‘I love horses!’ shouted the girl.
‘That is well,’ said Rab, ‘because in this fair green land there was once a girl much like you who also loved horses. One day, a trader came to her village and sold her father the tallest, smartest, most beautiful horse her father had ever seen.
‘But when the girl’s mother saw the new horse she became worried. “She is ugly,” said her mother. “And just look at that bump on her back. She will never be able to carry a hunter or a warrior. You must sell her back.”
‘Now, the little girl had a brother much like you,’ said Rab, pointing at Hageru’s son. ‘And together the brother and sister begged their father not to sell the new horse and vowed to take care of it themselves.
‘They decided to call the horse Thirsty because whenever she stopped to drink from a stream it was as if she was trying to swallow up all the water in it.
‘“Where do you think all that water goes?” the girl asked her brother one day.
‘“I think it goes into the bump on her back,” said the boy.
‘“Maybe you are right,” the girl replied.
‘One day, the boy became very sick, and the medicine to save him lay beyond the sand sea. The father prepared several of his best horses to make the dangerous crossing.
‘“Take Thirsty,” said the girl. “She will survive the journey. She keeps water in her bump.”
‘So the father agreed and he set off across the sandy desert. The sun beat down each day. So much sun—and no water to be found. All the horses perished—except one. Which one do you think that was?’
‘Thirsty!’ shouted the children.
‘You are right!’ shouted Rab. ‘With Thirsty to carry him, the father was able to return with the medicine and the little boy was saved. The mother was amazed. “I am sorry that I called your horse ugly,” she said. “She is the most beautiful creature in all the world.” And every day from then on they celebrated the beautiful, tall horse with the strange long legs and beautiful, perfect bump. The end.’
‘But it wasn’t a horse at all!’ shouted Hageru’s daughter.
‘It wasn’t?’ said Rab, feigning ignorance.
‘It was a camel!’ shouted the boy.
‘Really?’ said Rab in mock surprise. ‘Are you certain?’
Scandalised, the children shouted and howled, followed by a quiet laughter that told him that he had succeeded with at least two members of his audience. He braved a glance at Atia. She was studying the floor.
* * *
She did not look at him for the rest of the night, and he feared his scheme to affirm her beauty had failed miserably.
He half-wished his fever would return, for now it was no longer proper for her to sleep beside him and she had rightly moved her bed mat to the place where the women slept.
He gazed across the darkness, trying to make out her shape. He thought about the softness of her body against his and grew warm. Perhaps his fever had not passed, after all. Perhaps the only thing that could remedy him was her.
* * *
The next morning, he opened his eyes to discover Atia’s mat unoccupied. ‘Where is Atia?’ he asked Hageru.
‘She and Livius have gone with my sisters and brother to tend the flock.’
‘Your brother?’
‘He arrived early this morning.’
Rab discovered the group standing at the top of a hill overlooking part of the canyon. A tall, muscular-looking Nabataean man who appeared to be roughly Rab’s age was speaking animatedly while the others peered down the slope. Spotting Rab, the man smiled and gestured to him. ‘Greetings, Brother!’
Brother? Rab was not this man’s brother and he did not like how closely he was standing to Atia.
‘Rab, this is Yamlik,’ said Atia as Rab joined the group. ‘He is a sailor and a trader. He just returned from Barygaza in the land of India. Is that not wondrous?’
‘Well met, Brother,’ said Yamlik, grasping Rab’s arm with heavily ringed fingers.
Rab forced a grin. ‘Well met.’
‘I was just showing your companions our magic carpet,’ he said. Yamlik gestured down the canyon at an unexpected swathe of green.
‘Is it not amazing, Rab?’ asked Atia. She was shaking her head in wonder at the sight of the grassy field. ‘I have no idea how they do it.’
Rab stiffened. It was just an irrigated pasture, by the gods. ‘They simply employ an Archimedes screw to reach the groundwater,’ Rab said shortly. He turned to Yamlik. ‘Purchased in old Amman, I presume?’ he asked.
