Sword of Rome

by Constance O'Banyon

  Ramtat was watching the same rider but with a totally different feeling. He stiffened, his dark gaze sweeping over the horse from its rippling mane to its flying hooves. His jaw came together in a hard line as he recognized his sister’s mare, and it was only moments before he realized the identity of the slight rider.

  As Adhaniá bent low over her horse, she was cheered on by the enthusiasm of the crowd. Her horse, Sabasa, was running full out as she performed one difficult maneuver after another.

  Marcellus watched in admiration. He turned to Ramtat, smiling. “That is the most extraordinary horsemanship I have ever witnessed.”

  Ramtat stared at the rider, his voice heavy. “Indeed.”

  A great roar of approval reverberated through the crowd as Adhaniá galloped toward the last obstacle while artfully stringing her bow. When this was accomplished, she reached into her quiver for an arrow. Silence settled over the crowd as her horse galloped forward and the onlookers held their breath. Adhaniá sent her arrow slicing through the air.

  It whizzed through the three rings.

  It flew with wings of accuracy and landed true, quivering in the center of the target.

  The crowd fell silent.

  Adhaniá brought Sabasa to a halt and nudged the horse; the animal bent forward into a bow.

  The crowd went wild with admiration. Even the other participants raised their voices in praise.

  With her head held high, Adhaniá turned her horse and rode in the direction of the pavilion. She could feel her horse quiver with anticipation, as if the mare knew she had done well. The animal pranced and tossed her mane, bringing more ripples of approval from the crowd.

  Slowly Adhaniá rode past a sea of faces without seeing them. Her brother stood just ahead, and her glance settled on his face.

  He was not smiling.

  When she drew up before Ramtat, he did not cheer her as everyone else had.

  He was angry.

  His dark eyes were filled with displeasure that went right to Adhaniá’s heart.

  “Dismount,” Ramtat said in a clipped tone.

  Meekly now, her heart pounding in her chest, Adhaniá slid off her horse and bowed low before her brother. She looked at Danaë, her gaze asking for pity, but she saw that Danaë had not yet guessed who she was. She recognized Apollodorus, whom she knew very well, but he was not smiling, although she was sure he had recognized her.

  Her gaze lifted to the stranger who stood beside her brother. She met his admiring gaze and looked away quickly.

  Everyone was watching and waiting for the sheik to honor such a gifted warrior. Ramtat raised his hand to ask for quiet. “The remaining three contenders will make another run from the sand dune and complete the competition. The winner among them will be awarded the Golden Arrow.”

  The onlookers were stunned and began murmuring among themselves.

  Danaë shook her head and grasped Ramtat’s arm. “But why?” And then she met her sister-in-law’s tear-filled eyes and recognized her. Glancing quickly from brother to sister, she understood what had happened. Her heart was breaking for Adhaniá, who was being humiliated. Ramtat could not award his sister the prize—it was a contest for men alone.

  For a long moment no one moved, and there was much speculation as to why the true winner had been disqualified.

  Ramtat’s gaze was unrelenting as he stared at his sister. “You will go to my tent and wait until I come to you there.”

  Adhaniá reached out and clasped Danaë’s hand with tears swelling in her eyes. “I hoped he would be proud of me.”

  Danaë slid her arm around Adhaniá. “I will go with you.”

  “No,” Ramtat said, his gaze already on the other challengers. “You will stand at my side and pay honor to the man who fairly wins the Golden Arrow.”

  Marcellus was stunned; he could not guess why the young rider had been stripped of the glory he had so deservedly won. He had seen the tears in the lad’s eyes before he’d lowered his head and, dejectedly, led his horse away.

  “What has happened?” Marcellus whispered to Apollodorus.

  The Sicilian watched the sheik’s sister leave, still astounded by her daring. He wondered what her chastisement would be. In his village such a deed would be severely punished. “It is but a family matter,” he told Marcellus. “Let us leave it at that.”

