by Sandi Rog
Nefer snorted and nudged him on the shoulder. He reached under the horse’s throat and patted him on his forelock. “Good boy,” he said, giving him a pitted date. He then mounted, kicked his heels into the animal’s flanks and took off down the mountain to meet the intruder.
As he neared the stranger, Alexander’s tribesmen appeared out of the mountains and dunes and flanked him on both sides—some with blades drawn—as the man drew near. The stranger kept his sword sheathed and appeared to be Roman. He didn’t draw his weapon, which told Alexander that he meant no harm. In fact, he looked like a harmless mail carrier. Bags of scrolls bounced along the flanks of the camel as the animal ambled forward. A strange sight indeed. Alexander had never seen a mail carrier dare come this far into Bedouin territory. He motioned for his men to stand down, and Mohar, his good friend, sheathed his sword, his painted Egyptian eyes narrowing on the stranger. They slowed their pace, but Haru and Jahi on each side of him kept their swords drawn, reminding him that he was a prince of the desert, the grandson of a sheik.
The man on the camel reined in, his eyes squinting from the bright sun. “I was told I would find the man I’m looking for in this area somewhere. I have two letters to deliver to someone by the name,” he bent to retrieve a scroll from one of the bags, then held it up and read the inscription, “Alexander Maximus Demetrius Arnensis III.” He scrunched his gaze up at each one of them.
“I am he,” Alexander said, curious and shuddering involuntarily. He hadn’t been addressed by that name since he’d left Maximus’s house four years ago.
The mail carrier pulled another scroll out of his satchel and handed both of them to Jahi who rode up to take the messages.
Jahi turned toward Alexander and handed him the scrolls, his uncle’s gaze curious.
Alexander looked at the inscriptions and saw that one letter was from Galen and the other from Manius. Odd that the two of them would write, but not David. Could something be wrong? He broke the seal and unrolled Galen’s message.
Galen Aletheos
father of Alethea and grandfather of Elianna
daughter of David son of Aaron,
to Alexander Maximus Demetrius Arnensis III.
Alexander, I write to you, not by my own hand, but by a hired scribe to beg you to return to Rome as soon as possible to claim Elianna as your bride. I have news of a devastating nature, and while I am well and able to care for my precious Elianna, my days won’t last as long as yours, and that’s why I beg you to come immediately. The news I have to impart is not easy to put in words, and because I am not writing on my own, it’s of too private a nature to relay in this message. Please come as soon as you can.
Alexander studied the scroll’s vague message. With stiff fingers, he fumbled to unroll the second, Galen’s message falling from his lap to the ground. Jahi moved in closer. Hands trembling, Alexander read Manius’s message, written by his own hand. He laid out the details of Paulus’s treachery and the death of Alethea and David.
Alexander felt like he’d been punched in the gut and he crouched over from the incredible pain. Dead? They couldn’t be dead. His loved ones gone? Elianna, the only one left to be cared for by Galen? It couldn’t be. “No,” he whispered, his anguish breaking through the silence amongst his tribesmen.
“The swine dares to deliver bad news!” Mohar shouted, unsheathing his sword, ready to go after the messenger.
“No! Stop!” Alexander lifted his hand toward the man. “There will be no killing today.” He held his gut. “Please.” He slid off his horse and fell to his knees. “Leave me!” he shouted at the men surrounding him. Pain twisting his insides, he looked at them through blurred vision, seeing only their horses’ hooves. “Go!”
The mounts slowly turned and walked away, all but Jahi and Haru’s. Alexander dropped Nefer’s reins and dug his fingers into the sand. “No!” he shouted, tears flooding his eyes. “Why, God! Why?” The loss of his mother had caused great agony, but the loss of the only man he knew as a father, cut to the bone. How could he deal with the pain? The grief?
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered, not when Elianna had been left alone for so long. According to Manius’s letter, this tragedy struck two years ago. How old would that make her now? He was eighteen, so that meant she was just twelve. Still too young to marry, in his opinion. He didn’t care what other men practiced, twelve was too young. Alexander could take her in as his ward. He could be her protector. When she came of age, then they could marry.
