Antony looked startled. “Does she ask this of you?”
“She doesn’t know I want to marry her.” He drew in a ragged breath. “I don’t even know if she wants to marry me. I do know Lord Ramtat is arranging a marriage for her. She is not happy about it, and neither am I.”
“If that’s the way of it, Caesar would never give his consent. He admires Lord Ramtat and looks on him with favor and respect.”
“I will have her.”
“Do you love her, or merely desire her? If it is only desire, take her to your bed. It would probably cause a scandal, and her brother would call for your head, but it might serve to put out the fire inside you.”
“I intend to marry her.”
Antony shook his head. “I know how you feel, but Rome cannot lose its master architect to Egypt. Caesar will put a stop to any such plans.”
“I wonder if you would be so ready to follow Roman laws if you loved an Egyptian and you were not allowed to marry her? Knowing your temperament, I believe you capable of turning your back on Rome’s laws and following the object of your affection to Egypt.”
“You see too much.” Antony nodded. “There is an Egyptian woman I would risk everything to possess, but she is not mine and never shall be. You know of whom I speak.”
“And you know how I feel.”
“Of course I understand—I am not without a heart. But the answer is still the same.”
“Then I will bid you good day.” Marcellus walked away with his red cape flaring out behind him and anger driving his steps.
Thalia had to determine quickly whether to find Tribune Valerius or run after the ox cart. The street-wise girl set her chin, knowing the only way she could help Adhaniá was to follow the kidnappers to their destination. If she lost sight of them, no one would know where to find Adhaniá.
Thalia was good at dodging in and out of shadows to avoid being seen. She trudged along just out of sight of the mounted men who rode beside the cart. Her heart plummeted when she finally realized the men were taking Adhaniá out of Rome.
Wearily she stumbled forward, falling several times on the uneven stone road. Once she even skinned her knee and felt blood trickle down her leg, but nothing would deter her. Adhaniá’s life depended on her.
Just when Thalia thought she could not take another step, a farm cart came rattling along behind her. With the cunning that had kept her alive in dangerous situations, she casually waved to the startled man who drove the cart. She waited until the cart had passed, then leaped onto the back, holding her breath. When she was sure the driver had not seen her, Thalia quietly slid behind a barrel of fish, which smelled so bad it was hard to keep from gagging.
But always the girl kept her eyes on the cart in front of her, determined not to lose sight of it.
Thalia was more frightened than she had ever been in her life—not for herself, but for her dear Adhaniá. The Egyptian dancer had shown Thalia a life without hunger and rescued her from sleeping in damp caves. She owed Adhaniá her life, and she would gladly give it to see her safe.
The moment Marcellus returned home, he was met by an anxious Heikki. “Lady Adhaniá is missing!”
“What do you mean, missing?” Marcellus’s face was expressionless, showing none of the turmoil he felt inside. “You are supposed to be guarding her.”
“Layla, her servant, told me Adhaniá slipped out to the Forum to meet with your mother. I went directly there and searched everywhere for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. I questioned shopkeepers and was told by a flower vendor that he saw two women being roughly handled by several guards. She knew nothing else, or if she did, she was too frightened to say.”
Marcellus’s brow furrowed. “Adhaniá met with my mother?”
Heikki nodded. “According to Layla, your mother has contacted Adhaniá a couple of times.”
Fear, deep and dark, slammed against Marcellus, and his eyes burned with anger. “Come with me—I will pay a visit to my mother and her husband.”
* * *
It was dark inside the cart. Occasionally Adhaniá caught a glimpse of a flickering torch through the warped wooden slats. The space was cramped, and it was hard to breathe. The wheels bumped over rutted roads, and because her hands were tied behind her, Adhaniá was having a difficult time staying upright. She tried to brace her back against the side of the cart, but that merely jarred her body.
She wondered where they were taking her.
Worse still, what would happen to her after she arrived?
She listened carefully, hoping to catch the guards’ conversations, but she could hear nothing above the sound of rushing water. She was certain they had left Rome behind long ago and were somewhere near the Tiber River.
Adhaniá refused to lose hope. Marcellus’s mother had told her the truth—there was a plot to assassinate Caesar, and Quadatus had to keep both women from telling anyone what they knew.
A sob escaped her throat when she realized they had turned onto a dirt road. The violent rocking and swaying of the cart made bile rise in her throat. She began working at the rope that bound her wrists, but it was securely knotted. Tenaciously, she continued to twist her hands and yank on the rope. After a while, she was rewarded when she felt the rope give a bit, and she could actually move her wrists. It was enough for now. If the men saw she had escaped her bonds, they would only retie them tighter.
Just when she thought they would go on forever, they stopped, and one of the guards pulled her out of the cart.
She was unsteady on her feet, and it was dark. Straining her eyes, Adhaniá saw the outline of a small structure, probably a house. With one man carrying a torch to light their way, two remained on guard at the front of the house, and two others led her inside and up rickety stairs. From what she could see, the house had been unoccupied for some time.
Ominous shadows flickered against the walls, and Adhaniá shivered when she saw spiderwebs clinging to the corners.
None too gently, they forced her into a room.
