by Tula Neal
“What?”
“He says he’ll give us the articles. He knows where she hid them, but he wants her returned to him as well. He says she’s his property. From what he said, he plans to hold her for ransom at Ephesus.”
“She’ll be of little value to the princess without the sacred relics.” The priest darted him a worried look. “Er, you didn’t say that to him, did you?”
“No.”
“Good. What’s his price?”
“I told him it was too high, but he said everyone knows the temples of Isis are rich and none more so than this one.”
“How much?” the priest grated out.
“Three hundred denarii.”
The priest sucked in a lungful of air.
“Three hundred!”
“He speaks to me as if I am his lackey. We should just kill him. We . . . “
“And all his crew as well and turn his boat inside out looking for the relics in the middle of a harbor swarming with witnesses? I suppose you think the city’s constables will turn a blind eye, or do you propose that we kill them off as well?”
“Afterward,” Sahman said. “We could kill him after you’ve made the trade.”
The priest frowned. “To what purpose? We’d already have the relics.”
Sahman shook his head, clearly astounded at the priest’s backwardness.
“The gold. If we killed him, we could get it back. We wouldn’t be out anything.”
The priest’s mouth tightened with contempt.
“‘We,’” he said, stressing the word, “will not be out of anything. It is the temple’s gold, and I will not sully the relics by dealing for them in that way. In any case, this man, Seleucus, may be of use to us again. No.” He shook his head curtly when Sahman opened his mouth to answer. “I will deal with him honestly. This time. We will pay his price. It is cheap, considering. Had the relics fallen into the princess’s hands, we would have paid a much dearer price. Your pirate captain offers us a bargain, though he doesn’t know it.” The priest laughed, a dry sound like leaves skittering over the ground. “Did he specify a time for the trade?”
“Tomorrow evening. He said he will not meet us within the temple, as we may play him false. He has named a warehouse on the quay.”
“Wherever.” The priest waved his arm dismissively. “The place is of no moment. Perhaps when the relics are with their owner . . .” Here he shot Imi a baleful glance. “Perhaps then Arsinoe’s accursed supporters will fall away from her. They will have no more reason to think she still has a chance to reclaim the United Lands. They will realize all hope of that has fled.”
“I still think we should do something about Seleucus. It is not a good idea to let him escape. He threatened me, us. Said that if anything happened to the girl, he would make sure my, our, flesh becomes food for the carrion–eaters.”
The priest looked at him thoughtfully.
“Whatever your quarrel with the pirate captain, we will deal with him as I have already decided. On small islands, and Delos is small, bodies inevitably turn up, if not one day, then the next. Things are unsettled in the world now that Caesar is dead. We must act with caution and restraint in all things, for there is no knowing what effect our actions may have.”
“We kill Seleucus and the girl. Who would care?”
The priest glared at him. “You, yourself, have said he is popular with his men and his fellow pirates, of which there are still too many roaming the seas for comfort. Not to mention that our merchants are glad of the loot he brings them. I will have no plots against him, Sahman.”
The pirate shrugged, his face sullen.
“Are you hungry, child?” the priest asked, turning to Imi.
Imi frowned. She would have liked to refuse anything this man offered her, but she realized it was important she keep her strength up in case there was a chance, however slight, of escape or even vengeance. She nodded.
“Sahman, go bring her some bread and honey.”
Sahman growled, but when the priest glared at him, he spun around and left.
“We will pay the pirate’s price,” the priest muttered, more to himself than to her. “Let him go with the girl and his gold. It won’t matter that she lives.”
Here he paused in his pacing and looked at her consideringly.
“By the time she is back in Ephesus,” he said to himself, “the relics will be more than halfway to Alexandria. Yes.” He actually rubbed his hands, and Imi could have wept in frustration. He was so sure of himself, he didn’t mind that she heard him, but he had a right to his confidence. Here she was, tied up, depending on Seleucus to rescue her; Seleucus, who had already made a deal with this crook of a priest, a deal that would dash Arsinoe’s hopes to the ground.
