Her Pirate Master

by Tula Neal

  “Great Mother,” she whispered.

  In the unanswering silence, she bowed her head and wept.

  Chapter Eight

  The cabin was completely dark when Seleucus entered a few hours later. At first, he stood in the doorway letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The oil in the lamp was all used up.

  “Imi, are you . . . “ And then he saw her huddled on the floor. His heart thudded dully in his chest. In two strides he’d reached her.

  “Are you alright? Imi!”

  He felt her neck, her wrists, breathing a huge sigh of relief when he realized she was unhurt. For a dreadful minute he had feared she’d harmed herself. He picked her up and sat her gently on the bed before crossing to the cabin to light another lamp.

  “Are we under sail?” she asked, staring at the opposite wall, not looking at him.

  “Not yet.”

  She nodded.

  “Imi.” The name came out like a muttered prayer.

  “Don’t.” She wouldn’t look at him. He saw the wretchedness in her face, and it tore at him.

  “Darling, please.”

  She turned to face the wall and curled into a ball.

  “Do you want anything to eat?” he asked. He didn’t think she would, for he knew something of what she was feeling, but he couldn’t think of anything else to offer her. She was suffering terribly and might suffer still more, though he meant to do whatever he could to prevent it.

  She didn’t answer him, and he stood watching her for a few more seconds. She didn’t know, couldn’t know how he’d felt when he realized she’d been taken from him. At first he’d waited on the wharf for her, fear stealing around his heart and choking him so that by the time the sky darkened, he was almost frantic with worry. He’d known she had gotten under his skin, but he hadn’t realized exactly how deep until he thought he’d lost her. He’d burst into thermopoliums and taverns, hunting through the customers. He had even asked at the temple thinking, hoping, that she’d gone there and lost track of time talking with her fellow believers. But she wasn’t there. A long–haired priestess had told him they hadn’t seen anyone of her description, and he’d resumed his search through the streets.

  When Sahman had tracked him down to tell him of the kidnapping and the ransom price they demanded, he’d only just barely held himself back from strangling the man on the spot. Only this thought—if he did, he might never see Imi again—stopped him. So, he agreed to their offer and made only one demand of his own: her safe return. Sahman had laughed and said he could find a hundred like her in any town with the silver the priest would give him. Seleucus’s fingers had curled into fists, but he’d merely responded “no girl, no deal.” And so it had been done, and now she was back with him.

  “Imi.”

  She ignored him. For a minute more he watched her small, beloved back, and then he spun on his heel and left her alone.

  *****

  When she heard the door close behind him, Imi took a deep shuddering breath and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the darkness behind her eyelids. She wished she never had to open them again, never had to move. She heard a shout from on deck and a little while later, splashing as if one of the lighters had drawn up alongside. More splashing and then only a heavy, thick silence. Somebody had come on board, or perhaps left. It might have been Seleucus, but she didn’t really care. It had nothing to do with her. He had nothing to do with her. He had betrayed her. Perhaps she should never have trusted him, but she had and now she had let everyone down. If she ever saw her mistress again, she did not know what she would say to her or to the priest and priestess who had seen her off with such confidence. Seleucus should have left her with Sahman. She would have deserved whatever degradation Fate had planned for her as the Hittite’s slave. She would have submitted, done whatever was demanded of her, and each fresh, shameful thing would have reminded her of how she had failed. And so her life would be one of endless punishment. Thus, would she have atoned for her failure. But Seleucus had robbed her even of that, and now she knew she would never taste the pleasures of Paradise. Like the priest and Sahman and Seleucus, too, her heart would be weighed when her time on Earth was ended and would be found heavier, much heavier, than a feather.

  She woke before the sun had yet risen to the shouts of the sailors and the flapping of the sails. They were on their way but . . . so soon? He had told the priest he would not leave for another day or more. Her stomach growled, and Imi burrowed deeper into the bed. She had no wish to get up or to leave the cabin.

