Jewel of the Nile

by Tessa Afshar

  “I am here to look for my mother’s friend Vitruvia. She is the granddaughter of Marcus Vitruvius Pollio.”

  “The famed architect who dedicated his books to Augustus?” Aquila’s spoonful of dessert hovered in the air for a moment. “He’s still a well-known figure in Rome, though he died over seventy years ago.”

  “Do you know where his family might live?” Chariline asked eagerly. She had visited the baths with Priscilla earlier and changed into a simple cream tunic, her curls loose over her shoulders. Theo had given her a basket full of cinnamon-and-rose soap when they disembarked from the ship, and the scent lingering on her warm skin teased him every time the breeze blew in through the open windows.

  Theo’s mouth turned dry and he looked away.

  Something had shifted in his heart as he had cared for her during her illness. For long days, she had depended on him for everything. The unusual circumstances had woven a deep closeness between them. An attachment unlike any he had known, save perhaps for what he had once felt for his foster sister. But he had grown up with Ariadne. Known her from the day of her birth, inseparable through the worst and best years of their young lives.

  How had this woman wrapped herself around his deepest core in such a short time?

  Mentally shaking himself, Theo tried to refocus on the conversation.

  “Priscilla, do you know where Vitruvius’s granddaughter might live?” Aquila was saying.

  “No, but I can ask Senator Pudens and his wife when they return from their estate in Antium. They should be back in Rome next week. Senator Pudens has a talent for unearthing all manner of information. If anyone can help you, it is he.”

  “Next week?” Chariline’s shoulders slumped. Ferox, sensing her dejection, padded over to her and dropped at her feet, laying his massive chin on her toes like a blanket.

  Theo placed his cup on the table. “Tomorrow, I am meeting with my contact at the palace. I will ask him. Given Vitruvius’s connection to Augustus, someone at the palace may be able to provide us with a lead.”

  “Does your mother know Vitruvia’s last known address?” Priscilla asked. “We could always start there.”

  “My mother died at my birth.”

  Priscilla immediately reached out a comforting hand. “I am sorry, my dear.”

  “That’s partly why I want to meet Vitruvia, you see. They were close friends in their youth, she and my mother.”

  “Of course.” Aquila smiled at Chariline. “I was very young myself when my mother died. Only a boy. I can only imagine the pleasure of speaking about her to someone who knew her well.”

  Chariline wove her fingers together distractedly. She lifted her head. “I also hope to find my father.”

  Theo noted the quick rise and fall of her chest, the darkening flush on her cheeks. “You don’t need to divulge anything if you don’t wish, Chariline.”

  “Absolutely!” Priscilla leaned forward. “You are welcome here as you are. No explanations needed.”

  Chariline looked down. “All my life, my grandparents lied to me. They hid the truth because, from their perspective, they were doing me a service. If I have learned one thing from their example, it is this: hiding the truth gains nothing but an invitation for the powers of darkness to multiply.

  “I have nothing to hide. The Lord knows it all. You are welcome to my story.”

  Theo sat, thunderstruck, as Chariline unfolded her life. Laid bare the skeletons that had shaped her and left her bruised. Her past was not nearly so dark as his own, certainly. But it contained enough shadows to make anyone think twice before revealing it. Her mother’s decision to break an engagement in order to elope with a man of whom her father disapproved was no small offense in a Roman household. Her grandfather’s controlling cruelty and deceit, her aunt’s inability to forgive, even her own decision to stow away on his ship were secrets most would prefer to hide.

  Secrets he would prefer to hide.

  Theo thought of his own past. The story of his own conception and birth. His own upbringing. The idea of revealing all that to this woman turned his stomach. He could not bear the look he would find in her eyes. Horror. Disgust.

  He listened to her as she opened her life and decided more than ever to keep his hidden.

  CHAPTER 19

  Confess your sins to one another.

  JAMES 5:16

  The next afternoon, Theo returned from the palace, a tiny scrap of papyrus in his hand. “We have a lead. The official I know at the palace located an old address for the Vitruvius family.”