‘Indeed it was—with the proceeds from my last sea journey.’ Yamlik petted at his own short beard in a way that Rab found maddening.
Yamlik gestured to a bump in the ground running up the slope. ‘The screw lies inside a pipe hidden beneath the earth just there. Whenever we need to water the field, we hook a donkey to a wheel that turns the screw. Water is lifted from a spring through the twisting spirals inside the pipe.’
Was Rab mistaken, or was Yamlik looking at Atia more than he was Livius? And did Atia’s smile appear just a little brighter as she listened? ‘It is truly remarkable,’ she said.
‘Just amazing,’ Livius parroted, though he was gazing at Gamilath, not the pipe.
‘Utterly magnificent,’ Rab said with sarcasm and felt Atia’s elbow in his side.
‘We have several others installed at other springs nearby,’ explained Yamlik, ‘and we rotate the sheep between the fields they serve.’
‘But how do you defend the fields?’ asked Rab.
‘I am sorry, I do not understand,’ said Yamlik.
‘From Romans, I mean. How do you prevent them from taking your pastures?’
Yamlik was shaking his head. ‘We have never had any need to defend our pastures from Romans. Besides, Hageru’s husband will soon become a Roman himself. He has already completed ten years of military—’
‘That matters not at all,’ Rab interrupted. If he heard about another Nabataean joining the Roman ranks he would lose his wits. ‘You must take precautions now. The Romans will come eventually and demand unreasonable taxes. If you cannot pay them, you could lose everything. You must be prepared to fight.’
Rab sensed Atia watching him closely. Gamilath was shaking her head. ‘I am afraid that we have spent all our money on obtaining the screws,’ she said.
‘Then you must sell more sheep,’ urged Rab, feeling his nerves grow short. ‘You must arm yourselves well.’
Atia moved to touch his arm. ‘Rab—’ she said, but he yanked his arm away. He knew what she was going to say. She was going to tell him to be reasonable. But he did not need a Roman telling him to be reasonable.
Yamlik flashed a righteous frown. ‘If you spend your days preparing for a fight, how can you ever be at peace?’
Rab’s breath seeped through his teeth. ‘I think I need to go change my bandage,’ he said, then he turned and walked away.
* * *
That evening after dinner, Yamlik retrieved a scroll from the shelf and carefully unfurled it. He gave Rab a glance and began to read.
‘You have heard it said that you should love your neighbour and hate your enemy. But I say to you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you so that you may be the children of your father in heaven, for he makes his sun to rise on the evil and on the good and sends rain on the just and on the unjust alike.’
Atia was shaking her head in admiration. ‘Words of wisdom,’ she exclaimed. ‘May I ask which philosopher penned them?’
‘A man called Jesus of Nazareth,’ said Yamlik. ‘He met my grandfather many years ago when he journeyed through these hills.’
Atia’s mouth fell open. ‘Your grandfather knew the prophet of the Christians?’
‘Yes. Do you know of him?’
‘He is quite infamous in Rome,�
�� said Atia, ‘though I find his message fascinating.’
‘You, too?’ said Yamlik, his eyes sparkling.
Rab found himself loathing the excessively handsome man with the colourful rings and closely trimmed beard. Yamlik was the worst kind of Nabataean. He spouted his high-minded philosophies while less fortunate people suffered all around him. Did Yamlik think he could just erase the need for vengeance against Rome? And did he really believe that he could just swoop in and steal the woman Rab loved?
Rab cleared his voice. ‘I believe it is time for another story,’ he pronounced.
Yamlik shot Rab a look of alarm, while Hageru’s children erupted in cheers.
‘Are you really going to gift us yet again, Rab?’ asked Shudat.
‘It is the traveller’s obligation, is it not, Sister?’ Rab said magnanimously. ‘And also his greatest joy.’
‘You are too generous,’ Shudat said and everybody gathered around the dinner table as Rab cleared his voice.
