by Sandi Rog
He pulled away from her, taking her by the shoulders. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, his voice catching. “It’s me, Alex—”
With the distance he created, she found her voice and screamed, scratching his face like a wild cat. He released her just as she got one solid punch to his stomach, and she cried out in pain, grabbing her hand, fearing she’d broken it. The man stood there stunned, with his knuckles against his cheek as she scurried toward the tunnel, but Titus nearly knocked her over as he charged into the chamber. He drew his sword.
The man put up his hands in surrender as Titus pressed his blade against his neck. Several other brethren poured into the room, taking hold of the man’s arms, pinning them behind his back. Women clamored around Elianna to make sure she wasn’t harmed. Really, the only pain was in her hand from trying to punch the man in his rock-like stomach.
“What’s going on here?” Petronius, one of the teachers in the church, shouted. Clearly, they’d interrupted services.
Elianna had suddenly lost her voice again, but it didn’t matter because all of their accusing gazes were pointed at the man who tried to attack her.
With a calm voice, the man in black said, “I am her betrothed. We were promised to each other when we were children. Her father, David, was like a father to me. My name is Alexander Maximus Demetrius Arnensis. “This stone….” He struggled to free a hand and lifted the amethyst stone from beneath his clothes. “Was given to me as a betrothal gift and a promise that she was to be mine.”
No one said a word, stunned into silence as Titus lowered the blade from Alexander’s throat.
“I have a letter of reference from the church in Tarsus, if you’ll allow me to call my friends.”
The men escorted him to the door. He went onto the balcony with the men on all sides of him as he motioned for someone to come. Likely the other two horsemen.
Elianna couldn’t believe it. How dare he claim to be her Zander. Paulus was at it again, only this ruse was most convincing. Even she wanted to believe what he said. Suppose the church became convinced? How would she prove to them that it was all a lie? Oh, if only it were Zander! But he never answered her letter, never came for her. She had to prove here and now that this man was a fraud.
“This man is a spy! Sent here by my uncle Paulus, the man who had my parents executed!” Everyone gasped, and one of the women put her arm around Elianna, holding her close as Elianna trembled uncontrollably. “Titus knows what happened. Pappous told him everything.”
Titus nodded, his countenance solemn.
“Elianna.” The man who called himself Alexander stepped back into the room and made his way toward her, but Titus stopped him from getting too close. “Surely, you recognize this stone.” He held up the amethyst jewel that resembled a star. “It belonged to your father. It was given to him by your grandfather, when David married your mother.”
She’d never seen the piece of jewelry in her life. She shook her head.
The man dropped the stone in defeat. “I thought they would have told you.”
“You’re not him,” she whispered, her voice losing its conviction. He was so convincing, but so far he’d said nothing that was true, or that she would recognize as being her Zander. And she wouldn’t give him any hints, either. She’d wanted the last Zander to be him so badly, that she helped the con artist along. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“I rescued you from the river, I saved your life. Remember that?”
Incensed, she straightened. “Of course I remember, but everyone knows about that.” Yes, she recalled the last fake Zander also using that one on her.
The man rubbed his beard and then a light came to his eyes. “What about the time you tricked me? You said you’d caught a bird in your basket and asked me to hold it for you so it wouldn’t escape. Remember that? But there was no bird.” He lifted his hands as if he were convinced she would believe him now, but she shook her head.
“Everyone knew about that trick.” She waved a hand in the air, nonplussed.
“Really?” The man frowned as if he were embarrassed to hear that others knew he’d been duped. “Everyone?”
Elianna rolled her eyes. She wasn’t going to be fooled. So far, he hadn’t proven himself, and really, the thought was too painful. The realization that the real Zander never came for her, never cared enough to do anything when her parents were executed, made her hug herself.
“I want that back,” she said, pointing a trembling finger at her mother’s mantle tucked in his waist band. “It belonged to my mother, and I want it back!”
The man lifted the silk mantle, rubbing his rough fingers over the blue and gold designs along its seam. “I remember her wearing it,” he said, his voice low, thoughtful.
His two friends joined them, one holding out a letter.
Petronius took it and unrolled the small scroll. “I recognize the handwriting. It’s from Simon.” He continued reading and nodded. “He confirms that this man is indeed one of the saints. Says he had letters from Alexandria, Corinth and a number of other churches over the empire. Drop your swords gentlemen.”
“No!” Elianna shouted. Betrayed by her own. She was supposed to be safe with the church. Pappous had begged her to stay with them, and now they turned on her. “Paulus has been following us for two years. He would know all the churches we met with. This man is a fraud!”
“Where’s Galen?” The fake Zander lifted his hands, hope reflecting from his cunning gaze. “Just ask him. He’ll recognize me!”
Petronius shook his head. “Galen passed away last week.”
Petronius’s wife hugged her, brushing her hand along Elianna’s hair. “Surely you can come up with something else to convince her. She just lost her grandfather. It’s all been too much.”
“What?” The man’s mouth opened, his face pale. “Galen is dead?”
“Yes!” Elianna exploded from the woman’s arms. “Go back to Paulus and tell him his father is dead! Tell him to leave us alone!”