How could she have trusted him? The old woman should have warned her, should have told her a pirate was never reliable. If she wasn’t gagged, she would have gnashed her teeth or screamed her frustration. As it was, Imi tried to think her way through the situation, trying to find an escape route, some way of freeing herself and escaping with the holy relics. But no great plan revealed itself. Even if she managed to get loose of her bonds and seize the holy articles, where would she run to? Who on Delos would help her? And even if she eluded Sahman, the priest, Seleucus, and whoever else might be looking for her, how would she get to Ephesus? She had no money with which to buy her passage, and she clearly couldn’t trust anyone willing to make a deal as Seleucus had.
A pain twisted in her chest at the thought of the pirate captain. He had given his word, but now he meant to relinquish the relics to Arsinoe’s enemy. To secure your freedom, a little voice whispered in her head. Imi mulled this over. If he wants me free, why does he not just storm the temple, she argued bitterly. And turn the whole island against him? He is brave, but the militia are greater in number. He knows he would lead his men to death were he to pursue such a course. Imi had to grant the good sense of this line of reasoning. Perhaps since he cannot storm into the temple, he means to rescue you at the warehouse, take the priest and Sahman prisoner, and make off with the gold, the relics, and you. Yes. Imi pushed herself back against the wall, thinking hard. Now that sounded like a true piratical plan. Deep inside her, hope flickered. Great Mother, she closed her eyes and prayed, please let it be so. Please, Great Mother.
*****
Imi heard the sounds of the port grow louder as the litter bearing her approached the harbor. Sahman and the priest had wrapped her up in a sheet, which was tied securely leaving only her head free, and then she’d been rolled snugly into a carpet. Rumor had it that it was in this way that Cleopatra had smuggled herself into Caesar’s presence, naked but for her jewels. It probably amused the priest to parody that infamous event this way. They had given her some more bread and honey that morning and some water, but since then she’d eaten nothing. Now, the jolting of the litter bearers and the dry, dusty smell of the carpet made her light–headed.
“Be careful,” she heard the priest urge the litter–bearers after one particularly bad jerk when she had almost fallen off. As far as the litter bearers knew, they were just transporting a particularly heavy carpet so she couldn’t blame them, but the priest probably wanted her as little bruised as possible. Seleucus would not be happy if they turned her over black and blue.
“In here,” the priest said. “Gently,” he urged. “Gently.”
Imi felt herself laid on the ground, heard the chink of coins exchanging hands, a door closing.
“Well?” the priest asked. “Where is he?”
“Making sure we came alone and have no reinforcements, I’d think,” Sahman replied.
“I am dealing with him honestly,” snapped the priest, his tension showing in his voice. “I hope he does as much by me.”
Sahman did not respond to this, and there was silence inside the warehouse. Outside, Imi could hear the muffled cry of a pastry vendor, the shouts of dockworkers. Delos did not shut down merely because night had fallen.
A door banged.
&nbs
p; “Is she in the rug?”
A hot glow unfurled in Imi’s stomach. Seleucus’s voice. She was overjoyed to hear it, but at the same time she wanted to scream and cry in rage and bitterness. He must not turn over the relics.
Someone grabbed the ends of the carpet and unrolled it. Uncovered, she took a big breath of air and looked into his anxious face.
“Imi, are you hurt? Are you alright?”
He ripped the sheet away from her, cut the gag and the cord around her wrists, and pulled her to her feet.
“Seleucus.” She wanted to fall into his arms, but he held her away from him, his hands running over her arms, her body.
“You are alright?”
“Yes.” She raised a hand to cup his chin. “Believe me. They have not hurt me. You must not give them the relics. Please, Seleucus.”
Expressions flashed across his face then—rage, guilt, shame—but he got control of himself and they were gone in an instant.
“I was worried,” he said simply.
“And now that you have satisfied yourself on that account,” the priest interjected, “may we get down to business? You have something for us?”