Chapter Sixteen
‘This is the story of a trader,’ Rab began. He shot a look at Yamlik. ‘A rich, handsome sea trader.’ Rab gazed at the floor for an unusually long time, as if he were contriving the story just then.
‘This particular sea trader had a problem, however. He loved himself too much. He loved the sound of his own voice and the brilliant things it said. He loved his bronze skin and muscular limbs and every single hair of his closely trimmed beard. But mostly he loved his face, for it seemed to him to be astoundingly handsome. His favourite thing to do was to stare into his copper mirror and admire himself as he floated across the sea.’
Rab glanced out at his audience, his gaze lingering on Yamlik.
‘One day, the sea trader was staring into his mirror and failed to see a large reef lurking in the water beneath his boat. The boat crashed into the reef and the trader was hurled overboard.’
The children gasped, but Rab’s eyes flickered with a savage glee. ‘Then the poor trader was ripped apart by a troupe of passing sharks. Every inch of him was consumed—including every single hair of his closely trimmed beard.’
The children stared at Rab in wide-eyed horror.
Atia glanced at Yamlik, who was petting his own beard in alarm.
There was a long, confused silence. ‘Apologies,’ Rab said, glancing at the children. ‘I had forgotten how very cruel that particular story was.’
It was Yamlik who salvaged the moment. ‘Well, as a sea trader myself I can say with certainty that I will never again gaze into a copper mirror.’ Everyone laughed.
Everyone except Rab, of course. He was smiling so tightly now that Atia feared his teeth might begin popping from his mouth one by one.
Livius lifted a honey cake from the tray. ‘How do you say I love honey cakes in Nabataean?’ he asked Gamilath and normal conversation resumed.
Atia watched Rab retreat to his bed mat. He appeared to be busying himself inspecting his water bag.
Meanwhile, Yamlik was saying something to Atia about his travels in India. ‘Do you know of the Buddhists?’ he asked. He had apparently met a number of them and found them to be fascinating.
Atia wished that she could find Yamlik fascinating. In truth, all she could think of was Rab and how oddly he had been acting since he had recovered from his fever.
First there had been the story about the camel. She had never heard any tale like it in all her life. A creature believed to be an ugly embodiment of one thing, finally found to be a beautiful embodiment of another. Rab had given Atia a significant look after he had finished, as if he had shaped the story to send her a message.
As if she, somehow, was the camel he had described.
The idea of it might have offended her. What woman wished to be compared to a camel? Yet the thought had sent a flutter of joy through her heart. The camel in his story had not only been beautiful, she had been strong and enduring and had ultimately saved the little boy’s life. I am sorry that I called your camel ugly, said the mother in the story. She is the most beautiful creature in all the world.
But perhaps Atia was ascribing a meaning to the story that simply was not there? It would not have been the first time that her own wishful thinking had got in the way of reality. And the reality, she reminded herself, was that Rab had rejected her. He believed her to be ugly on the inside—just like all the other Romans he loathed, though for perhaps different reasons.
She decided to forget about the camel story and was glad she did, because the next day he seemed almost hostile to her. First there had been the strange, confrontational manner in which he had responded to Yamlik and when she had tried to comfort him he had yanked his arm away from her and stormed off.
And now this bizarre tale of the sea trader.
‘Ana oheb kaykat aleasl,’ Gamilath was saying in Nabatean.
‘Ana ahubby al kayak lazy,’ repeated Livius.
‘A noble effort,’ Gamilath said. She slid Atia a look. ‘Again.’
The two continued to practise the sentence until it was rolling off Livius’s tongue. Then Livius stood and fixed his gaze on Gamilath. He cleared his voice and knelt before her, taking her hand in his. ‘Ana oheb Gamilath,’ he said gently. I love Gamilath.
Gamilath’s eyes quietly filled with tears. She took one of her bracelets and slid it on to his arm. ‘Ana oheb Livius,’ she said. The silence was so very sweet that it seemed unholy to break it.
