by Tessa Afshar
“Impose upon me?” He flicked a hand in the air as if sweeping away her apology. “You would have imposed upon me if you had shown up an hour early for a dinner invitation. This . . . !” He pointed to where she was sitting, words failing him. “This . . . stowing away on my ship when I had already made it clear that I take no passengers . . . This is not a mere imposition. It is an intrusion. An invasion. This is an outright violation.” He pressed his index finger down like a silent exclamation.
She bit her lip. “I beg your pardon,” she said again.
“And why, may I ask, have you taken it upon yourself to sneak on board? To wriggle your way inside a merchant vessel full of rough sailors who are unaccustomed to having women on board? You wish to see the sights of Rome? Go shopping, perhaps, in its glittering stores? You are longing for an adventure?”
Another thought momentarily wiped out every other concern from his mind. “You are on your way to meet a secret lover?” He tasted gall as he spit out the words. Disconcerted by his own response, he clamped his mouth shut.
She shook her head vigorously. “I am going to find my father.”
That silenced him for a beat. He felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of his sails. “Your father?” He frowned. “Couldn’t you have sent him a letter, like normal people?”
“I could not.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know where he is, exactly. Or who he is, for that matter.”
Theo’s mind came to a crashing halt, like a skiff run aground on a deceptively calm shore. He sank down on the edge of the narrow cot, which took up half the space in the cabin. “You don’t know who your father is?”
“I do not. My grandparents had always told me he was dead. I only recently discovered they had lied to me all my life. My father is alive. I don’t know his name. Grandfather refuses to tell me. But I need to find him, don’t you see?”
“And you think he resides in Rome?”
“No. He lives in Cush.”
“Of course. That makes perfect sense. I can see why it’s so important that you head for Rome.”
“I am going to Rome because my mother’s friend lives there. I believe she can reveal my father’s identity.”
“Why don’t you ask your mother?”
“She died when I was born.” She said the words without inflection. But Theo knew something about the writhing force of guilt. Knew something about the agony of blame over a mother’s death. He sensed the foul presence of it under Chariline’s calm pronunciation. The poisoned dagger that never stopped pressing its point against the heart. The belief that she had caused her mother’s death.
Every impulse toward sarcasm, every antagonistic barb instantly lost its allure. He leaned toward her and gentled his voice. “Couldn’t you write your mother’s friend?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know where she resides. Once I find her, I know she will help me.” She bent down and searched through the small bundle she had carried from her hiding place.
From her meager pile, she extracted a thick roll of papyrus. “Here. Let me show you.”
There followed such a tale of intrigue and mystery that Theo would have doubted her veracity if not for the earnest manner with which she told it.
Theo opened one of the pouches of papyrus Gemina had created all those years ago and studied it in silence. He had to marvel at the ingenuity of the young woman who had found a way to hide precious letters from prying eyes.
“Your mother was resourceful.”
“It seems so.”
Shuffling through the drawings, he looked up. “This one has your name.”
She offered him a wan smile. “Like my mother, I love architecture.”
He thought of the way Chariline had managed to sneak aboard a cramped ship, evading discovery for four days. She had inherited more than her love for architecture from her mother. “And you think you can find this Vitruvia in Rome?”
“I do.”
“What if she has moved? What if she has died? What if you can’t find her?”
She tucked her hands under her arms. “Then I have lost nothing. I can go on knowing that I tried my best.”
Sometime over the past hour, it had become clear to Theo that she had not stowed away on his ship because she had an irresponsible thirst for adventure. Nor was she thoughtless and selfish as he had suspected when he had first discovered her hiding amongst his jars of soap.
He had started to read her inflections better over the past hour. She reined her emotions tight and worked hard to conceal them. But in the close quarters of the cabin, with her life opened before him like rolls of papyrus containing an ancient poem, he saw beyond her reserved expression. He slithered under her guard.
And he learned something interesting.
On their march from the ship’s bowels to the cabin, he had thought her uncomfortable with twelve pairs of eyes shadowing her every move. Now he realized that she must have felt petrified. Teeth-chatteringly intimidated by the unfriendly faces of his men as they followed her.
Yet she had risked this difficult journey, faced the disquiet of being the only woman on board. Risked his own power to humiliate and harm her. Not because these things mattered so little to her, but because finding her father meant so much more.
Her illicit presence on his ship spoke volumes about her desire to encounter a man she had never even met. Instantly, he knew why. She was painfully hungry for love.
A subject in which Theo happened to have some expertise.
He also knew, firsthand, the guilt she carried for her mother’s death. Oddly, he could even identify with her baffling ignorance when it came to her father’s name. Of course, unlike her, he had as much interest in finding the man who had sired him as he did in coming face-to-face with one of the monsters of the deep.
His jaw ached as he thought of this long chain of unlikely coincidences. He could say, with some assurance, that there was not another man sailing the seven seas so well equipped to understand, even sympathize, with this woman and her quest.
His mind dredged up a memory of the storm that had crippled his ship and landed him in Caesarea. The storm that had forced him into her path. Remembered again with perfect clarity the assurance he had felt. The assurance that God had guided his steps into that shore for a reason.