“What is this place?” she demanded, twisting away from the man who held her too tightly and too close to his body.
“You’re in no position to ask anything,” the surly guard with the scar down his face told her. “When the master’s finished with you, I hope he lets me have a go at you, pretty one.”
His smile was more a leer, and she twisted away, dodging his groping hands and hitting him in the face with her elbow. “I would rather die than have your hands on me.”
His face reddened with rage. With his fist doubled, he struck her so hard she went flying across the floor. Adhaniá felt blood on her mouth, but with her hands tied behind her, she could do nothing but let it trickle down her face.
“We aren’t supposed to touch her,” the rail-thin man with an unhealthy pallor reminded the other guard. “You know Senator Quadatus’s orders.”
The man ran his hand down the scar on the side of his face. “You’ll see me again, dancer.”
When the guards departed, they took the torch with them, leaving Adhaniá in total darkness. Her face hurt where the man had struck her, and she felt her lip swelling. At last her eyes became accustomed to the faint moonlight filtering through the small window. The walls of the room were cracked and peeling, and the floor was layered with dust. Adhaniá cringed when a mouse skidded across the room, disappearing among a heap of filthy rags in the corner.
With an effort, she managed to get to her feet, but she tottered with weariness and pain. Her throat was so dry, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, but she dared not ask those men for a drink of water.
Adhaniá worked frantically with the ropes. She had to escape—and soon. All she could think about was Caesar unsuspectingly going to the Senate, where assassins would be waiting for him.
Tears filled her eyes when the rope finally loosened and fell to the floor. Rubbing her chafed wrists, she moved quickly to the window. She was grateful it did not look upon the front of the house, where the guards were posted
. She scrutinized the tall tree that would be her avenue of escape. It was some distance away, and she wasn’t sure if she could reach it.
And even if she did escape, in which direction would she travel?
Glancing into the distance, she saw the glow of lights. Rome.
Now that she knew the direction, she had only to escape without the guards hearing her. She was determined to make her way to the city before Caesar left for the Senate.
Standing on the narrow road, Thalia had hidden behind a thicket and watched the man pull Adhaniá from the cart and force her into the house. Her instinct was to rush forward to rescue Adhaniá, but what could one small girl do against five men with swords?
Now she faded back toward the road. The best way to help Adhaniá was to find a cart heading toward Rome. Tribune Valerius would know how to rescue her.
Tired and weary, the child ran back down the road, watching for a cart.
Clouds threaded the evening sky and covered the pale moon; it looked as if it might rain before long. Adhaniá would have no better chance to escape than now. Quietly, she perched on the window ledge, reaching out to the closest branch.
It was too far.
She would have to jump. But if she missed the branch, she would fall to the ground, probably breaking bones. Her heart raced at the urgency of her mission, and she tried to clear her mind to concentrate on her athletic abilities. She made a forceful leap forward, and her fingers barely closed around the closest branch—it was small and swayed with her weight, and the rough bark cut into the palms of her hands. With renewed strength, she swung her legs forward and pulled herself safely onto a larger branch.
Her jailers would probably be looking in on her before long, and when they discovered she was missing, they would begin a search. She had to be well away before that happened.
She scraped her arm sliding down, but bit her lip until the pain passed. Cautiously, she worked her way to a lower branch.
Gasping for breath, she dropped to the ground and slammed her body against the side of the house. She was fleet of foot, but she would be in the open until she reached the nearby woods. Moonlight shimmered across the tops of swaying pine trees as she took a cautious step forward.
Just ahead was a narrow road leading away from the house—she must avoid that route and keep to the woods as long as possible.
She needed a horse.
Glancing toward the rundown stables, her heart sank—two of the men were lighting torches and yelling to the others. They had already discovered she was missing and had begun a search. They must have thought she had gone for a horse because they were concentrating their search in that direction.
Adhaniá gathered her strength as a small cloud covered the moon, and she ran across the exposed area, weaving her way behind bushes and sometimes flattening her body on the ground.
A strong wind struck with a suddenness that took her breath away. Gathering clouds quickly covered the sky and spread a darkness so deep, Adhaniá could barely see her hand in front of her face.
But that only worked to her advantage.
In the distance thunder rolled and lightning shimmered and forked across the sky, giving off enough light for her to locate a path leading toward the river.
Darting to the nearest tree, she made it to the first hill, where she could clearly see the lights of Rome.
But the city was a long way off, and she feared she would not get there in time to save Caesar.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Marcellus gathered twelve of his soldiers and ransacked Quadatus’s house, searching for Adhaniá. Neither Quadatus nor Marcellus’s mother could be found, and there was no sign that Adhaniá had ever been there. A sobbing Durra told Marcellus that his mother had not returned after her meeting with the Egyptian dancer.
Fear tore through Marcellus’s mind. He did not trust his mother or Quadatus, and Adhaniá was at their mercy. “Where do you think my mother is?”
“I don’t know, Tribune Valerius,” she said solemnly. “I wish I did.”
Grim-faced, Marcellus hurried from Quadatus’s house. Once outside, he spoke to his soldiers. “Spread out through the city. Begin at the Forum and ask questions of everyone.” He mounted his horse and turned to Heikki. “You will accompany me.”