The voice that finally did was full of irritation. ‘Excuse me, but why have we not yet departed for Rekem?’ Rab asked. ‘We have been here for three days now. We are due in Rekem in five.’
Hageru and Gamilath exchanged a look. ‘Livius’s knee is not yet fit to sustain a march,’ said Hageru. ‘Nor have you fully recovered from your infection and fever.’ She glanced at Rab’s bandaged arm.
Rab shook his head. ‘Livius can stay here and I am fit enough to travel. We must arrive in Rekem in no more than five days,’ he repeated. ‘There are consequences if we do not.’
‘Rab is right,’ Atia said. ‘We must leave as soon as we can. Tomorrow, if possible.’
Rab caught Atia’s gaze. His expression was full of gratitude.
‘But Livius’s knee is not yet healed,’ Gamilath protested. ‘It cannot withstand a long march.’
‘We must leave him here to recover,’ said Rab. ‘Atia and I will go on our own.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Yamlik suddenly. ‘We will simply take the camels.’
‘You have camels?’ asked Atia.
‘Of course we have camels,’ said Yamlik with a grin. ‘Are we not Nabataean?’
* * *
Rab’s plan could not have failed more miserably. In the moment, he had thought it brilliant. A revelation, of sorts. It had come to him just after Livius had pronounced his love to Gamilath. Lovestruck fool! Rab had thought. Livius should just stay here.
It was then that he had recognised the genius of the idea. Why should Livius not just stay? There was no real reason for him to continue on to Rekem other than his own sense of duty—something that had obviously been obliterated by a pretty young woman with jingling bracelets. Why should Livius not just stay with Gamilath and allow his knee to fully heal before returning to duty? And in that case Rab and Atia could simply continue on to Rekem together.
Together and finally alone.
It was the manner in which he had spoken his revelation that he feared had ruined it. He had not left enough time after Livius had made his grand pronouncement. Worse, the tone of Rab’s voice had been wrong. It had been full of impatience and disdain. He feared that he had sounded almost jealous of Livius.
He had not been jealous, of course. If anything, he had been exasperated. How on earth could a man presume to fall in love in only three days? And how could the object of his affection somehow do the same? And how, by all the gods in all the heavens, could there be no oppo
sition to the matter? The whole thing was so idyllic as to be ridiculous.
Thank the gods Atia had affirmed their need to depart. She had saved him once again—this time from being labelled a malcontent. Unfortunately, Atia’s urgency caused Yamlik to leap into action, obviously eager to prove his usefulness to her.
And Livius had insisted on accompanying them, not only because he was obligated to fulfil his mission, but also because a Roman military escort would be necessary to get them past any military checkpoints.
Following Yamlik’s offer of camels and Livius’s declaration of duty, Gamilath had pronounced that she would also join the group, for she could not allow her brother to return unaccompanied from Rekem with three camels in tow.
And thus now, instead of two lone travellers, they were a caravan of five: Yamlik, Atia, Gamilath, Livius, and Rab.
* * *
They set off early the next morning and Rab consoled himself that he would find a chance to speak with Atia soon. Five days was a long time and travelling on camels meant they would have plenty of energy for discussion.
But Yamlik insisted that the caravan travel in the traditional formation of a single line, with Yamlik in front, then Atia, then Gamilath, then Livius and finally Rab. The women were to remain in the middle of the caravan, Yamlik insisted. It was Nabataean tradition.
And so Rab decided that he loathed Nabataean tradition, along with Yamlik himself. He also loathed the sun, for its movements marked the passage of time. The hours were ticking by. If he did not speak to Atia soon, he feared he never would.
He imagined himself shouting at her from behind. Atia, I wish to thank you for saving my life. Also, I have considered your proposition and the answer is yes. I will accept your gold coins. Anything to be close to you one last time. Also, I love you.
They had travelled across a high plateau those next two days, with no shade in sight. By the time they made their camp each evening they were too exhausted to do anything but fall upon their bed mats.
Seduced by Her Rebel Warrior Page 16