Was she the purpose God had intended all along? Had he been drawn into Caesarea to help Chariline?
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you tell your aunt that you were stowing away on the Parmys?”
“Of course not! I do not wish to cause you trouble, Theo. The last thing I want is for my grandfather to come traipsing after you, hurling accusations.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I left my aunt a letter so she would not worry overmuch. But I did not even tell her that I was headed to Rome, let alone divulge any particulars about you. Although . . .”
“Although?”
“I think Hermione knew. She has an uncanny way of seeing things without being told. But she would never violate a confidence.”
Theo nodded. He had heard of the extraordinary gifts of Philip’s daughters. “I must pray on this, Chariline. Ask God what I am to do.”
She gave a short nod. In that tremulous movement, he sensed a vulnerability so fragile it made his insides ache. Whatever decision he made, it would have a profound impact on her future. On her heart.
All the more reason to pray. God must direct him, for he could see that something fundamental to her well-being was at stake in this decision.
Then again, hauling her to Rome and setting the woman loose upon the world hardly seemed safe. And at that moment, he was not even sure if he worried more for the world or for her.
He rose to his feet. “You must be hungry. I will ask Sophocles to bring you dinner. We eat simply on this ship.”
“That will suit me perfectly. Thank you.”
At the door, he turned to face her again. “Please do not try to leave this cabin.”
He held her gaze. “My men are not savages. They are trustworthy, in their own way. But I cannot vouch for their manners. Best you keep out of the way for now.”
She rose. “Theo?” She held on to the corner of the stool, her knuckles turning white from the force of her grip. “I am grateful to you.” She held up a hand. “I know you have made no decision. I am grateful, nonetheless. That you listened to my story.” Her fingers twisted painfully on the edge of the stool.
Looking at those fingers, long and slender and unsure, he felt an odd hollow in his chest, as if someone had taken his heart out of its comfortable cavity and wrung it out before replacing it. He shook the odd image out of his mind. Before more fanciful thoughts could lay ahold of him, he slipped out of the cabin and pulled the door firmly shut behind him.
CHAPTER 13
If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him.
JAMES 1:5
Chariline collapsed on the stool as soon as the door closed behind Theo. Her throat felt dry. She coughed and was surprised by the hacking sound that emerged from her lungs. Reaching for the flagon of water, she poured herself a cup and drank down a few mouthfuls.
On the whole, Theo had treated her with more compassion than she deserved. She winced as she recalled his initial sarcasm, the open ring of accusation in his tone. His disgust had been every bit as painful as she had feared. But somewhere in the retelling of her story, his rigid shoulders had dropped from around his ears, and he had started to really listen.
It was a heady elixir, being listened to by Theo, being the sole object of those searching gray eyes that seemed to have a language of their own.
Rising on shaky legs, she approached the closed door. The wood was ancient and warped in places, leaving a long slit between two pine planks. Pressing her face against the crack, she eyed the world outside. On their march into the cabin, she had been too overwhelmed to notice her surroundings. Now she saw that it was a bright day, the sky the dark blue of cornflower petals. She tried to take a deep breath, filling her lungs with the fresh air that the cabin lacked. It only made her cough again until her chest ached.
The wind must have finally dropped; the sailors were busy pulling on flax ropes, lowering the linen sail. A strange silence had fallen over the usually boisterous ship. Every once in a while, one of the men cast a curious glance toward the cabin.
As soon as the sail was safely lowered, Theo began to climb the mast. Chariline’s lips hung open as she watched him scale the smooth pole without the help of a ladder or ropes. Graceful as a feline, his muscles bunched and loosened, propelling him upward until he sat, anchored securely by one leg wrapped around the mast. To her bafflement, she saw him lower his head and knew by his attitude that he was praying.
She stepped away from the door, feeling as if she had intruded on something private and holy. He had found an odd roost for prayer. Then again, he was not likely to find many distractions up there.
Iesous liked to retreat to the mountainside to pray privately, she remembered. Theo had withdrawn to the closest thing to a mountainside he could find on a ship.
A sudden wave of exhaustion rolled over Chariline. It had been four days since she had been able to fully stretch out her body and sleep deeply for any length of time. Parts of her ached that she had no name for.
She stared at the narrow bed longingly. She supposed this must be where Theo slept. Having violated his ship by her uninvited presence, she found herself unwilling to add insult to injury by taking over his cot as well.
With a sigh, she grabbed her sheet and, folding it lengthwise, laid it on the only narrow bit of space on the floor long enough for a body to stretch on. Using her cloak as a pillow, she lay down, cradled tightly between the base of the bed and the wall. It was like sleeping in a cave.
The ground proved unyielding and hard. Whoever had put down these wooden slats had not meant them to serve as a bunk. She groaned, turned half a revolution, and yelped when she hit her elbow on the wall.
Her eyes closed. “Praise you, Iesous, for bringing me this far. Please carry me the rest of the way.”
She had almost drifted into sleep when the door slammed open, narrowly missing her head. With a half-strangled squeak, Chariline sat up, her eyes saucers.
