Sword of Rome

by Constance O'Banyon

  Marcellus could no longer wait to read the words Adhaniá had written. He was unaware that his mother had quietly risen and left him alone. His hand trembled as he unrolled the scroll:

  Tribune Valerius—or should I call you Marcellus, for that is the way I think of you—we have reached the end of our association. Though I have been recalled to Egypt, I will always remember you with warmth and hope you think of me in the same way. If ever you come to Egypt, it would gladden my heart to see you. I beg you will grant me a boon: In my name, Heikki went to Queen Cleopatra and asked to be given one of her fine horses, and she granted that wish. You will find the animal in your stable. If you would have the stallion delivered to a Spaniard by the name of Raphael, I will be forever in your debt. Ask around Trajan Forum and someone will tell you where he can be located. And if you will be so kind as to extend my most sincere apology to him, I will thank you in advance. I pray that the gods hold and keep you safe in the dangerous endeavor you will surely undertake in the pursuit of Caesar’s enemies.

  Marcellus stared at the scroll and reread it.

  Who is this Spaniard Raphael, and what did Adhaniá do to owe an apology to the man?

  Antony looked up from the scroll he had been studying when Marcellus entered the room. “You are late.”

  Marcellus was weary and dropped down into a chair. “I’m early.”

  “How does this sound to you?” Antony began to read: “Your Esteemed Majesty, Queen Cleopatra, our parting was brief and hectic, and I had no time to assure you that Rome still stands as your ally. Know that our friendship for you transcends Caesar’s death.”

  He glanced up at Marcellus. “Do you think I put it right? I can never say what I really mean with her.”

  Marcellus was studying the bright pattern on the rug, wondering why Antony was thinking about Queen Cleopatra when there were troops to muster and traitors to bring to justice. “I believe she will be comforted by your assurances.”

  “Precisely what I think.” He tapped the scroll on the palm of his hand. “Make ready for a voyage to Egypt.”

  “What?”

  Antony blew out an agitated breath. “If you are to be my liaison between Rome and Egypt, you must become a general. I cannot send a mere tribune to speak to the queen.”

  “Me?”

  “Has something gone wrong with your hearing?” Antony looked Marcellus in the eye. “In those darkest moments after Caesar’s death, it was you at my side, clearheaded and issuing orders to calm the citizens. You were Caesar’s master architect—you will be my diplomat. Your mission is to go to Egypt and assure Queen Cleopatra of our goodwill.”

  “You are making me a general?”

  “I have that power now.” A teasing light shone in his dark eyes. “Of course, if you don’t want the honor—”

  “But you must have need of me here.”

  “Nay. I need you in Egypt.” He handed Marcellus several scrolls for the queen and added another to the stack. “This one states that I have issued you a dispensation so you can marry your little dancer, though I am sure I will have to answer to the Senate when they find out what I have done. Rome will not stand in your way if you still want to marry Lord Ramtat’s sister—but Lord Ramtat might.”

  Marcellus took a halting step, stunned into silence.

  “Go. My fastest ship is being made ready to sail next week, General Valerius. Do whatever one does to get an appropriate uniform to wear in the presence of a queen.”

  Marcellus placed his arm over his chest in a salute. “I am grateful for the honor, but my duty—”

  “Your duty is to obey me in all things. If you don’t leave, I may well decide to ship you off to Cyprus.”

  Antony smiled as he watched the newly appointed general hurry out the door. Lord Ramtat would certainly be a force to reckon with. Marcellus would not have an easy time of it when he reached Egypt.

  It was later in the day when Marcellus located the Spaniard. He watched curiously as the man exclaimed over the horse.

  “I have never seen such a fine animal—it is magnificent!” He glanced up at Marcellus suspiciously. “It isn’t stolen, is it?”

  “I can assure you it is not.”

  “No one would give away such a horse without wanting something in return. What does that little beauty want of me? I can tell you, although I make my living by the sword, I do not kill without a good cause. So if this horse is in payment for such a deed, I must decline.”