“Oh, God,” he said as he bowed in the sand. “Why?” He sobbed.
“My lord,” Jahi said, kneeling next to Alexander and putting his hand on his shoulder. “We should return to camp.”
Alexander pushed up, still weeping. He leaned on Jahi as he helped him to his feet.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Alexander straightened, still unable to control the sobs that racked through him. Rather than mount his horse, he trudged toward camp, knowing Nefer would follow.
How often had he run through this sand with complete abandon, without a care in the world? Laughing and playing with Nefer, while his loved ones suffered. Now each step was a great feat, each groaning bend of his knee and lift of his leg a major accomplishment as he carried his anguished soul back to camp.
Ω
Alexander had come to love the life of a nomad prince. At least in the wilderness there weren’t any doors with hinges to evoke bad memories. Tent life was good. And to run free in the desert, raise horses, yes, that was a good life. But now he sat across from his grandfather, a man he had come to love, with his thick gray beard and warm brown eyes. Gold statues surrounded them, idols and jewels hanging from the tent posts, and beautiful women moved in and around them, placing food on the rug between him and his grandfather.
Alexander had talked to Dakarai many times about his idols, even threatened to burn them to show just how fallible they were, but he couldn’t convince his grandfather to turn away from his false gods, no matter how appealing Elohim’s attributes, like the fact that He was willing to come to this world and die for His people. Talk about a passionate God. A God who loved His creation. Why Dakarai wouldn’t want Elohim as his God, Alexander didn’t understand. But then he looked again at the women serving them. Beautiful women, and very likely part of Dakarai’s harem. Some just weren’t willing to serve a moral God if it meant sacrificing the lusts of their flesh. It saddened Alexander and made him feel helpless.
Waiting for the servants to leave, Alexander turned the amethyst stone between his fingers—a jewel of little value materially compared to the wealth surrounding him and promised to be his one day. He looked up at his grandfather, feeling the redness and swelling around his eyes. It had been two days since he received the horrible news, and two days of crying still hadn’t dried his tears. Massive amounts of food—lamb, figs, and vegetables—were laid out between them, but Alexander had no desire to eat.
“I have to go,” Alexander finally said, breaking the silence between them after the last servant left. He’d already told his grandfather what Elianna’s family meant to him.
“How long will you be gone?” his grandfather asked, eyeing him in a way that made Alexander uncomfortable. Sometimes he felt the man could read his mind.
Alexander shrugged. “As long as it takes to get Elianna and bring her back.”
“You were supposed to be the next sheik.”
Alexander nodded, knowing that if he left for too long, that position would be given to Jahi, and rightfully so. He was married to one of his mother’s sisters. The only male heir next in line. And now Alexander could lose all of that. He was, in essence, leaving this life of luxury for a life of pain. He’d be exchanging all the gold and jewels surrounding him for the worthless amethyst stone in his hands. But how much had his gold coins been worth here? His grandfather never took the offering of his coins that would have purchased his mother’s freedom. He said the gift of Alexander’s return was far greater than anything money could buy,
and after seeing his grandfather’s wealth, Alexander knew those coins were of little value in comparison.
Even if he were able to buy a thousand stallions with his money, was it really worth anything to Alexander in the end? This life was temporary, and Elianna needed him. She was his family. He squeezed the stone in his hands, cutting his palm on its pointed edges. When he counted the cost, it was worth it. Elianna, David’s precious little girl, was worth the sacrifice of all the gold in the world, all the horses he could buy, and all the coins he’d earned with blood, sweat and tears.
“You will always be a prince, no matter where you go,” his grandfather finally said, his gaze holding Alexander’s. “And you will always be my grandson. A grandson I’m proud of.”
Alexander’s chest swelled, but why did his grandfather’s words feel like a goodbye? He would see his grandfather again, and his people would be able to meet Elianna, his little flame.
