Jewel of the Nile

by Tessa Afshar

  Theo’s chin dropped to his chest when the old man knocked before entering the cabin. Theo had tried to teach Sophocles this basic courtesy for three solid years without a glimmer of success. Not once had the crusty mariner bothered to announce his presence before banging the door open.

  Two hours earlier, they had docked at the port of Myra without incident. But his men remained on high alert, concerned that if a slip of a girl could sneak past them, worse things could get by in the moonless harbor. Usually they let their guard down once they anchored. That was their time to ease back. Rest. Now they were more vigilant than they had been at sea. He could feel the tension in their stretched muscles. Everyone was acting jumpy. Theo sighed, hoping that the weight of unaccustomed watchfulness did not lead to tempers flaring.

  He had spent considerable time in prayer regarding the tangle his uninvited guest had forced upon him. He knew his answer. But it had taken him some hours to make peace with it.

  Strangling another sigh, he forced his legs to move toward the cabin. She had been waiting on him for hours. Waiting to discover her fate.

  He knew the waiting must have been an agony of the soul, full of fears and uneasiness. And he suspected she had the kind of robust imagination that could dream up the worst possibilities. Yet she had honored his request that she remain in the cabin. Not once had she tried to venture outside during the long delay. Anticipating a decision that must be hanging over her head like the sword of Damocles, she had still chosen to abide by his wishes.

  In spite of himself, Theo felt a spark of admiration for the woman who had violated his ship.

  He knocked on the sun-bleached door and, at her calm bidding, entered. Sitting on the cabin’s only stool, she was leaning over a piece of papyrus, putting final touches on a drawing. He took a step closer and saw that she had sketched the Parmys. She had managed to reveal something of the unique personality of the vessel, its elegant lines and curves, its air of solid reliability. She had made the ship look as dependable as an ancient rock and yet as fragile as gossamer. His eyes widened with wonder. By some inscrutable trick of her pen, she had captured what he loved most about the Parmys, a weaving of both strength and frailty.

  “You have quite an eye.”

  She put the papyrus away. “I am not good with ships. Buildings, now. Those I understand.”

  “If that’s you not being good, I would like to see your best work.”

  Her amber eyes, almost the exact shade of her luminous skin, rested on him, full of hope. Brimming with dread.

  He found he had to gulp down a mouthful of air.

  Although he understood her reason for wanting to go to Rome, understood, even, the manner in which she had done it, Theo knew in his bones that her presence on his ship meant trouble. It intruded upon the easy camaraderie of his crew. It heralded the coming of burdensome strife, weeks from now, when her grandfather started looking for someone to blame.

  Then again, trouble and strife did not mean Theo was free to walk away.

  “You can come with us to Rome,” he said. “But there are conditions.”

  CHAPTER 14

  I am making a way in the wilderness

  and streams in the wasteland.

  ISAIAH 43:19, NIV

  Chariline exploded to her feet, her movements awkward with irrepressible excitement so that her foot tangled in the stool, flipping it against the wall. It crashed and bounced back.

  Before it could catch her in the thigh with bruising force, Theo’s arm flashed out, fingers grabbing the stool in midair and setting it gently, harmlessly, back on the floor.

  For just a moment, she forgot about Theo’s pronouncement. Forgot about Rome and her father. For a moment, she saw only Theo, lightning fast, in control, bringing order into her chaos, and her heart banged against her chest with an entirely different kind of excitement.

  Shaking her head, she forced her mind back to his words, rather than the mouth that had proclaimed them. “Anything. Anything you say.”

  He frowned. “Do you want to know my conditions?”

  She tried to tamp down a grin and failed. “Yes, please.”

  “I am unwilling to bring a young woman to Rome and dump her there to fend for herself.”

  “That would be terrible.”

  “Who knows what kind of trouble you will find.”

  “Likely the worst.”

  “That’s what I think. It’s settled then.”

  She suppressed a cough and leaned forward. “What is?”