  Chariline had been helping Lollia shell peas in the courtyard and almost upended the bowl when she leapt up to reach for the scrap. “Can we go now?”

  “If you wish.”

  Chariline flew to the stairs, intending to change into her good tunic.

  “Chariline.”

  She stopped, her foot dangling over the last step, itching to move. “Yes, Theo?”

  “I don’t want you to build up too much hope. They probably moved long ago.”

  She jerked her chin down in a nod. He was likely right. All the same, someone in the neighborhood might know where the family had moved.

  “Is it far?” she asked Theo as she put on her sandals.

  “The house is on Via Tiburtina to the northeast of us. A lot of hills, Priscilla tells me.”

  “I like hills.”

  “We are walking.”

  “I like walking.” Chariline tightened the strap around her ankle.

  “It will be busy this time of day. People heading home for supper.”

  Chariline opened her mouth but was forestalled by Theo’s raised hand. “I know. You like crowds.”

  She grinned. “I was going to say I like supper.”

  “Well, if this Vitruvia of yours lives there, she might offer us some.”

  As they were about to leave the house, Ferox ran to their side, his tail wagging with enthusiasm. Here was a dog who knew how to beg with charm.

  Priscilla emerged out of the workshop and put a steadying hand on his leather-and-bronze collar. “Come, boy. You are not invited.”

  Ferox, unwilling to give up, licked Chariline’s fingers, making her laugh. She had never owned a pet or lived in a household with a dog. But she was thinking that if all dogs were as friendly as this one, she might one day like to have one. “May we take him with us?” she asked impulsively.

  “If you are certain he will not be a nuisance?”

  “You won’t be a nuisance, will you, boy?” Chariline asked. Ferox sat perfectly still, a model of good behavior, not taking his eyes off her. Lifting one paw, he offered it like a gentleman.

  They laughed. “That settles it,” Chariline said. “He is more well-behaved than I am.” As if sensing his welcome, the dog pranced around their feet, running from Theo to Chariline.

  “Yes, we are all aware that you are excited,” Theo said, patting the dog. “But you must comport yourself. Understand?” Tying a long leather leash to the collar, they set off, Ferox in tow. Used to long treks accompanied by humans, the dog managed to stay out of trouble.

  They walked in silence for some time. Apprehensive at the thought of meeting Vitruvia, or worse, finding a dead end as Theo feared, Chariline barely noticed the grand parade of monuments they passed. Young Nero had ruled as emperor for two years now, and as they walked by the Palatine, one of the seven hills of Rome where Nero’s palace stood, she noticed that the sharp smell of garbage and human waste gave way to a faintly sweet smell.

  Theo must have seen her whiffing the air like a hound. “Nero has had new pipes installed under some of the rooms in the palace. They flow with a steady stream of perfume. His favorite is rose water. Apparently, he finds the Palatine too foul-smelling for his delicate sensibilities.”

  Chariline laughed. “No wonder they are buying your soap by the crateload.”

  “Yes. The emperor’s nose has been very beneficial to my business, although it is not doing much for the treasury. Rose water is not c
heap, not when you have rivers of it flowing through the palace.”

  By the time they arrived at the house on Via Tiburtina, Chariline’s chest was burning with exertion. To her annoyance, Theo merely seemed invigorated by all the hills they had had to ascend and descend.

  A young slave with a polite smile answered their knock. “May I help you?”

  “We are looking for the granddaughter of Marcus Vitruvius Pollio.”

  “He does not live here,” the fair-haired slave said.

  “I would be astonished if he did.” Theo smiled. “He is quite dead. We are seeking his granddaughter Vitruvia.”

  “No one by that name lives here either.”

  “The Vitruvius family lived here fifty years ago. Is there an older servant in the house who might recall something?”

  The slave scrunched his face in thought, turning his pleasant features into a white prune. “I can call Pomponia. She’s worked here all her life.”