  Chapter Six

  Adhaniá paced across the tightly woven rug, her mood vacillating between wounded pride and fear. Ramtat had never spoken to her in such anger—he had never dismissed her so abruptly in a way that embarrassed her before everyone. Shoving aside the heavy curtain that was draped over the tent opening, she focused her gaze on the spidery shadows beneath the palm tree. It was growing late, and soon the real celebration would begin. Of course, the women were never allowed to enjoy the events that were provided for the men alone. And she had so wanted that Golden Arrow.

  She deserved it!

  Adhaniá berated herself as she moved back inside the tent, dropped down on a cushion and buried her head in her hands, fully realizing what she had done. She had shamed her brother before all his tribesmen. Heikki had tried to warn her; she understood that now. A servant brought her a meal of figs and cheese. After the woman had gone, Adhaniá frowned, shoving her food away untasted. She couldn’t swallow past the thick lump in her throat.

  In Alexandria, where she was known as Lady Adhaniá, she was a young woman who commanded respect. Women were valued in Alexandrian society and were not merely an extension of the males in their household. Was not the ruler of Egypt a woman—glorified as a goddess, revered as the most high? But here in the Bedouin camp, most of the women wore their heads covered, standing behind their husbands rather than beside them.

  With her two heritages warring within her, how could she help being confused?

  Adhaniá thought of the coldness in Ramtat’s eyes. She had done well, she reasoned. She should have won, no matter that she was a woman—she had been the best.

  She leapt to her feet when the curtains were pulled aside, thinking it would be her brother arriving to tell her about her punishment. Her heart flooded with relief when she saw it was Danaë.

  Her sister-in-law came to her and pulled her into her arms. “Sweet sister,” was all the comfort she could offer.

  Too proud to cry but aching inside, Adhaniá laid her head on Danaë’s shoulder. “Is my brother still angry with me?”

  Danaë looked at her with pity. “I am afraid he is.”

  “It is no more than I deserve.”

  “I think it was a very brave thing you did, but very foolish, little sister.” Danaë smiled. “I have never seen anyone who could match your horsemanship. I am sure you will get no more than a scolding,” she said comfortingly. “I will speak to your brother and try to lighten his anger.”

  Adhaniá did not realize she’d been holding her breath until she let it out in a sigh. “I believe he will send me back to Alexandria.”

  “Would that be so bad? Alexandria is also our destination when we leave here in a few days. You will be reunited with your mother—I know how much you miss her.”

  Adhaniá had adored Ramtat’s wife from their very first meeting. Danaë never flaunted the fact that she stood close to the throne of Egypt, and everyone loved her, from Bedouin tribesmen to the servants in Alexandria. “I do miss my mother,” she admitted. “Although I’m happy here, I will not be so sorry to leave. It will be difficult to face everyone after my shame today.”

  At that moment the curtains were thrown aside, and Ramtat entered. His gaze went first to his sister, noting that she still wore the kiffiyeh and robe of a man. “You have not changed your clothing,” he said angrily. “I will not speak to you until you are properly attired.”

  “Ramtat,” she said, hoping she could make her brother understand why she had entered the contest, “I wanted you to know that I am as capable as any of your tribesmen—I wanted you to be proud of me.”

  There was no softening of his expr
ession. “You will never behave like this again, for you shamed me before all, and mostly, you shamed yourself. Go to your tent and do whatever women do to pass their time.”

  She felt as if he’d slapped her. “Most women my age are married.”

  “And you should be as well,” he told her in a brittle tone. “I see that now. I will make certain your marriage is arranged as soon as possible. Leave me.”

  “Ramtat,” Danaë said, seeing the stricken look on his sister’s face, “now is not the time to—”

  Ramtat held up his hand to silence his wife. “Do not plead her case, Danaë. She should be learning how to please men, not how to humble them. After today, I will have a hard time finding a man who will consent to take her as his wife.”

  Both women gasped, but it was Adhaniá who lowered her head to hide her anger. Her brother had said nothing about the fact that she’d beaten all of his most worthy warriors—instead of praising her accomplishments, he belittled her.