Crying, Elianna ran from the room, racing down the tunnel to her chamber.
Later that night, Petronius came to visit Elianna, his wife at his side. Titus sat in the corner of Elianna’s room, his usual silent self. Petronius sighed as he stepped farther into the chamber.
“Elianna, I realize you’re not yet convinced that this man is who he says he is, but because he is your betrothed, it’s your duty to go with him.”
Elianna turned cold as she sat on her bed, her knees up to her chin. She had her mother’s mantle on her head and Pappous’s tunic in her fist so she could take in his scent. How could they make her go with this stranger? She wanted to scream, to weep.
“The man cried when he realized your grandfather had died.” Petronius’s wife sat next to Elianna, placing her hand on her knee. “I’m convinced he’s who he says he is.”
Just because a man wept didn’t mean he was Zander. She simply stared into the chamber, the white-walled cave that had become her comfortable home, but now she would have to leave. It didn’t matter that she’d been here for such a short time, this was her home, and they—her family—were sending her into the arms of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“I’ll go with him in the morning.” Elianna’s voice was quiet, but it felt like she’d shouted the words. Her gaze darted to Titus, his brows raised with surprise. Petronius’s wife hugged her, and they stood to leave, talking excitedly of the upcoming nuptials and saying that all would be well. But Elianna held Titus’s gaze, telling him without words that they would leave that night.
Ω
Free. She would soon be free.
Bag slung over her shoulder, Elianna crept through the caverns, tiptoeing down the narrow tunnels with Titus just ahead of her. They’d waited most of the night for a chance to escape, but the brethren had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, talking. Now that they slept, she and Titus had to make their escape. It wouldn’t be dark for much longer.
Ou
tside, when it was safe to talk without being overheard, Titus finally spoke, “What is your plan, Daughter of David?” She liked it when he called her that, since it was an endearment to him.
“We’re going to my aunt Sarah in Germania.” Yes. That’s what they’d do. An excellent idea.
“That’s a long walk.”
“Well, we could do that, or I can marry and settle down with one of Uncle Paulus’s pawns, and that’s assuming he even plans to marry me off. I could be used for other things, you know. Surely, this man who came for me is a sheik. How Uncle Paulus convinced him to do this, I don’t know. Maybe he just wants to add another concubine to his harem?” Somehow, she doubted that was reason enough for this stranger to come after her, but she didn’t have time or energy to figure out Uncle Paulus, nor did she wish to.
By the time they reached the nearest town, daylight was in full bloom, and they had little to no supplies. It was impossible to sneak away with any food, since the church shared a pantry. Their stomachs were growling, and they needed to do something. Tugging on the mule, they hid off the road in some trees and bushes.
She sat with Titus beneath a tree as she contemplated this problem, hugging her knees to her chest and Pappous’s tunic beneath her nose, taking in his scent. Sighing, she put it away, stashing it in her bag with the rest of her belongings. She pushed around Abba’s juggling balls, and an idea struck.
“Titus, will you be able to wrap a turban around my head? Like the ones you wear sometimes?”
Titus eyed her and then nodded.
Elianna jumped to her feet, hid behind a nearby bush, and slipped into Pappous’s tunic. She tugged off her stola from under it, until the only clothing she had on was that of a man. She then twisted her hair. She had no pins to secure it, so she tied it together in a knot. Perfect. She went back to Titus and asked him to wind a turban on her head.
He obeyed. “Now what are you planning, mistress?”
“To make us some money. I’m going to juggle,” she said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. She pointed to the nearby town. “We’ll pretend I’m a boy, and perhaps we’ll be able to earn a few coins for bread.”
“Why don’t I? It won’t be proper for a woman to perform before men.”
“That’s why I’m dressing as a boy.” Pappous’s tunic was too large, so she bunched it up around the waist and tied it in place with her sash. “Besides, I need you to have your hands free in case someone tries anything. If you’re juggling, you won’t be able to watch out for me.”
Titus finished the turban, and after she fixed her tunic, she stood in front of him. “How do I look?”
Titus raised a brow.
For the first time since Pappous’s death, Elianna giggled.
“You still haven’t told us what happened to your face,” Mohar said, grinning at Alexander as they rode their horses into the nearest town just outside of Cappadocia.
Alexander knew he was referring to the scratches Elianna left on his cheek.
“Are you sure you want to continue?” Haru trotted up beside him. “We can always turn back. Give up on this whole expedition.”
Shaking his head, Alexander ignored their jibes. When Elianna had given in so easily, claiming she would come with him, he knew he couldn’t trust her, so he’d sent men to be on the lookout, and they had followed her to the nearest town. She was likely securing supplies. Where in the world would they go if Alexander let them get away? She had no one.
As they entered the village, Alexander dismounted, handing the reins over to one of his men who took the horses to a nearby stable for feeding and watering.
With Mohar and Haru at his side, Alexander wandered the city. He glanced down at his left hand, savoring the feel of Elianna’s braided hair around his wrist and the braided ring on his finger. It made her feel close, and he felt certain he’d soon find her. As he walked through town, striding toward a local market, he looked at every head and face, trying to capture a glimpse of color beneath every woman’s mantle. He remembered her height and that the tip of her head only came to his throat. He kept a lookout for women of her size and stature.