  “We would be obliged,” Theo said.

  After an interminable wait, Pomponia shuffled to the door, her rheumy eyes squinting. “Yes, Master?”

  She had the servile manner of someone born into slavery. Across one arm three long, narrow scars twisted like the tail of a snake. Chariline flinched, recognizing the mark of a whip. “We are sorry to disturb you, Pomponia,” she said gently. “We are looking for Vitruvia. Granddaughter to Marcus Vitruvius Pollio.”

  “Vitruvius?” The old woman hung her head. “I know that name. Wait. It will come to me.” She scratched the side of her nose. “Is he a butcher?”

  Chariline swallowed a groan.

  “Not a butcher, no,” Theo said. “An architect who lived here many years ago.”

  “Oh, that one!” Pomponia nodded. “My first master bought this house off his son.”

  “Do you know where the son might have moved?”

  Ferox, who had been lying on his side, yawned hugely, drawing the old woman’s notice. “He doesn’t bite, does he?” she asked fearfully.

  “Not at all,” Chariline assured her. “He is very tame. About Vitruvius’s son . . .”

  “Him. He moved. A long time ago.”

  Theo gave Chariline an amused glance. “And do you know where he went?”

  “Somewhere near the baths of Agrippa. On that crooked road off Via Lata. What’s the name?” She shrugged. “Don’t remember. I am sorry, master.”

  Theo smiled reassuringly. “You’ve been very helpful, Pomponia. Our thanks.” He handed the old woman three small coins. She wrapped a veiny fist around them and bowed her head.

  As they walked away, Chariline said, “Shall we head there now?”

  Theo shook his head. “It’s growing dark. Considering neither of us knows Rome, we will find it impossible to locate the house. In any case, people are closing their doors for the evening. We should go home and start our search again early in the day.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I’m sorry. Not tomorrow nor the next day. I will be making the rounds at the baths, replenishing their stores of soap and trying to establish new accounts. The day after that, I promise.”

  Chariline bit her lip. So close to discovery, and yet another round of waiting. “Could Taharqa accompany me?”

  “I need him with me.”

  “I could go alone,” she suggested.

  Theo’s head whipped toward her. “Absolutely not, Chariline. We had a deal. You will not go without me.”

  Chariline lowered her head so that Theo would not detect the mutinous set of her jaw.

  The warrior smiled when the girl emerged from the whitewashed house. She was alone, except for a large black dog. He curled his lip. He did not like dogs.

  Waiting until she turned into a long, narrow street, he scanned the way ahead. There were no alleys or intersecting streets for several blocks. His eyes turned upward to the flat roofline of the houses, two or three stories high in this part of the city. Spying what he wanted, he picked up his pace and passed her on the other side of the street.

  The climb was easy. A few good footholds and he pulled himself to the empty rooftop. A row of massive stone pots planted with short palm trees lined its edge. He knelt behind one, estimating his timing. Given the girth of the pot, he might be able to get the dog as well. That would be extremely satisfying. Heaving the bulky pot, he positioned it at the edge.

  The girl appeared, a few steps short of his position. A slender bee, with black and yellow stripes, buzzed around his face, annoying him. He waved it off and returned his gaze to the street. The bee returned, sounding angry. The warrior swatted it away as he placed his shoulder against the pot. One more moment and his problem would be squished on the sidewalk.

  He felt a burning sensation on the back of his neck and gasped. The benighted bee had stung him! Ignoring the pain, he started to shove, and then froze. That sound!

  His eyes widened as dozens of bees started to swarm around him. Too late, he saw the nest at the base of the pot he had moved.

  He teared up helplessly as sting piled upon sting, angry bees attacking the exposed skin of his neck and wrists. Grinding his teeth, he refused to give up. Success beckoned, so close he could smell it. Putting his whole weight behind the pot, he gave it one mighty shove.

  Ferox began to bark furiously, his nose pointed to the roof above them. Chariline slowed her gait to look up. She had the impression of a man crouching behind a massive stone pot before it came tumbling down.