  “I will go.” She tore the kiyffiyeh from her head and threw it at her brother’s feet. “I shall show you that I can please a man,” she said, striding out of the tent with her head held high and her shoulders back.

  The anger drained from Ramtat, and he met his wife’s sympathetic gaze. “She is young. She will learn.” Then he sighed. “I hope.”

  “Was it so very bad what she did today? I thought she was magnificent.”

  “It was very bad.”

  Ramtat pulled his wife into the shelter of his arms, trying to think how to say what was in his heart. “I am happy that you did not consider going to Cleopatra in Rome. I could not be parted from you, so if you had gone, as our new Roman friend suggested, I would have accompanied you.”

  “I have no wish to face the day when I am not with you.” She laid her face against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “But there is another reason I must limit my travels.”

  He looked at her, his lips curving into a smile, and he waited anxiously for her to confirm what he already suspected.

  “I am with child.” She watched his eyes soften and laid her hand on his arm. “You have impregnated me yet again.”

  Pride, happiness and softness chased each other across the planes of his face. “It is as I hoped, beloved.”

  He fell quiet for a long time, thinking about the happiness in his life, but there was a dark cloud of doubt that plagued him as well. “Perhaps I was too hard on Adhaniá. In truth, you saw how everyone cheered her, even when they discovered her identity. I had several of the tribesmen beg me to award my sister the prize.” His arms tightened around her. “You left before you heard what the winner of the Golden Arrow said to me.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “He said that Adhaniá was the true winner of the contest.”

  She touched his face. “You will tell her this. But do not wait too long—I know why she did what she did.”

  He smiled down at her. “And why is that?”

  “Because she thought it would please you.”

  His frown turned into a reluctant smile. “She was very good,” he admitted.

  “And at this moment she is very hurt.”

  He smiled, his hand caressing her arm. “How did you become so wise?”

  “I am not wise. I merely know the man I love, and I know the love you have for your sister.”

  “What should I do? Even though she prefers it here in the desert, I cannot allow her to remain under the guidance of my aunt, who spoils and indulges her.”

  Danaë was certain they all spoiled his sister, but none more than Ramtat himself. She decided not to call his attention to that fact. “Will you send her to your mother?”

  “It is time that she stopped behaving like a child and became a woman. This she will do under the guidance of our mother.”

  “Perhaps that would be best.”

  “Let us speak of Cleopatra. I know you are worried about her.”

  “Apollodorus told me of her loneliness and isolation. She has not been well received in Rome.”

  “But she is surrounded by a multitude who live to serve her.”

  Danaë raised her face to him. “But one can be lonely even among hundreds if the one you love is not with you.”

  He breathed in deeply, and his hand tightened about her. “Yes. I have discovered that for myself.”

  She closed her eyes. “There is trouble there—I can feel it.”

  “Perhaps the queen will soon return to Egypt.”

  “I hope she will. I have a feeling—” She broke off. “Go and rejoin our guests. Marcellus Valerius seems a worthy Roman, and he has traveled far. You should entertain him.”

  Marcellus watched a wrestling match, cheered on his favorite and lost fifteen pieces of silver when the man was defeated. “He ate with the tribesmen, who graciously treated him as if he were one of their number. But his mind kept going back to the contest of the Golden Arrow. Apollodorus had finally admitted to him that it had been the sheik’s sister who had been disqualified.

  All he could think of was a pair of amber eyes that sparkled with tears.

  Chapter Seven

  Adhaniá had gone from the depths of despair to frustrated anger. If Ramtat wanted her to act in a way that would please a man, she certainly could do that. She stalked across the soft woven rug in her tent, forming a plan. She had something in mind that would surely make Ramtat even angrier, but what did she care—she could be in no more trouble than she was at the moment.

  She froze in midstep when she heard someone at the entrance of her tent and saw her grim-faced aunt.