The old man who had discovered her a few hours earlier walked in, carrying a wooden tray, flashing her a wide, unselfconscious grin, as if bursting unannounced upon young women was something he did every day.
“Master Theo said to bring you food.” He placed the tray carefully on the corner table. “You must be hungry, eh? Unless you got your hands on my olives and wheat?”
“I wish I had thought of it.”
The man threw his head back and laughed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his skinny, sun-scorched throat. “I’m Sophocles. You’re my first stowaway.” He gave it some thought. “Well. The first one we didn’t throw overboard right away.”
“There’s still time.”
He laughed again. “You’ve got spunk, girl. Sent the master right up his mast, you did. Praying to his god.”
“He’s my God, too.”
“Then there’s hope for you. But you better eat, in case.”
“In case?”
“In case the boys decide to haul you overboard. If you’ve got to go, you might as well do it on a full stomach.”
Chariline grinned. She was beginning to like the old sailor. “What did you bring me?”
“Fish eyes and octopus entrails.”
“I was hoping you would say that.”
The old sailor cackled. “Spunk. That’s what you have.” He offered her a chipped bowl and a round of flat bread, slightly charred on one side. Chariline examined the inside of the bowl and found, to her relief, no sign of eyes or entrails.
Taking a cautious mouthful, she discovered fresh fish, hot and fragrant with a hint of olive oil and some kind of spice she could not identify. “I can see Theo stole you from the emperor’s kitchens. This is tasty, Sophocles.”
“Caught it myself, just now. Practically jumped in my lap.”
“Maybe you can teach me that.”
“How to jump in my lap? I’m a bit old for that sort of thing. But I’ll see if I can oblige.”
Chariline choked. “Teach me how to fish, cheeky old man.”
Sophocles shook a crooked finger in her direction. “See? Got a bit of color in your face. You were looking as faded and dried up as last year’s barley.” He stared down at her. “What are you doing down there, anyway? Seems you like squirming yourself into awkward places. No need to hide anymore, girl. Everyone knows you’re here now.”
Chariline took a bite of the warm bread. After four days of stale rations, the steaming, flaky fish and slightly lumpy bread tasted like ambrosia. “I was trying to sleep until you burst in, unannounced.”
“You got eyes in your head or what? There’s a perfectly good bed over here.” He sat down on the edge of it and patted the blanket as if to prove his point.
“That belongs to your master, if I’m not mistaken,” she said, sloshing water to wash down a mouthful of fish. “It would be rude to take it without permission.”
“You’re awfully cordial for a stowaway. If you are so fastidious about asking permission, perhaps you might have given it some consideration before climbing aboard our vessel.”
“I know, Sophocles. I am trying not to add to my sins.”
The sailor laughed. “We’re just sore cause we didn’t catch you, see. Made a fool of the lot of us. We like to think we are clever.”
She leaned her back against the wall and stopped chewing. “Are the men very angry with me?”
Sophocles shrugged. “A few have a mind to drown you straightaway, to ensure you cause no more trouble. Most of them don’t care much one way or the other. Though, of course, they wouldn’t object to a good romp, if you be willing.”
Chariline choked again. No wonder Theo had warned her not
to step outside the cabin.
Sophocles clicked his tongue. “No need to fret, now. The master has warned them something fierce. No one would touch a hair on your head. Unless you want your hair touched, in which case, you will have no lack of volunteers.”
“I have no need for volunteers,” Chariline said, her voice high. “And I would be most obliged if you let the men know it.” She set her empty bowl back on the tray.
“I will. Don’t get your curls all tangled with worry. The boys won’t do a thing to rile the master. They would kiss the ground he walks on, if he asks.” He came to his feet. “I will bring you more food this evening. Seeing how the wind has died down, we’ll be anchoring at the port of Myra tonight. That means fresh milk and cheese. So, porridge for supper.”
“Thank you, Sophocles. And, ah . . . perhaps you might consider knocking on the door before entering next time? In case I am indisposed. I wouldn’t want you to be embarrassed.”
“Graces, I wouldn’t be embarrassed if I saw Venus herself in her skivvies. No need to distress yourself on my account.”
Chariline rubbed her forehead. “Then perhaps we should worry for me, Sophocles. Knock! Please.”
“There you go issuing orders, already.” The old sailor shook his head. “I knew it wouldn’t take you long.”
When Sophocles left, Chariline sat staring at the closed door and worried. If they were to anchor at Myra this night, a principal port with numerous connections to Caesarea, Theo might just consider bundling her back home. Pay for her passage on a ship headed the other way, while he continued west to Rome with a clear conscience.
She swallowed past a lump. A fit of coughing robbed her of breath, and she lay back, panting, feeling weak and shivery. It seemed Telemachus had given her something besides a ride to the harbor.
She had already wrapped Sophocles around her finger, Theo could see. While the rest of them had plain porridge for supper, the old sailor had managed to produce wildflower honey from somewhere and drizzled it all over her bowl. On the tray next to the porridge sat a shiny red-and-yellow apple. What next? A bunch of spring blossoms tied with ribbon?