“First, show me the money.”
“Seleucus,” she cried.
Sahman stepped forward and put a sack in the space between the two men. He untied it and pulled back the folds to show the silver gleaming in the slanting light from the high warehouse windows.
Seleucus nudged the bag with his foot.
The priest’s lips curled.
“It is all there. I have cheated you out of nothing.”
“Sahman, spill the coins out that I may see them,” Seleucus ordered just as if the priest had not spoken.
Sahman glowered, but did as he was told. The priest had not lied. There were no brass or tin coins hidden under the silver. Still, Seleucus gestured, and Sahman handed him a few of the coins. Seleucus bit one, then another. Gestured for more and tested those as well. Sahman watched him sullenly, whereas the priest looked on with polite detachment. Imi wondered if he was playing for time. Perhaps his crew was gathering outside. They would take the priest and Sahman hostage, and Seleucus would have lost nothing by the charade.
“You speak true, priest.” Seleucus sounded surprised as he pocketed the last coin in his hand. “Bag them up again,” he told Sahman.
“And now for your part of the bargain,” the priest said, narrowing his eyes.
“When he’s finished.”
Sahman scooped up the silver under three pairs of eyes.
“So!” The priest said when finally every last coin was back in the bag. “You have the items?”
“I do.” Seleucus reached inside his shirt and pulled out a cloth–wrapped package.
“No,” Imi cried. She lunged for it, but Seleucus pulled her back. “No!” She struggled with him, but his arm held her as tightly as had the sheet just minutes before. All her hopes, all her dreams were disintegrating before her eyes. Seleucus had no plan. His crew was not going to rush in and stop this nightmare.
“No,” she screamed, twisting and turning to escape.
Seleucus clapped a hand over her mouth. “Quiet,” he ordered, giving her a little shake.
Imi tried to twist her head away. He was so strong. She couldn’t even bear to look at him, to have him touch her. She wanted to leap forward and seize the relics, but he held her fast.
“Aaah.” The priest removed the wrapping, opened the casket, and looked at the relics. His eyes shone. For a minute he did nothing more than examine them.
“Holy Mother, I give thee reverence,” he murmured as he picked up each of the three items and kissed it. He closed his eyes for a minute as his lips moved in silent prayer.
“Loathsome, blasphemous priest, the Holy Mother is on our side. Ours,” she grated. “You’ll never see Paradise because of this, or you and you.” Her eyes swept over the two pirates. Yes, that’s all Seleucus was, a pirate. She should never have expected nor hoped he would be true to her. Pirates were true only to themselves. She had known this when he captured her, but he had charmed her with his lies and lovemaking.
Her cheeks warmed as she remembered the feel of his naked body against hers. How deluded she had been! She could have wept, but it was not the time. They had not killed her. While she lived, there was still hope. The bargain she had offered Seleucus had failed her. She had to think, think hard.
“The rightful queen, Arsinoe, Mistress of the United Lands, will . . . she will ransom the articles off you,” she said, mustering the little confidence she still had. Seleucus held her tightly, but she ignored him. “Priest, if you turn me loose, return the articles, and grant me safe conduct from Delos, she will not turn her vengeance upon you when she retakes her throne.”
The priest looked at her in astonishment and something very like admiration.
Imi stood a little straighter. It was her last chance. She had no other cards to play.
“I promise you her forgiveness, priest,” she said, trying not to sound as desperate as she felt. “You know the prophecy of the Oracle. It is Arsinoe’s destiny to rule Egypt. You know this.”
“Little girl.” His voice was almost gentle. “I know nothing of the sort. Oracles say many things, and what they say is as cloudy as the Nile during the summer floods.”
“Cleopatra does not have the regard of Egypt’s gods.”
“That may be so, but the return of these articles to their homeland may go a long way to changing that.”
“You will not give them back to me and save your life?”