  “Child, child, what have you done?” Zamah asked dourly. “I was with the women helping prepare the feast for tonight and have only now learned of your rashness.”

  Zamah was tall and willowy, with dark eyes that were her best feature. She had been married and widowed, and her only son was one of Ramtat’s most trusted warriors. She carried herself in a regal manner Adhaniá wished she could emulate.

  “I do not want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Of course you don’t, because you know you were wrong. How could you have done such a thing to your brother?”

  Adhaniá kicked at the red boots she had just removed. “If you have come to scold me, you needn’t bother.” She lowered her head into her hands. “Ramtat has already done that …”

  “I will be blamed for your actions. I promised my sister, your mother, that I would look after you and give you proper instruction. She gave you into my care so I could teach you the healing herbs, and I have done that. But I neglected to teach you the first thing a young woman must learn. What will become of you—the wildness in your blood must be curbed.” She sighed, and her frown deepened. “You must be taught skills that will make you appealing to a future husband.”

  “What else should I learn?” Adhaniá replied defensively. “I am an accomplished horsewoman, and I proved today that I can wield a weapon as well as any man. I can speak four languages, as well as read and write them—what more do I need to know?” She raised her face to her aunt. “What more can you teach me?”

  “It seems I cannot,” Zamah said tiredly, sweeping a strand of ebony hair back beneath her green headdress. “I leave it to your mother to settle your restless spirit.” There was a deep hurt in the tone of her voice. “The naked truth is that Ramtat has accused me of allowing you to run wild.”

  Adhaniá turned away so her aunt could not see the tears that dampened her cheeks. “He should not have said such a thing to you. You are blameless.”

  “He has every right to fault me. He was not speaking as my nephew—he made his judgment as my lord and sheik. He has decreed that you will be married, and that will be the end of it. Take every chance to show him you know how to please a husband.”

  Adhaniá’s mouth flew open in shock. “Has he already chosen someone for me?”

  There was misery in the older woman’s eyes. “He has not, but he will. Obey him in this. There is nothing else you can do.”<
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  Scowling, Adhaniá stalked across the rug and back again, clenching her fists impatiently at her sides. “Oh, yes, there is! I will show my brother that I know very well what a man likes.” For a moment she could not breathe for even thinking of the daring scheme that was hatching in her brain. “If that is what he wants from me, that’s what he’ll get.”

  A chilling breath of cold air swept over her, a warning whispered in her ear, but she ignored them both.

  Chapter Eight

  Adhaniá shoved the curtain aside and stalked into the tent where the dancers had gathered to prepare themselves for the night’s entertainment. The sound of their giggling and twittering grated on her ears. The dancers, twelve in all, fussed with bracelets and shimmering veils, some tugging over a pretty bauble like a dog with a bone.

  Filicia, the head woman who looked after the dancers, called for silence and ordered the women to cease their bickering. When quiet settled over the tent, she turned her attention to Adhaniá. “You see how the women chatter. They have heard that the queen’s man, Apollodorus, will watch their dance.”

  “And that handsome Roman,” one of them said, her lashes sweeping across her dark eyes.

  “I heard he was Caesar’s envoy and a high-ranking officer in the Roman army,” someone added.

  “I saw him from a distance and thought him quite handsome,” another simpered. “I shall dance for him tonight.”

  Once again the squabbling started, and Filicia held up her hand. “Be quiet, you squalling crows. You will never dance tonight if you do not attend to your garments.”

  Over the years Adhaniá had often sneaked into the dancers’ tent to watch them, and even to dance with them, unbeknownst to her brother or her aunt, of course. It had been only a matter of time before she learned every dance. Filicia had often told her that if she were not from a highborn family, she would have been a great dancer and would have broken men’s hearts.

  Adhaniá gazed about at the couches strewn with brightly colored costumes and touched a vibrant yellow garment, wondering if she dared wear such a revealing costume. She gathered up a white veil and ran it through her fingers. If she kept her face covered throughout the dance, no one would recognize her.