In the center of the market, he came across some performers. A boy juggled for several onlookers, smiling and tossing rings in the air. Alexander grinned, recalling his own childhood when he juggled in the hopes of earning his freedom.
The boy tossed one of the rings high, and as he stretched his arm up in the air, Alexander caught a glimpse of curves. He stopped. The boy did the same move, and he saw the same curves. He leaned toward Haru who came to his side.
“That’s no boy,” Alexander said to Haru. He watched the “boy” again as he spun around for a toss he was familiar with. David had taught him that move. “It’s her. It has to be her.” He glanced around for her slave and spotted him not far from where she stood, his arms behind his back, his gaze sharp. He wouldn’t be an easy one to get around. But suppose it wasn’t her? Suppose it was a boy, or another woman serving for her master or her family? He’d have to find out.
He motioned to Mohar and Haru. “I need you to distract her slave. Don’t do it with force. I have a feeling that won’t work. Be sly. Talk to him, ask him questions. Pretend you’re lost, or confused, or something. Anything to keep him away from the girl.”
Ω
Elianna had a great time juggling, and she wondered why she didn’t think of doing this while Pappous was still alive. She could have helped out in so many ways. The crowd clapped after another one of her tricks. A man dropped a few coins on the square cloth she laid out for money. She wanted to nod her thank you, but had to keep her focus to the front or she might miss catching one of the rings. The same man paced in front of her, and that’s when she caught a glimpse of him. The man from the pier. The fake Alexander. She nearly missed catching a ring, and to make it easier, she let two fall, so she now only juggled three. The man circled her, smiling. She could feel his gaze burn into her back as he disappeared behind her. Surely he didn’t recognize her. She was dressed as a boy. Lord, please don’t let him recognize me. The man came back around to the front, and she watched his dark shadow, his black robes and his headscarf fade behind the crowd. She swallowed, relieved that he was no longer near. She glanced down at the square cloth. It had enough on it for food. How many coins did that man give her? It had grown by half since the last time she looked at it.
“Titus, prepare the mule,” she said, anxious to get out of town and as far away from the dark stranger as possible.
Titus hesitated, glancing at the man then at her.
“Just hurry,” she said.
Titus left to get the mule as she performed one more round of tricks with juggling balls. Again, as she performed, she spotted the dark stranger watching her from the back of the crowd. Well, what did she expect? She was a performer, people were going to stare. Trying to ignore him, she continued juggling, not wanting the stranger to steal her fun. After several rounds of tricks, most of the crowd dispersed, replacing themselves with new people, but the fake Zander hadn’t moved, nor did he look like he was going to.
Was it possible he saw through her disguise? Surely not. But his severe gaze made her fumble, so she finished and bowed.
Quickly, she scooped up her money, stuffing her juggling equipment into her bag, and slung her things over her shoulder. Trying to stay calm and not give away that she was afraid, she walked nonchalantly, trying to keep from running. The crowd moved in such a way that she was forced to walk within a few feet of the stranger. As soon as he was behind her, she quickened her pace. She glanced over her shoulder, and he was gone.
Titus was to meet her at the gate, so she cut through a narrow street and then another. Hopefully, he was ready. As she rounded the last corner, she bumped right into the man, his dark robes nearly coming around her. She stepped back, but he grabbed her arm, guiding her into the alley, and pinned her against a wall. His wild musk and leather assailed her senses, and fury consumed her to the point that she wanted to
scream with rage.
Holding her against the wall, he unwound the turban, lifting it until a cluster of dark, red curls bounced around her shoulders in a mass of feminine locks.
“I knew it.” He shook his head, chuckling. He pulled three figs out of his robe and juggled them in one hand, the rings on his fingers glinting before her eyes. “Perhaps you’ll recall your father teaching me the same tricks?” He tossed one into his mouth. “Does that help convince you, my little flame?”
Little flame? What was that about? Uncle Paulus found an excellent actor in this one.
He bent down close to her, close enough for her to get a good look at the scratch marks she left on his cheek. “Don’t fight me. I promise, you won’t win,” he whispered as he rested his arm on the wall next to her shoulder, taking her breath away. “Did it not occur to you that someone would see through your disguise?” He flicked the sleeve of her tunic. “And I mean, through it. You don’t seem to know how men think. If they see a woman flaunting herself… ”
Her cheeks flamed with heat and shame.
His eyes twinkled as he touched her hot face with his knuckles. “I don’t advise doing it again.”
His hand was so close she saw a braided strand of hair on his wrist and a ring made of the same hair. Her hair! His gaze flickered to where she looked. “You are bound to me, and I to you. There’s no where you can run.” He came inches from her face, and she thought he might kiss her. She pressed her head harder against the wall to move away from him. The only time she’d been kissed was by Marcus, and that had disgusted her, but something about the alluring gaze of this man made her think his kiss might be different. Still, she wasn’t about to start now with this stranger, no matter how alluring—or handsome—he might be. He was her enemy. She turned her head away, pressing her cheek against the wall.