  The sides of the ship shuddered. The wood groaned and shrieked as if in protest, and she realized that it was plowing through the waves at a great pace. She wondered what was going on but had no intention of going on deck to ask. Seleucus had said they would stay in Delos for another day of trading, but now they were racing over the sea as if pursued by a vengeful god. The thought brought a derisive smile to her face. She hoped it was indeed so, and she hoped the god destroyed Seleucus first. The ship heaved and shook and plowed on as the cabin grew hotter under the morning sun. Imi sweated and reconsidered her options. She had swung her legs off the bed and was about to get up when a sudden impact almost threw her to the floor. On deck a chorus of triumphant shouts then the muted sound of clashing metal. Fighting! But who? Had Seleucus run afoul of other pirates? Was this why they had left Delos as if Seth himself pursued them?

  Stumbling and lurching with each pitch of the ship, she made her way out of the cabin, fighting to stay on her feet.

  The deck of Seleucus’s ship was strangely quiet. It was the nearby ship where all the noise was coming from. Imi stared, horrified, at the roil of men across the water separating the two ships. They hacked and sliced each other on a deck slippery with blood and gore. Most of the men still on their feet were Cilicians, Seleucus’s men, but their opponents fought on with a grim determination. Her eyes searched among the fighters until she found him.

  Two men pressed him hard, evidently thinking that they could still turn the fight in their favor if they could only dispose of him. She flinched and cried out with horror as one of the men swung his axe at him, but Seleucus spun on his heel as his sword sliced through one man’s arm and he evaded the other man’s blow. He then dealt him a lethal one of his own. Imi took a deep breath. Goddess, if he had died! One of the remaining fighters from the other ship cried out “Pax,” and as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

  The man who’d surrendered was rounded up with his men and tied up as the slaves had been on their way to Delos while Seleucus’s men threw the bodies of the dead over the side and tended to the injured. Other men washed down the deck. Beneath the surface of the sea, dark shapes flashed and she saw giant fish seize the bodies in their huge jaws. Repulsed, Imi said a silent prayer for each of the dead, knowing that she herself might end up like them, far from her family and those who would conduct the proper rites for her.

  She didn’t understand what this pursuit and its bloody end had been about. Seleucus should have turned a more than princely profit on the slaves and the goods he’d sold in Delos even without considering the priest’s silver, so why had this fight been necessary? She stared at him as he talked to the man who had cried “Pax,” and she wished she could make out what he was saying. As if he felt her eyes on him, he looked up. A strange expression crossed his face: a mix of guilt, happiness, and pure love. Imi’s heart rose into her throat. This man, she didn’t understand him, didn’t understand him at all. She drew away from the ship’s side and went back to the cabin. She was no longer hungry.

  *****

  Minutes later, heavy steps thundered outside. She recognized Seleucus’s tread and barely had time to turn away from the door before he burst into the room.

  “Imi.”

  He came to stand beside the bed, and it was all she could do not to face him.

  “Imi, will you not even look at me?”

  She didn’t answer, and he heaved a deep sigh.

  “I have something
for you. Look. Please, Imi.”

  Did his voice tremble? She twisted around, unable to hold out any longer against him.

  She gave a start of surprise. He was dirty and disheveled, his clothes torn, but, more than that, a red scar, raised and glistening with blood, ran from the outside of his elbow diagonally to the inside of his wrist.

  “I did not see you hurt,” she said, feeling a flash of anger. He could have died on that other ship.

  “It is nothing.” He flicked his hand, dismissively. “Look.” He held out a linen–wrapped bundle she hadn’t even noticed he carried.

  “What is it?”

  “Open it. Go on.”

  She took it from him and began to unwrap it. The dawning realization squeezed the air from her lungs. The casket. Her fingers traced the carvings. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. She opened it, still expecting some kind of terrible trick, but there the sacred relics were, all of them, the sistrum, the diadem, and the container with the holy hair. She hugged them to her chest. Tears pricked at the back of her eyelids, but she winked them back. She thought that if she started to cry now, she would never stop until she had delivered the articles safely into Arsinoe’s hands.