He laughed then. “Your Arsinoe is no threat to me. Even now Marc Antony sails to Ephesus. Arsinoe has no love for Rome’s leaders, and they have none for her.” He spoke in a low tone, his voice amused. “What do you think he will do there? Now that he has tasted the nectar of Paradise between the queen’s legs, Marc Antony is as much the queen’s slave as was Caesar before him. Arsinoe should run, though I can’t think where to, as no place will harbor her and risk the wrath of both Rome and Egypt.”
“She is a queen of Egypt. Why should she run before a barbarous Roman?”
“A barbarian’s knife is as sharp as any other, perhaps sharper.”
For an instant, she did not grasp his meaning, but then she recoiled.
“He would not.”
He smiled.
“Yes, he would.”
“He can’t. She is the queen of Egypt, the rightful queen.”
The priest shrugged. His gaze shifted to Seleucus.
“When do you leave Delos?”
“Day after tomorrow, for we have not finished our trading.”
“I see. Well, we are done here. Until we meet again.”
They bowed courteously to each other, Seleucus awkward because he still held on to Imi. The priest swept out, followed by Sahman.
“It can’t . . . he can’t.” Imi found her legs had turned to jelly. She slumped against the pirate captain.
“Come, we must go.”
“No.” She pulled away from him, staring blankly at the wall. The priest, what he’d said about Marc Antony, surely it couldn’t be true, but in her heart she felt that it was. Oh, if only she had been able to get the holy relics to her Mistress, Arsinoe could have shown them to him, could have explained what her being in possession of them meant, that she had the right to the throne. The people would have rallied behind her, they would have known she spoke the truth, the relics would have given them confidence, would have been seen as a sign that the gods favored her cause.
“You spoilt it all,” she said, turning to him wonderingly. “You. I trusted you, and you gave them to him just like that, with no thought. How could you? How?” Rage blinded her. She hit out at him with her fists, her legs.
“Imi!” At first, he just tried to defend himself, blocking her blows with his arms. “Stop.”
“I hate you. I hate you. You’ve spoilt everything, and you don’t care. You’re just a pirate. You don’t care about her, about Egypt.” T
he tears ran hot down her face. “You just gave them to him.”
He grabbed her arms. She kicked him, narrowly missing his groin. He spun her around, pinioned her arms behind her back with one hand, and pushed her face–down to the ground.
“We don’t have time for this. We must go. If you don’t behave, I will carry you. Do you understand?”
“If you do, I will scream.”
“I am a pirate who has just sold a shipload of slaves to some very appreciative and wealthy customers. No one will trouble me, but if anyone does, I will say you belong to me.”
“I do not, you hateful and wicked man.”
“Can you prove that?”
He was right. She was a stranger in a foreign land, with no money, nothing. Nobody would care about her or try to help her. In any case, she had failed her mistress. She had trusted this man and he had betrayed her and sold Arsinoe’s future away, Egypt’s future. What did anything matter now? She sighed and her body went limp as all the fury left her in an instant.
“You must behave if I let you go.”
Imi shrugged. What choice did she have? She had failed in her mission, and now whatever she did or didn’t do was all the same to her. He flung open the doors, pulling her along. The sun had long since sunk below the hills, but, at the jetties, men still worked as hard as if it were still high in the sky. Imi barely registered them, keeping her eyes to the ground as Seleucus led her to a small lighter. They cast off quickly and were soon back on the ship.
“Go to the cabin,” he ordered, but gave her a small, gentle push in its direction. Imi went. She was close to tears again, but she didn’t want him to see her break down. She had even thought herself half in love with him. How stupid she had been.
“Seleucus.” She turned back to him.
He watched her, his eyes dark, his face grim.
“Yes?”
“You should have left me with them.”
“Sahman would have used you and then killed you or sold you.”
She considered this. Nodded.
“I would have deserved it. Without the relics . . . “ She spread her hands without finishing the sentence.
A bleak look stole over his face, but he said nothing. Imi turned and went to the lamp–lit cabin. She closed the door, then sank to the floor and drew her knees under her chin.