At his farewell, his grandfather gave some of his best men to Alexander, men to protect and help him, and several horses to ride or sell. Whichever most pleased Alexander. He would become a sheik over his own small tribe.
With all the gifts bestowed, Alexander couldn’t fight off the sensation that Dakarai was saying a final goodbye. Alexander couldn’t say when he would return. When it came down to it, Alexander was willing to give up this part of his life to rescue Elianna, to return to his past.
Ω
Glancing around him, Alexander ambled along the old familiar street in Rome on his way to Manius’s house, Haru and Mohar flanked each side. It was good to have his friends with him: Haru with his quiet, controlled steps, and Mohar, the impulsive one, putting on an air of control as he eyed the young women strolling by. Women here didn’t require head coverings and the thick robes that Bedoiun women wore, and it took some getting used to for Mohar as he admired the thin stolas clinging to the curved figures. His eyes, covered in black liner, lingered in the direction of one shapely woman in particular. Seeing his leering gaze, she darted with her basket to the other side of the street, clearly intimidated by the three Bedouin men ambling along. Alexander nudged Mohar with his elbow, snapping him out of his trance. He cleared his throat, nearly tripping over Alexander, and kept walking.
It had taken them four months to get to Rome. Everything was so much smaller than he remembered. The fountain on the hill didn’t reach as high, the street was much narrower, and the hill even shorter. How odd to be walking down a street that used to be so familiar to him, only now as someone completely different—no longer as a slave, but now as a Roman citizen and a sheik. What a contrast.
Sooner than expected, because the street was much shorter than he remembered, he reached Manius’s gate. How empty the house would be with David and Alethea gone. He pushed on the gate.
Locked.
Strange. He went to Manius’s front door and tried to open it, but it too was locked. Haru cast him a questioning look not understanding that it was normal and acceptable to walk into Manius’s house. Mohar shrugged.
Taking a deep breath and shaking his head, Alexander knocked. As often as he’d been to Manius’s house, he could probably count on one hand how often he came in through the front door. A servant opened, and by the shocked look on her face, Alexander remembered how different he and his two friends must look from other Romans. He simply found comfort and pride in the Bedouin garb, and there was something about being a Bedouin—a sheik, that commanded respect, even from the “civilized” Romans.
The woman stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide and her jaw slack. Alexander chuckled and stepped inside, causing the woman to step back several paces, her hands held up in front of her as if Alexander or his men might cause her harm. He motioned for his men to stay behind him and held up his own hands to the woman, keeping them away from his sword. “All is well,” he said, smiling. “I’m an old friend of Manius. Is he here?”
“Who are you?” Manius’s familiar voice carried to him from the narrow hall that led to his small library.
“Manius?” Alexander went toward the man whose hair was now fully gray, and hugged him. “You’ve shrunk!” he said as he lifted Manius off his feet. He set him down and kissed him on his cheeks, but he pulled back when Manius didn’t respond. “It’s me, Alexander,” he said, laughing nervously that Manius didn’t recognize him.
“Alexander?” Manius said, his gaze moving over Alexander and then to his face, studying him as he stepped back. “I dare say, I never would have recognized you beneath all those robes.” He motioned trembling hands toward Alexander as if unsure of his words. “And all that hair and muscle.”
Alexander grinned and pointed at his chest with his thumbs. “It’s still me.”
“What are you wearing?”
Alexander slapped Manius on the shoulder. “I have much to tell.” He motioned to his friends. “This is Haru and Mohar.”
Manius nodded, but remained where he was, hardly greeting his guests. Strange. In the past he would have walked up to them, taken their hands and welcomed them.
Alexander nodded to the library chamber. “Shall we have a seat? I’m anxious to show you that I can still write.” Really, he thought it was time to talk about the letter he received, but he didn’t dare bring up the subject of David and Alethea yet. He wasn’t sure he could without breaking down in tears, and he was tired of crying in front of his two friends. Where was Elianna, anyway? If she was with Galen, she’d either be living with him at his place, or they would have moved in with Manius. He assumed they likely lived with Manius. He couldn’t imagine Manius having it any other way.