  “How?” she asked.

  “I never meant to let him keep them, but he had to believe they were his.” Seleucus’s words came in a rush. His eyes were bright with triumph. “I knew he’d already procured a ship to take them to Egypt even before we did the trade, you see.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I had two options: I could either kill him and Sahman after we’d made the trade or I could dispose of the man who was to take them to Cleopatra.”

  “The other ship.”

  “Yes, and I had to wait until we were well away from Delos so the priest would not know for a while yet what had befallen his courier. The priest himself I did not want to attack, as that would have brought on a great hue and cry and Delos would have been closed to me.”

  “He’d said much the same about you.”

  Seleucus nodded grimly. “This way is better. He cannot say much against me without exposing himself, and, in the meantime, perhaps your princess will have regained her throne.” He didn’t really believe it, but it was what Imi wanted, and he would give his right arm to achieve her heart’s desire.

  “She will,” Imi said as she clutched the casket against her chest. “It is hers; she must.”

  Seleucus shrugged.

  “Are you happy now, Imi?”

  “Seleucus, yes.” She flew up into his arms and drew back as suddenly, seeing him wince.

  “Your arm.” He was hurt, and she had not even thought about tending to his wounds. Ashamed of herself, she put down the casket and ran to the pitcher of wine.

  “Come,” she said, as she poured out a small amount onto the linen that had wrapped the box. “It will sting a bit,” she warned. He smiled, and she remembered what he’d said about being lashed when he was a Roman slave. The wine would not trouble him. She dabbed at his cut, paying particular attention to the parts that still bled. When she’d finished cleaning it, she made as if to wrap his arm in the linen, but he stopped her.

  “I have seen men who covered their wounds and those who did not and the hurts of those who did not always healed faster.”

  She nodded, deferring to his experience. After Arsinoe and her brother’s uprising against Cleopatra had failed, the Romans had speared the dying and rounded up the rest to ship them to Rome. No one had tended the wounds of the captured. Thankfully, neither she nor Arsinoe had been hurt, though they had both been in the thick of the battle.

  “Do we go now to Ephesus?” Imi asked.

  “It is what I promised you. Do you think I would break faith with you so easily?”

  Imi’s breath caught in her throat.

  “Seleucus.”

  “Come.” He drew her to the bed.

  “I thought . . . I thought you wouldn’t find me . . . and then. . . “ Her tears flowed hot and fast. “And when you gave them the casket, I felt like the world was ending.”

  “Hush, darling, hush.” He rocked her gently. “I couldn’t say anything to you or the priest might have guessed my plans.”

  “But, later,” she protested. “When I was back on the ship.”

  “You wouldn’t talk to me,” he teased, relenting immediately when she shot him a reproachful look. “I didn’t want to tell you in case. . . “

  “In case what?”

  “Well, it was just possible, not likely but possible, that Corman’s ship would outstrip mine. He set sail almost as soon as the priest turned the box over to him. I needed to wait at least until dawn so the priest could light no beacons to warn him we were giving chase. I did not want to raise your hopes only to dash them to the ground later.”

  “I still think you should have told me.”

  “And would you have been less angry with me for giving them away in the first place?”

  Imi considered the question.

  “Perhaps not,” she said reluctantly.

  “So, see.” He gave her a small shake. “You are a stubborn little thing.”

  “And you are hard–headed. I really would rather anything to have happened to me, to have been killed, even, than to have let the relics fall into the hands of any of Cleopatra’s agents.”

  Seleucus chuckled. “Maybe you can afford to be so careless about your life or about what happens to you, little goose, but I find that I cannot.”

  Imi’s heart skipped a beat, and she heard a rushing sound in her ears. She tried to ignore the sensations and said lightly “I have been your slave. What does it matter if I become another’s?”