The two men rode back toward Marcellus’s villa with the hope that Adhaniá had returned. As they rode through the gates, Marcellus saw a crumpled figure on the ground near the front door. Thinking it might be Adhaniá, he dismounted and knelt down.
“Thalia,” he said, lifting the child in his arms and stalking toward the house. She was shaking with fatigue and cold. “What has happened?”
“The mistress,” she said weakly. “They have taken her.”
“Do you know where?”
“Yes, master. I followed them out of Rome. I can show you the way.”
The child was trembling, and it had begun to rain. “Just tell me where it is. You are too ill to go. I will leave you in Layla’s care.”
She wriggled out of his arms and placed her hands on her hips. “I will not lie idle while the mistress is in danger. It will save time if you let me lead you.”
“Quickly, then, change into dry clothing and bring a cloak. We have little time.”
Moments later they were ready to leave. “She will ride with you,” Marcellus told Heikki, handing the girl up to him. “Keep her as dry as you can.”
With fresh horses, they rode through the streets of Rome and out into the countryside. Swiftly Marcellus followed Thalia’s directions, and he wondered how the frail child could have accomplished the daunting task of making it to the country and finding her way back to Rome.
When they reached the farm, it was raining hard. Marcellus was off his horse almost before the animal stopped. He ran through the darkened house with sword drawn, calling Adhaniá’s name.
But there was no answer.
Heikki managed to find a torch and light it. A search of the house revealed nothing. But when Marcellus stepped into the upstairs room, the faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air.
Aching, he closed his eyes. “She has been here,” he told Heikki.
“I know. I smell the jasmine, as you do.”
Bending down, Marcellus discovered the frayed rope. “They probably tied her up with this. The fact that it is here could mean she worked the rope loose.”
Heikki nodded near the window. “And the blood on the floor?”
“I can only imagine they hurt her in some way.” The child had just come upstairs, looking so exhausted Marcellus lifted her in his arms. “Sleep, little one. You have done well for your mistress.”
She gave him a sleepy smile and closed her eyes.
In desperation, Marcellus moved to the window, where he noticed a tree with several broken branches and scattered foliage on the ground, indicating someone might have attempted to climb down it. He knew how ingenious Adhaniá could be when she put her mind to it. He turned to Heikki. “Do you think it possible she could have escaped?”
Heikki stared into the night. “I fear she was not successful. She was far from help, and I calculate by their tracks that there were at least five men. There could have been more because the abandoned ox cart probably transported her here.” He glanced up at Marcellus. “If I were in Egypt, I would know what to do—but here, I am lost. You will have to tell what must be done.”
Marcellus knew no one could track better than a Bedouin. “I fear my mother led Adhaniá into this trap. We will go separate ways and try to find some sign of her.”
They went outside, and although it was raining, Heikki was able to read the signs. “Five riders left from here,” he pointed, “probably for Rome. But I don’t think Adhaniá was with them. None of the horses seems to have been carrying double.”
Marcellus placed the sleeping child into Heikki’s arms. “Take her home. I will meet you there.” With quick strides Marcellus mounted his horse. “You go by the road, and I will take the path near the river.
If neither of us have found Adhaniá on the way, I will go to Caesar for help. He will know what to do.”
Heikki nodded. “Adhaniá is clever; she will not give up. She will fight them all the way.”
“I know. That’s what worries me. We both saw the blood, and we both know it was hers.”
Finding a trail near the river, Adhaniá decided to follow it for a time, although she would eventually have to turn toward the main road to Rome. She was athletic and had great stamina, but she was pushing herself almost to the end of her strength. Once she was forced to stop and bend over so she could catch her breath. Her jaw was throbbing and her cut lip hurt, but she tried not to think about the pain in her arm, where the stab wound had started bleeding again. Her sandals had not been made for running, and after a while one of the straps broke. Not wanting anything to slow her pace, she quickly tore a strip from her gown and tied it around her sandal, then broke into a run.
She had lost all sense of time and distance, but she was certain she’d been running for over an hour. At one point, she heard horses nearing her position, and she dove to the side of the road, tumbling down an embankment. Waiting until the riders passed, she peeked through a thornbush and recognized her captors searching for her. She did not dare move until she watched them ride away.
Adhaniá thought of Caesar, a man of power—Rome needed him. She thought of Queen Cleopatra and how much she loved the man. Then there was little Caesarion, who would never know his father if he was assassinated.
Those thoughts gave wings to her feet and renewed her strength and courage. Ignoring her pain, she kept forging ahead, even though her body ached from the need to rest.
Crossing a stream, she bent down and cupped her hands, drinking thirstily. The cool water soothed her parched throat. The rain had stopped, making it easier to see where she was going.
She thought it might be time to turn toward the main road. It was harder going, making her way through the trees with thornbushes snagging her gown and tearing at her flesh. Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks, her heart almost jumping out of her body: Just ahead she saw the glow of a campfire. Holding her breath and flattening her body against a tree, she called on all her courage and inched closer. It could be Quadatus’s guards, or it might be a stranger. Either way, she needed a horse, and she would take it from whoever had built that fire.
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