  What would Theo say if he realized she was coming down with something? Would he change his mind and send her home, after all? Would he consider her simply too much trouble?

  Perhaps she could pretend nothing was wrong and hope whatever ailment was trying to take hold in her would pass quickly. Theo might not even notice. After all, he likely wanted to avoid her company as much as possible.

  “I will be staying with my friends Priscilla and Aquila in Rome. You will come with me. They are hospitable people who love the Lord. I know they will welcome you.”

  Chariline’s grin widened. Her greatest concern, once she managed to arrive in Rome, had always been safe lodging until she could find Vitruvia and seek her help. “Done.”

  “They live in a house on the Aventine. Nothing luxurious. But you will have a safe nook to yourself.”

  Chariline had no idea where the Aventine was. “Couldn’t be better.”

  Theo cleared his throat. “Once we are there, we will try and find the whereabouts of this Vitruvia.”

  Taking a cautious step back, Chariline thought for a moment. “We?”

  “We.”

  “You do not need to play chaperone and bodyguard to me, Theo.”

  “That is part of the condition. As I said—I am unwilling to let you fend for yourself in Rome.”

  Chariline’s eyes narrowed. “Look—”

  Theo slashed his hand in the air, cutting her off. “This is not a discussion. These are my terms. If you want to come to Rome on my ship, you agree to them. Understand?”

  Chariline crossed her arms, a barricade over her chest. “What else?”

  “You don’t sneak anywhere by yourself. We are in this together. When I am unavailable, you wait. Either we look for Vitruvia as a team, or you don’t do it at all.”

  He lifted his finger and pointed at her chest. “You don’t lie to me. You don’t hide anything from me. You don’t prevaricate.”

  She huffed an offended breath, then wished she hadn’t, as it threatened to bring on another coughing fit. “Really! Anyone would think I was a criminal.”

  “Or a stowaway.” Theo crossed his arms, an even bigger barricade than hers. “Do we have a deal?”

  Chariline considered his terms. What choice did she have? It was a miracle he had agreed to take her to Rome at all. To find her shelter on top of free transport. She could put up with his overbearing rules for a few days until she found Vitruvia. How hard could it be?

  “We have a deal.”

  Theo shoved a hand through his hair, making it stand in spikes. For the first time, she noticed a streak of premature silver where his forehead and hairline met. It added a different aspect to his face, a touch of age that suited whatever history he had buried behind those eyes.

  Noticing the angle of her gaze, he pressed a quick hand over his disordered hair, taming it, hiding the patch of silver. She wondered if vanity for this untimely sign of aging drove him to hide it with such fervor. But she sensed something deeper attached to the movement.

  Something furtive and painful.

  Theo had his own secrets, it seemed. Well, he was welcome to them. All she needed from him was a voyage to Rome.

  “Write a letter to your aunt and let her know that you are safe. You can write another to Philip and his daughters, if you wish. I shall find a courier at the port. That way, they won’t have to wait for weeks to hear from you.”

  “That is thoughtful. I am grateful to you.” She reached into her pile, where s
he had placed the drawing of the Parmys. “This is for you,” she said. “With my thanks.”

  He studied the drawing. “You made this before I came to tell you my decision. Were you so confident I would let you accompany us?”

  She grinned. “No. I thought you would send me packing. I drew it for me. To help me remember this time. Now that I am going to sail with you all the way to Rome, I won’t need a memento.”

  He rolled the papyrus carefully and turned to leave. At the door, he hesitated, his hand hovering by the latch. “Sophocles tells me you refuse to use the bed.”

  She reddened. “I am not completely devoid of manners.”

  He turned to face her. “Nor am I. I won’t come in here while you occupy the cabin. Use the bed. I often sleep outside, in any case. Much more pleasant in the fresh air.”

  On that, they could agree. But Chariline refused to complain about the stuffiness of her lodgings when the very fact that she had them came as a gift. A veritable miracle.