  Marcellus laid his hand on the Badarian stallion, probably worth more than the Spaniard would make in his lifetime. “I was hoping you could tell me the reason Lady Adhaniá presents you with such a gift.”

  The Spaniard threw back his head and gave a great laugh. “So she’s a lady, is she? She didn’t act like one when she took my horse from me at swordpoint. Never have I seen such a magnificent woman! She disarmed me before I knew what had happened. Then the little beauty apologized and said she would return my horse. Instead she sends me a horse worth a king’s ransom.”

  Marcellus grinned, his mind going back to the day Adhaniá had competed for the Golden Arrow. “You should feel no shame in being bested by her—you are not the first man she has outfought.”

  “She told me she was taking my horse on a matter of life and death. I could see her face was bruised, and that she had been in a fight with someone. I have often thought of her and wondered why she was so desperate that night. Can you enlighten me?”

  Marcellus mounted his horse and looked down at Raphael. “She was in a race to save Caesar’s life. As you know by now, she lost that race. Do not ever expect to see her again. She has returned to Egypt, whence she came. The horse she has given you belonged to Queen Cleopatra.”

  The Spaniard’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “She will be forever in my dreams.”

  Marcellus controlled his prancing horse with the heel of his booted foot. “As she is in mine.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Egypt

  Alexandria almost seemed foreign to Adhaniá after her stay in Rome. She walked through the rooms of the villa where she had grown up, feeling strangely detached. She remembered the feel of Marcellus’s body, the touch of his mouth on hers, their bodies and minds entwined in passion. He was far away from her, and they would never see each other again.

  She would always have the memories.

  But were memories enough to live on for the rest of her life?

  She pushed all thoughts of Marcellus to the back of her mind—it was less painful that way. Sometime that day Ramtat would arrive with his family. She could hardly wait to see them, especially little Julian and the new baby.

  Layla approached her. “Lady Larania has asked that you attend her, mistress.”

  Adhaniá went directly to her mother’s chambers. As soon as she entered, a small boy threw himself at her and clutched her about the knees.

  “Adhaniá, you came back!”

  Laughingly, she lifted her nephew in her arms while he grinned at her. “You have grown, and you can talk.”

  He cocked his head. “I can ride a horse,” he said, bright-eyed.

  “But not as well as your aunt could at your age,” a deep male voice said from behind her. Adhaniá spun around to see her brother standing there. He took the child from her and studied her for a moment. “You have changed. There is something different about you.”

  She went into his comforting arms. “I am older and wiser now.”

  “Welcome home.” He held her for a long moment, and then he released her so Danaë could hug her tightly.

  “You were missed, little sister. I add my welcome to your brother’s.” Danaë examined Adhaniá closely. “There is something different about you,” she said, seeing what her husband had missed. “There is a sadness—” She shook her head, not finishing her thoughts. “You have not seen your namesake. She is very like you in every way.”

  Adhaniá laughed. “Then you had better guard her well, or you will be sending her to the queen’s hou
sehold for discipline.”

  Ramtat scooped up his daughter and placed her in his sister’s eager arms. The child cuddled close, laying her dark head on Adhaniá’s shoulder and stealing her heart.

  “She is wonderful.” Adhaniá noticed Thalia lingering in the doorway, smiling at the happy family reunion. “Come and see the baby,” she urged.

  With eyes wide, Thalia stared at the infant. “She is so small.” She touched a tiny hand. “And so soft.” She beamed up at Adhaniá. “I have never seen anything so beautiful.”

  Handing her niece to Danaë, Adhaniá brought Thalia forward. “Ramtat, Danaë, I would like you to meet someone special. I will tell you later how she saved my life. I hope you will all receive her into the family because Thalia is very dear to me.”

  The family gathered around the young girl, smiling and welcoming her. Little Julian insisted Thalia accompany him to the nursery so he could show her his toys. The homecoming was everything Adhaniá could have wished for. But in her heart she would never come all the way home.