“It’s good to be home,” Alexander finally said, only then realizing that this truly was home, despite all the years he’d spent with his blood family. To be with his brethren was home. To think, he’d longed all those years to find his true family, but he’d been with them right here in Rome.
Manius looked to the chamber then at Alexander. He shifted his stance and shuttered his gaze.
“What is it?” Alexander asked.
“I don’t usually have guests.”
Alexander shook his head. Did he hear him right? Manius’s words cleared in Alexander’s mind. “What do you mean?” He chuckled. “You always have guests.”
Manius coughed. “Not anymore.”
Alexander straightened, his brows furrowed. “Are you saying I’m not welcome?” The thought was absurd. He motioned around the empty house. “I’ve set up my tents outside of the city, but I thought I could stay with you and we could spend a little time together.” Really, he’d hoped to spend a lot of time together, especially if Elianna was here. He wanted to give her time to get to know him again before he dragged her back to the deserts of Egypt.
Perhaps he should have sent word that he was coming. It never occurred to him to do so, especially because the letter most likely wouldn’t have arrived before he did. His men were already camped outside the city gates, and a large number of his horses were left in Alexandria with Maximus and Calista.
Manius rubbed his chin, something Alexander remembered him doing when he was worried or thinking. As if giving in, he cocked his head toward the chamber. “Come. There’s a lot to discuss.” He motioned toward the slave. “Elpida, take care of our guests.”
Alexander followed him to the chamber.
Ω
Alexander leaned heavily against the windowsill as the magnitude of Manius’s words weighed on him. He took off his headscarf and gazed out the familiar window from the library chamber. How many hours had he spent in this room as a child, learning to read and write in the sunlight of this tall window, which wasn’t quite as tall as he remembered? Manius’s chair scraped against the floor tiles. Hearing in detail all that had taken place, including Manius’s reviling of the Lord, Alethea and David’s admission to being Christians, and David’s recent death after serving as a gladiator, made Alexander reel with grief. How could he not have known what happened? Why couldn’t he have sensed that things were so wrong
?
And Elianna. Poor Elianna. How she must have suffered. He squeezed his hands into fists. And now no one knew where she was. Apparently, she and Galen left Rome after David’s death. Where they went, Manius couldn’t say. He had no personal contact with the church and managed to gather what little information he had from his believing servants, so it was up to Alexander to search out the brethren and discover what became of them.
He faced Manius who clearly suffered in the retelling of everything. His face was drawn and pale as he stood from his desk and reached for several scrolls. “I want you to have these.”
Alexander stepped toward the desk, feeling as if the room was tilting with the terrible news. He took one of the scrolls and sat down. The letter from Luke. “Why?” he asked, his voice hoarse from the tears he swallowed.
“I died that day in the magistrate’s court.” Manius leaned on his desk as if he needed it to hold himself up. “I was terrified, too afraid to admit the truth, and in order to survive, I lied in the most terrible way a Christian could ever lie.” He raised his fist. “I reviled my Lord and Savior! The only One who can save me!” He cried, slamming his fist on the table. “Who will save me now?” He slumped back in his chair, defeated. “This isn’t living. My life has been torture. It would have been better for me to admit the truth and die in the arena with Alethea. Maybe I could have at least spared her the ravages of those men.”
Alexander shuddered with rage at the thought of what Alethea had to suffer, but he couldn’t blame Manius. “I can’t take these.”
“Take them and make copies, pass them out to the brotherhood.”
Alexander shook his head.
“I am no longer worthy to keep the Lord’s Holy Scriptures,” Manius said.
Alexander pushed out of his chair and stood. “And I am?” He paced the room, raking his hand through his hair. The responsibility was too great. What if they got lost or damaged, or what if they landed in the wrong hands?