  A jumble of thoughts crashed through her mind in half-formed sentences. He pushed the pot on purpose . . . I will be crushed under its . . . Ferox might be hurt . . . There is no time to . . .

  The pot crashed with an earth-shattering sound. It landed just ahead of her, missing her and Ferox by a handsbreadth. Chariline gasped as shards of stone, dirt, and palm fronds exploded in every direction. Amazingly, save for a few shallow scratches, she was unharmed.

  Ferox’s barking had caused her to slow down a beat, and the delay must have been enough to cause them to miss the heavy projectile. Or perhaps the man’s timing had been off by a blink.

  Above them, the man was waving his arms in an odd, frantic dance. He threw himself toward the edge, and she realized that he was climbing down.

  In pursuit!

  She began to run, Ferox at her side, growling like Cerberus, the three-headed hound who guarded the gates of the underworld. Chariline managed to put a good distance between them by the time the man’s feet reached street level. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him gaining. For a moment, the wind blew his dark hood down, and she saw his face.

  A Cushite face, marked by the scars of a warrior.

  Chariline was a fast runner. But the warrior was faster. With every flying step, he gained a bit of ground. Soon, he would catch up with them. She reached a cross street. A rider atop an immense stallion was ambling toward her, slowing a long line of litters and riders behind him.

  At the last moment, Chariline jumped in front of the horse, heaving Ferox’s leash to keep him at her side. The horse reared, hooves flying in the air. The rider swore, pulling on the reins, arms bulging as he tried to control his spooked beast. Everything turned into a slow motion of horrors. The warrior followed close behind, while the panicked horse threatened to crush Chariline and Ferox under its wide hooves.

  Chariline pressed harder, urging Ferox on. They managed to get to the other side of the road, barely missing being trampled.

  A quick glance over her shoulder showed the warrior stuck on the other side of the street, unable to cross.

  That delay gave Chariline enough time to turn a corner and arrive at the Palatine Hill, which was swarming with soldiers. She knew that even if the Cushite warrior managed to track her here, he would not dare to come near her with Nero’s guards stationed at every corner. She ran down the street that hugged the corner of the Circus Maximus. It was the road that cut into the heart of the Aventine, leading her to the side street where Priscilla and Aquila’s house was located.

 
Ferox panted heavily next to her. “I know just how you feel, boy,” she huffed, hand hugging a stitch at her side.

  Theo glared at her in silence, the vein in his neck pulsing rhythmically like a purple whip. If he had yelled, stomped his feet, hissed with anger, she would have felt better. Instead, he exhibited an iron control, his silent indictment worse than a tongue-lashing could ever be.

  “I apologize, Theo.”

  He leaned forward. “You gave your word.”

  She grimaced. “I did. I shouldn’t have gone without you.”

  They stood in the courtyard, where the scent of mint and roses mingled with the aroma of damp earth. The clouds had turned a nasty charcoal gray and sent a razor-cold downpour earlier, which had only ended a half hour before. Any moment, they might open up again and pelt them with more rain.

  Theo pressed his thumb over the tiny muscle that pulsed in the corner of one eye. “It’s a miracle you weren’t killed.”

  “I should have waited for you,” she acknowledged.

  He pulled an agitated hand through his hair, for once too distracted to cover the silver patch immediately. “At least you told me the truth.”

  She dropped her head. Thanks to her headstrong ways, she had almost gotten Ferox killed! She could not keep that to herself. “I wish I hadn’t broken my word to you, Theo.”

  “The trouble is, now I can’t trust anything you say.” He turned on his heels and left her standing in the damp courtyard.

  Watching him go, striding away from her as if he could not wait to flee from her presence, Chariline fought a rush of tears. She had spent long hours, when she had first stowed away on his ship, worrying about what it would feel like to be subjected to Theo’s disappointment and anger. Now she knew. And it was worse than anything she had imagined.