  She caught Danaë watching her with a curious expression. Later, when she was able to talk about Marcellus without crying, she would tell her sister-in-law much of what had happened to her in Rome, but not now—perhaps not for a long time to come.

  Lord Ramtat had honored Heikki for his loyal duty to his sister by making him one of her personal guards. He had a new uniform, and his step was lighter than it had been in a long while. As he went off duty and crossed the garden, the object of his affection, Layla, moved down the path in front of him. He had come to understand that he had never truly loved Adhaniá as a woman—not the way he loved Layla.

  He paused to speak to her. “Are you happy to be home?”

  She coyly glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “I am happy to be here in this house with this wonderful family. It is a joy to serve Lady Adhaniá.”

  “And what about me?” he boldly asked. “Could you be happy with me if we were permitted to marry?”

  She drew in her breath and ducked her head, as if she were unable to look into his eyes. “I do not know if such a thing would be possible.”

  He took her hand and felt it tremble. “I believe if I asked it of her, Lady Adhaniá would allow me to take you as my wife. I have loved you for some time now.”

  He watched her eyes glisten with tears. “I would be very happy if I could be your wife.”

  Two weeks earlier, when Marcellus had delivered Antony’s message to Queen Cleopatra, she had received him graciously. Then this morning, she had summoned him, asking his opinion on a scroll she was sending to Antony.

  He had been waiting impatiently for word to reach him of Lord Ramtat’s whereabouts. Only today a messenger had arrived with word that Lord Ramtat had returned to his villa in Alexandria.

  Marcellus dismounted and moved to the door. It was whisked open, and a servant bowed to the general. When he inquired, he learned Adhaniá was not at home, so he asked to see Lord Ramtat. He was led to a library where many scrolls were stacked neatly on shelves. Several couches were placed about the chamber, and it was apparent the family spent much time there reading.

  Ramtat greeted him with a smile and welcomed him warmly. After both men were seated and a servant had poured wine, Marcellus glanced at his host.

  Marcellus had only seen Ramtat in his Bedouin robe, and his host appeared quite different wearing a blue tunic and a golden bracelet around his forearm. Marcellus felt gut-wrenching fear that this lordly man would never allow his sister to marry outside her people. After he had explained about Caesar’s death, he saw Lord Ramtat was sorely affected.

  “Caesar was like a father to me. We have been in mourning since receiving word of his assassination.”

  At last, Marcellus placed his cup of wine on a low table, ready to speak of the matter that had brought him to the villa. “Has Lady Adhaniá spoken to you about what happened to her in Rome?”

  Ramtat frowned. “My sister has spoken little of her time there, leaving me to think she is keeping something from me. Queen Cleopatra told me about placing her in your custody, and we had heated words over that incident. I tell you this: I am furious about my sister being put in danger.”

  Marcellus’s jaw hardened. “It seems to me you have no one to blame but yourself. You sent her to Rome, placing her under the care of your queen. I can assure you, if I had a sister, she would never be put in such a situation.”

  Ramtat rose slowly, his eyes blazing. “Roman, you dare criticize my methods concerning my own sister!”

  Marcellus rose so that they were standing eye-to-eye. “I do dare because I was there, and I know what she is keeping from you.”

  “What do you mean?” Ramtat demanded.

  “I have come to ask permission to make your sister my wife.”

  “You dare much to make such a request of me! My sister will never marry a Roman. I am suspicious of your motives, and I will tell you why: Do you think me ignorant of the laws of Rome? I am well aware that it is forbidden for you to marry anyone who is not a citizen of Rome. Do you seek to dishonor her?”

  Danaë heard raised voices and quickly came to investigate. The two men were glaring at each other, looking as if they were ready to fight. She had heard enough to know what the trouble was about, so she moved determinedly to her husband’s side, placing herself between them.

  “What is this about?” she demanded.

  “Lady Danaë, forgive me,” Marcellus said, bowing to her. “I have a way of being blunt, and I may have misspoken. If that is the case, I ask pardon from both of you.”

