her, she slammed her body against a mud-brick wall. When the guards began shoving men aside to question their women, she knew without a doubt they were searching for her. Slowly she eased her way toward the door of the tavern, taking great care to stay in the shadows. With trembling hands, she pulled the coarse linen headcovering over her face, hoping to go unnoticed.
A hand landed on her shoulder, and she spun around, relieved when she saw it was Uriah. “We must get you out of the city now.”
She shook her head sadly. “It wouldn’t be wise for you to come with me. I’m sorry that I pulled you into this intrigue. Perhaps you can return to the house, and if questioned say you know not where I went.”
“I’ll not leave you, Danaë,” he said earnestly. “But it must not seem that we are traveling together. I have made arrangements for you to ride with the harem of an aged friend of mine. You’ll be safe under Sheik Mardian’s banner.” Uriah took her hand. “Quickly, lower your head so no one can see your face.”
She nodded toward the guards. “It doesn’t seem possible to get past all of them.”
Uriah pressed her forward, ducking behind the stall and heading away from the tavern. “Our caravan has already been searched and is not likely to be searched again.”
They heard other riders arriving, and Uriah pushed Danaë into the doorway of a leather shop just in time to avoid the hooves of Lord Ramtat’s horse. Uriah urged her out the back door and led her to the caravan on which they would be traveling. She was soon mounted high on a camel, which she shared with two other women. A canopy of fine linen was their shade, and thin gauze allowed them to see out while no one could see them. It took Danaë only a moment to discover she did not understand the language the two women spoke. They giggled and offered her sweetmeats, which she accepted, not because she was hungry but because she did not want to offend them.
She cringed and pulled back when she saw Lord Ramtat ride by again. She felt sick inside—it seemed he would stop at naught to find her.
Ramtat had delayed the departure of three caravans until his men could search among them for Lady Danaë. He’d been told that two caravans had already departed. Certain that Lady Danaë must be traveling with one of them, he sent men to search for her. One of his guards had reported that a woman at the linen market had described a beautiful lady who had purchased the weaver’s humble clothing and left her fine robes behind.
Ramtat clutched the white gossamer gown that the shopkeeper had turned over to his guard. There was no doubt in his mind that the garment belonged to Lady Danaë. He pressed it to his cheek and smelled the sweet scent of jasmine that still clung to the fabric.
Disgusted with himself, Ramtat shoved the garment into a leather bag. Lady Danaë was mistaken if she thought she could escape him by fleeing into the desert. He would seek her even there.
By late morning the next day he still had no word on Lady Danaë. He stared into the distance while something he could not explain ate away at him. He had to find her—had to have her under his power. She was becoming an obsession with him. No woman had ever lingered in his mind more than a few days. But this one had haunted him since the moment he’d first seen her standing on the deck of the Blue Scarab, her fierce leopard at her side.
He had to rest his horse, so he reluctantly dismounted and motioned for his men to do the same. If Lady Danaë was not ahead of him, she must be behind him. Either way, he’d find her.
He had to.
Theodotus cautiously entered King Ptolemy’s bedchamber, knowing the boy had ridden away from the palace earlier and wouldn’t return until late afternoon. As he had hoped, the cheetah was in the cage near the bed. But when he approached the animal, it growled; the fur on the back of its neck stood up and it gazed pointedly at Theodotus with menacing yellow eyes. Apparently the cat had been trained to protect its owner; it might be difficult to win its trust.
But Theodotus was nothing if not determined.
“Good Jabatus, you will soon realize I’m your true friend,” he said in a soft voice meant to gain the animal’s trust.
The big cat rose on its hind legs and snarled, swatting at the cage.
“Here, pretty one, smell what I have for you.”
The cat shrank away as Theodotus unwrapped a chunk of raw meat and held it against the cage. “Soon you will become accustomed to raw meat and will balk whenever you are offered cooked meat.” Theodotus poked the meat through the bars and jumped back as the cheetah lunged at it. At first Jabatus merely sniffed at the meat and tu
rned away from it. Theodotus knew his attempt to gain control of the cat would fail unless it took to the raw meat.
He held his breath expectantly as he watched Jabatus slowly turn back and nose the meat. Then its tongue lapped out and the animal took a small bite. With a snarl, Jabatus tore into the bloody tidbit, devouring every morsel.