  Theo held up her drawing. “This is exceptional. A few more like it, and you can consider your passage paid for.” He strode out, not waiting to see her reaction.

  He thought her drawing exceptional! Good enough to be considered a payment for her passage! The part of her soul parched for admiration clutched that accolade eagerly. Pulled it close and cradled it with a touch of greed.

  Shaking her head, she sank down on the edge of the bed, her legs finally giving way. “Forgive me for my pride, Iesous,” she whispered. “For my hunger to receive praise. My need to be admired by others.” She lay down, flinging her arms into the air. “Thank you, dear Lord. Thank you for making a way where there was no way.”

  She was truly bound for Rome! In a few weeks, she would discover the identity of her father and find a way back to him. Back to Cush.

  With the question of her immediate future settled and the mountainous weight of worry lifted, she realized for the first time how achingly tired she felt. Stretching out her long legs, she groaned with relief. The lumpy mattress seemed to her as luxurious as a king’s silken bedding. Within moments, she was asleep.

  The muted sound of water sloshing against wood filled the stillness when Chariline awoke. Like a mother’s lap, the narrow bed moved gently to the rhythm of the waves. Confused, she reached a groggy hand over her chest. It felt like something was sitting there. Something heavy that was making it hard to breathe. Her fingers grasped at air, finding nothing.

  Pushing against the wall, she forced herself to sit up. Everything hurt, as if she had been run over by an oxcart. The small effort left her dizzy and gasping. Her breaths emerged fast and shallow, not enough air getting inside to satisfy her lungs.

  She laid a trembling hand against her pounding head. The cabin was drenched in anemic light so that she could just make out the cup of water Sophocles had brought her the night before. Reaching for it, she bent forward and immediately regretted the movement. Her eyes narrowed as a mallet of pain crashed against her skull.

  Her fingers trembled against the wooden cup, causing her to spill more of the lukewarm liquid than she swallowed. It burned its way down her throat, making her cough. Blindly, she slapped the cup back on the side table.

  Trying to take inventory of the pounding and throbbing in her body, she forced herself to focus.

  She felt sick. Sicker than she ever remembered being.

  Chariline moaned. How was she to cope with illness on a ship full of men, every one of them a stranger to her?

  A wave of loneliness threatened to crush her beneath its weight. For the first time, she felt homesick for her aunt. Aunt Blandina might not offer the warm affection for which Chariline hungered, but all her life, she had tried to keep her niece safe.

  Longing for Hermione and Mariamne pierced her. She ached for their soothing touch, their reassuring words. Hermione would know how to alleviate this ailment. Chariline decided that she even missed old, cantankerous Leda, who had nursed two generations of children in her family and had sat by her bed through many a minor childhood ailment. Running through Leda’s dour manners lay a gruff but genuine devotion.

  She rubbed a weak hand against her forehead. Her skin felt hot and clammy. Shivering in spite of the heat, she pulled the thin blanket she had pushed to the bottom of the bed back over her shoulders.

  How would Hermione treat a fever?

  She would tell Chariline to rest! Lacking Hermione’s herbs and brews, she could at least sleep. Chariline closed her eyes. But her aching body and shivering limbs refused to cooperate. Sleep eluded her. She lay in the semidarkness, trying not to panic as the dizziness threatened to swallow her.

  Another paroxysm of coughing shook her, making her chest burn. She grabbed her handkerchief and spat out the thick sputum that had started to clog her throat and lay back again, exhausted.

  The cabin seemed devoid of air. Every panting breath left her more desperate for another mouthful. The fresh outdoor air beckoned like a panacea. If she could only breathe, she would feel better.

  Convulsed by another excruciating fit of coughing, she realized she was drowning. Drowning in the waters of her own body and the never-ending stream of thick yellow sputum that congested her chest.

  She needed help. She needed to get out of this cabin.