  “You misspoke, right enough.” Ramtat glanced at his wife. “This Roman wants to marry my sister.”

  “I know,” she said calmly.

  “You know?”

  “I heard both of you. Anyone within these walls would have heard you. Can we not discuss this calmly?”

  “There is nothing to discuss,” Ramtat stated. “I have spoken, and I will not relent.”

  “Can we all be seated?” she asked. “The children have been overactive today, and I am a bit weary.” She wasn’t, but she had to defuse the situation.

  Both men immediately became attentive to her feelings and dropped down on two different couches while she once more placed herself between them. “Now let us talk calmly.” She turned to Marcellus, speaking softly. “It is good to see you again. I understand you are now not only a general but the Master Architect of Rome as well.”

  “I had not heard that,” her husband said. “How did you know?”

  “My sister.”

  “Ah, Cleopatra.”

  “My husband and I both offer you our congratulations.”

  “Of course,” Ramtat agreed sourly.

  “To continue,” Danaë said, slowly turning the conversation, “I understand you came to Alexandria as the voice of Marc Antony.”

  “In part,” Marcellus said. “I also came to ask Lord Ramtat if I can take Adhaniá as my wife.”

  Ramtat’s jaw tightened, and he asked churlishly, “What would make you think I would agree to such a match?”

  Marcellus held Danaë’s gaze because he was discovering she was his only hope of winning her husband to his side. “I have loved Adhaniá almost from our first meeting. I admire her bravery, her loyalty. There are so many reasons I love her, I cannot voice them all. But I can tell you, I have not known a happy moment since she left Rome.”

  Marcellus turned his attention to Ramtat. “If Adhaniá was my wife, I would strive to make her happy and to keep her safe.”

  Ramtat looked somewhat mollified. “Have you spoken to my sister of this matter?”

  “I had no right to speak to her until Antony gave me permission to marry her. Be assured the marriage would be recognized as legal in Rome. Had Antony not given me permission, I would have left Rome forever to be with Adhaniá here in Egypt.”

  “You think to take my sister to Rome?”

  “I have purchased a villa outside Alexandria. If Adhaniá becomes my
wife, we will spend time in both cities. I know how much she cherishes Egypt, and her family. I would not want to take her away from those she loves.”

  Danaë moved closer to Ramtat and placed her hand on his. “Remember how painful it was when we loved each other so desperately and thought we could never be together?”

  “I remember. That is why I resent any night I must spend away from you.”

  “Perhaps General Valerius feels the same way about Adhaniá. Have you not noticed how unhappy she is since she returned home—she smiles, but she does not laugh as she once did. Could it be that she loves this man and fears they can never be together?”

  Ramtat frowned, wondering if his wife could be right. “I will not have my sister marry anyone unless he is her choice.”

  “I know she loves me—I can’t be wrong about that,” Marcellus said with assurance.

  Ramtat stared at Marcellus long and hard. If he weren’t a Roman, he’d be exactly the husband Ramtat would have chosen for his sister. Ramtat glanced at his wife, and he could tell by her expression that she thought he should give his consent for the two of them to marry.

  Ramtat arched his eyebrow at his wife and then nodded, relenting. “This Roman does not know you as well as I do or he would realize, as I do, how you manipulated the situation.”

  Marcellus had most certainly noticed how cleverly Lady Danaë had led them both. “Your wife would make a fearsome general.”

  Ramtat laughed down at Danaë. “You have no idea.”

  Marcellus rose. “Do I have your permission to speak to Adhaniá?” He didn’t know he was holding his breath until Ramtat spoke.

  “My sister is not at home at the moment. You are welcome to wait until she returns.”

  As Adhaniá and Thalia returned home, the arms of the servant who walked behind them were loaded with purchases.

  “Is it really true, Adhaniá? Is your mother truly adopting me? Am I going to be your sister and her daughter?”

  “I can assure you it is true. My mother adores you, as do we all.”