Theodotus watched in satisfaction as the cat licked its paws, and then lapped everywhere blood had splattered, leaving no trace of the evidence. He bent to rub the cat behind the ear so the animal would become accustomed to him. It wouldn’t be long before the bloodlust would take the animal completely, and it would no longer accept cooked meat.
“I will teach you whom to trust—” he said, wrapping a small piece of raw meat in one of the prime minister’s sashes “—and who is the enemy. Smell the scent—grow accustomed to it—this is the scent of the man you will one day kill!”
Chapter Ten
Once the sun had dropped behind the distant sand dunes, night shadows crept across the land. A slight evening breeze was stirring, but it brought little relief from the heat. For most of the day, the caravan had traveled across rugged wasteland where the earth was hard-packed and there was neither shade nor water.
At first Danaë had been annoyed by the constant tinkling of the tiny bells attached to the camels’ harnesses, and the motion of the swaying beasts had made her feel ill. Now she was accustomed to the sound of the bells and even found it soothing, and she had discovered that if she swayed in rhythm with the camel, the motion was not so bad. She found the strong perfumes of the two older women overwhelming, but the women were kind to her, and she was grateful that they had allowed her to travel with them.
She was bone-weary and wondered when they would reach their destination.
The farther they traveled from Alexandria, the safer she felt. Surely Lord Ramtat would be satisfied that she had left the city and would not pursue her into the desert.
Danaë wished she could talk to Uriah and find out what he had planned. But since she was hiding among harem women, no man was allowed to approach them. He had warned her that if they met, she was to treat him as a stranger—Uriah was concerned that Lord Ramtat might have him followed. Danaë had listened to the mumbling and giggling of the women until her head ached. How was it, she wondered, that not one of them could speak Egyptian?
It was nearing dusk by the time the caravan leader called a halt for the night. Danaë lurched forward when one of the men tapped her camel’s knees and the beast knelt on the ground. The other two women were helped by their husband’s eunuchs as Danaë had been for the first two days. She thought nothing of the man who offered her his hand, assuming he was one of the sheik’s minions.
Danaë was startled when his hand lingered too long on hers, and she pulled free as she gazed into suspicious brown eyes.
“Lady, I have been watching you since I joined the caravan yesterday. Why is it that you are much younger than the other women in Sheik Mardian’s harem and you do not act like you belong in his household?” he asked, trying to peer past her veil.
In that moment Danaë suspected that she was staring into the eyes of Lord Ramtat’s man, and she trembled in fear. Summoning all her courage, she glared at him. “Be warned that I am being watched over, and my protector is quick to anger. If you treasure your life, you will move away as quickly as possible, and you won’t approach me again.”
The man stepped away, smiling as if he knew something she did not. “A thousand pardons, lady. I was merely making an observation.” He bowed. “I’m sure we shall meet again.”
Trembling, she watched him disappear into the shadows. The harem women grouped together, but she backed away in fear.
Uriah—she had to find Uriah.
As if she had no conscious thought of what she was doing, Danaë walked quickly away from camp, and then she ran and ran until she dropped to her knees, gasping for breath.
Suddenly Uriah appeared, dropping down beside her, a little winded himself. “I saw you run. Is something the matter?”
“He’s found me, Uriah. One of Lord Ramtat’s men is here, and he knows who I am.”
Uriah handed her a waterskin and watched her take a sip. “Are you certain of this?”
“Aye. We must get away as soon as possible. The man said he’d been watching me since his arrival yesterday. He’s probably already sent word to his master.”
Uriah whipped his head around and stared back toward the encampment. “We must not act in haste,” he cautioned. “It’s possible that you are being overly suspicious.”
“Nay!” Then Danaë hesitated, wondering if he could be right. “Perhaps I did overreact.”
At that moment a loud shriek pierced the night air. Danaë jumped to her feet and stared toward the encampment, watching as riders in flowing robes entered it.
“Stay here,” Uriah warned, shoving Danaë to the ground. “I’ll find out who they are.”
“Could it be that Lord Ramtat has found me?” she asked in a quivering voice, brushing sand from her face.