  Supporting herself on a trembling hand, she forced herself to sit up. For a moment, she could move no further as she battled a wave of nausea. When her stomach settled, she pushed herself to stand. It took several tries, but finally, she managed to get out of the bed, bent over at the waist, panting.

  She had never known such weakness. Every stride, as she moved toward the door, became a battle.

  In the diminutive cabin, only three steps separated the bedside from the door. She forced her feet to move: One step. Two. She stopped. Staggered. Her body started to topple over. Reaching for the stool, she managed to keep herself upright. “Iesous!” His name emerged, a huff of air. A desperate prayer. With the last of her strength, she pressed forward.

  Three.

  Laying her head against the warped wood, she rested until the shivering in her limbs grew bearable. With a shaking hand, she pulled on the latch. It did not move under the feeble pressure of her fingers. She tried again, and finally, the door opened.

  Gulping a breath, she stepped outside, into the pale light of the dawn. “Iesous,” she whispered again, the very name a shelter.

  CHAPTER 15

  Heal the sick, raise the dead, cure those with leprosy, and cast out demons. Give as freely as you have received!

  MATTHEW 10:8, NLT

  A decent wind had finally started to rise, and Theo helped with the rigging, guiding the boltrope through the canvas. The previous afternoon, as soon as they had docked at the port of Myra, he had gone in search of new business. In the harbor’s noisy tavern, he had run into an acquaintance, a crusty merchant from Athens bound for Hispania. Theo had managed to offload a sizable cargo of soap on the fellow. In its place, he had purchased five dozen amphorae of wheat from Myra’s massive granary. With one million mouths to feed daily, Rome was always hungry for grain. Buying the grain at Myra’s higher prices would not gain him as sizable a profit as he could have had if he had managed to purchase the wheat from its source at Alexandria. But all told, he would still make a decent income from his voyage.

  Feeling pleased, he stretched and turned his face into the wind. He planned to leave the harbor within the hour. If conditions proved favorable, they might even be able to anchor at Cnidus that evening rather than face the night on the dangerous open waters of the northern Mediterranean.

  He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw her leave the cabin. After all his warnings, the woman couldn’t even obey one simple rule. He let Taharqa take over the rigging and marched over to where Chariline stood, leaning against the door, her eyes closed.

  “I told you not to leave the cabin,” he snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

  “I am sorry, Theo.” Her eyes opened, narrow slits aga
inst the pale sun. For the first time, he noticed the sheen of perspiration on her skin. A series of harsh-sounding coughs shook her body and she gasped, as if short of breath.

  “Sick,” she choked out.

  She was shivering, he realized. He reached out a hand as she staggered, grabbing her arm to steady her. Her skin felt like a brazier. “You’re burning up!” he exclaimed.

  “I am sorry,” she said again. To his utter astonishment, her limbs folded and she began to fall. Catching up her limp form before she crashed on the deck, Theo hefted her against his chest.

  “Chariline!” Her eyes fluttered but did not open.

  Alarmed by the heat of her body, he shifted her in his arms, settling her more securely.

  Sophocles appeared by his side. “What happened?”

  “She fainted.” He pointed with his chin. “Door, Sophocles.”

  The old sailor dragged the door open and stood aside, giving Theo a wide berth. He stepped in and, with a quick glance, took in the disordered bedding, still damp from her perspiration, as if she had tossed and turned restlessly for hours. His heart hammered in his chest. He could feel his hands shaking against her back.

  “Tell Taharqa to send for a physician. Quickly, Sophocles.”

  For once, Sophocles said nothing. He rushed out of the door like a man chased by an inferno.

  Theo laid Chariline gently on the bed, keeping one hand behind her shoulder, unwilling to let her go.

  Her eyes opened. “I am so sorry.”

  “Why do you keep saying that?”

  “I’m ill.”

  “I gathered. Stop apologizing. It’s not your fault. We’ll try to get you better.”

  She flashed him a weak grin. The sight of the full lips, chalk-white and smiling, turned his pulse into a throbbing drum. “Are you often subject to fevers?”