  She had meant it as a joke, but it was the wrong thing to say. She knew it as soon as the words left her mouth. Seleucus stiffened and rose to his feet.

  “I have things on deck I must attend to,” he said, his face tight and withdrawn.

  Before she could say anything, he was gone. She stared at the closed door, her mind a jumble of thoughts. He loved her. Seleucus loved her. He did. How could she not believe it after what he’d done, what he’d said. The man had as good as told her so, but how had she responded? As if she didn’t understand, as if she were a young girl, green in such matters, a girl who would toy with a man’s heart. She wasn’t. She wanted to rush after him and tell him so, but no, she had to wait. She needed to give them both time to sort out their feelings, and she needed to be careful what she said to him, because he might mistake her love for mere gratitude. He had done so much for her. But what she felt was much more than that, though she was grateful, too. Of course she was.

  Chapter Nine

  “We are halfway to Ephesus now,” Seleucus said much later that evening in the cabin. “The winds are good.”

  “How long . . . ?”

  “We should be there by tomorrow morning unless the winds die.”

  She nodded, and he stole a quick glance across the table at her. She was staring at the wall opposite, and his heart softened as he drank in the sight of her profile, the neat head, her soft lips. He dragged his gaze away and stared at his wine instead. She had no idea the torment he’d gone through when he’d realized she was in danger. The strength of his feelings had taken him by surprise. He’d been wild with worry, but if she had any inkling of how he must have suffered, she hadn’t shown it. He remembered her comment earlier. She might be ready to serve as another’s slave, but it would only be over his dead body. He grunted sourly at the thought, rousing her out of her reverie.

  “Seleucus?”

  “Yes?”

  “I . . . “ Her eyes searched his. “I wanted to say . . . “

  “What? That you are grateful for your rescue. Sorry, I mean for the rescue of your relics? They are all you really care about, aren’t they?”

  “No, I mean, well, yes. Of course, they are important to me.”

  “You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

  “It’s what I was sent to do. I . . . I had
a mission. You must understand that, Seleucus. I had a duty to perform. I . . .”

  “Stop,” he interrupted her, closing his heart to the pain on her face. “I am tired. I need to rest.”

  “Oh, of course.” Her expression became all contrition and shame. “I am so sorry . . . I should have thought.”

  His stomach twisted into knots.

  “Imi, whatever happens at Ephesus, I want you back.” He blurted it out as if he had no more control over his tongue than a man drunk to the gills. He frowned at her, determined to brazen it out.

  “You . . . I don’t understand.” She looked at him wide–eyed.

  “After you have given up your relics, I want you to come away with me. I will not leave you behind there.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but every word was true. “I have a house on the Cilician Coast. You’ll like it, Imi. It’s rough, but clean and comfortable. You would want for nothing.”

  Until he’d spoken he’d had no idea he was going to tell her about his house, much less invite her to live there. Three years ago he’d berthed his ship for six months and built the house all by himself in a sheltered and isolated promontory near the foot of the Taurus Mountains. He’d built the furniture as well, but had stocked it with rich carpets and cushions that he’d either purchased in markets across the Mediterranean or carried off as booty. He still didn’t quite consider it finished, but every time he went there it was as if a weight lifted from his shoulders. He felt at ease there as at nowhere else. No one knew about it except for a shepherd and his wife who lived in the mountains and who looked after it in his absence. Now he’d blurted it out to Imi, a woman he’d known less than a month. But it didn’t matter, he realized. He already knew she was the woman he had waited for.

  “You . . . but . . . I belong with her, with Arsinoe.” Even as she said it, he saw the dawning realization on her face, a puzzled, half–pleased look as if she’d suddenly discovered a sweet in her mouth. He knew what it meant, what it had to mean, and felt a wild exultation. The heat of his triumph was like wine in his belly. She knew he was right, and fight it as she might, she felt the same way about him. She might not want to admit it, but it was there, written on her face.