“I’d say not. From here it looks like ordinary Bedouins. They sometimes demand tribute from the caravans that trespass on what they think of as their private territory. All the same, stay here out of sight. If I do not return right away, hide yourself among the sand dunes, and I shall find you when I am able.”
Fearing for his life, Danaë watched Uriah hurry toward the camp. By the light of the campfires she watched several of the Bedouins dismount and speak to the head man of the caravan. One of the men drew her notice because he was taller than the others, and he was dressed all in black while the others wore white robes.
Danaë heard voices raised in anger, and she watched, horrified, as several of the men entered the tents as if searching for someone. Some primal survival instinct warned Danaë that this was no ordinary Bedouin tribe. She knew they were searching for her.
Although it was no more than a shadowy outline, she glanced toward a tall sand dune some distance away, wondering if she could make it to the other side before the men came looking for her. The sound of swords clashing urged her into action. With sand filling her sandals and slowing her progress, she fled. It was so dark she could hardly see her hand in front of her face, but she managed to reach the dune and started climbing. The sand seemed to collapse beneath her sandals, causing her to slide back down the mound. But she rallied enough to climb upward once more.
Danaë had almost made it to the top of the dune when she heard the rattle of a bridle and glanced back to see that the Bedouin dressed in black was riding directly toward her.
Had he the eyes of a cat? she wondered. How could he see her in the dark? She slipped and fell, rolling back down.
Danaë felt crushing fear when the rider overtook her and dismounted before she could gain her feet. Knowing it was useless to run, she slowly stood and waited for him.
The night was so dark, the Bedouin was no more than a shadowy outline. He said not a word as he reached for her and swung her into his arms. With aching clarity, Danaë knew it would do her no good to struggle. There would be no escaping this man.
She was his prisoner.
Fear loosened her tongue. “If it is money you seek, I can give it to you. If you will allow me to go free, I can give you gold.”
He said nothing. Strong fingers tilted her face upward, and she shrank from him. When he carried her quickly toward his horse, she slid her hand about his shoulders to steady herself and felt the corded muscles beneath her fingers. She would not be able to fight her way free of such a man, so Danaë decided to use cunning instead.
She tried to think of what she’d been told about the Bedouin—they were desert dwellers, a nomadic people, and some tribes possessed great wealth. Maybe her offer of gold meant naught to this man. Perhaps he thought he could get more if he sold her at the slave market. Or worse still, maybe he wanted to add her to his own harem!
“Sir,” she said desperately, not knowing if he understood Egyptian, “
you should beware. I have a man of great power searching for me. If he should find me, you will suffer the same fate as I, which will probably be death.”
He remained silent as he carried her to his waiting horse. Smoothly he swung onto the saddle with Danaë in his arms. Before she could protest, she was enfolded in his black cape, and he nudged his horse down the sand dune, then into a gallop as they raced across the desert.
Danaë was terrified, and tried to crane her neck in an attempt to locate Uriah. Her captor gave a sharp command, and although she did not understand the words, she felt a chill climb up her spine and ceased her resistance. At the moment she was not sure which would be worse—to be the prisoner of Lord Ramtat or this wild Bedouin tribesman.
After an hour of continuous riding, Danaë grew weary and her head dropped back against the man’s shoulder. There was no moon or stars to guide them, but the Bedouin seemed to know exactly where he was going. They had been joined by other Bedouins, and their fine desert horses galloped through the sand as if it were no obstacle.
Danaë felt the man’s breath stir her hair and she forced herself to sit stiffly away from him again. Soon however, she became too weary to care and once more fell back against his hard body.
She felt his grip tighten about her, and he whispered, his breath touching her ear, “Sleep, green-eyed one. You will be the better for it.
How could she sleep when she was riding off into the night with a man who probably meant her harm? Her life had been naught but upheaval since she had left her father’s home. She was weary of running, first from Harique, then Lord Ramtat; now she was the captive of this man of the desert. It was unlikely Uriah would ever find her. Her fate rested with the gods, and up until now, they had not served her well.
Sleep?
Not likely!
Danaë was too weary to think, too frightened to dwell on what would happen to her once they reached their destination. Her eyes were heavy, and her head seemed to nestle against the man’s shoulder. She didn’t care that she could feel his breath against her cheek, or that his arms held her like tight bonds. Her eyes drifted shut, and she fell asleep.
Lord of the Nile Page 8