Jewel of the Nile

by Tessa Afshar

  Natemahar ran a hand over his head. “The queen told me she had heard a rumor someone had hired an assassin to kill you. She gave me permission to go to Caesarea to ensure your safety.”

  Chariline nearly fell off the bench. “The queen? She knows who I am?”

  “She knows you are Quintus Blandinus’s granddaughter. And she knows we are close.”

  “No!”

  “So it seems.”

  “When did you discover this?”

  “When she called me into her throne room and informed me, right before revealing your life was in danger. Until then, I thought I had managed to keep you well out of her way.

  “Of course, I rushed to Caesarea as fast as I could after her warning. When I arrived, Philip told me you had disappeared in the middle of the night. That somehow you had found passage on a ship and were on your way to Rome.

  “His daughters had received your first letter by then and told me you intended to stay at the home of Priscilla and Aquila, leather workers in the Aventine. Thinking of you traveling alone, I imagined all manner of nightmarish horrors, knowing a murderer was on your trail.”

  “Oh, Natemahar!”

  He shook his head. “I followed you to Rome on the fastest vessel I could find in Caesarea’s harbor. Only arrived this morning. Dropped off my belongings at an inn not an hour past and rushed over to find you. To warn you.”

  Theo, who had been observing their conversation quietly, stepped forward. “Forgive me for interrupting.”

  Chariline raised her hand in introduction. “Allow me to present Theodotus of Corinth,” she said. “Everyone calls him Theo. He is . . . my friend. I owe him my life.”

  “A life that still seems to be in danger,” Theo said. “Natemahar, did the queen know who had hired an assassin to kill Chariline?”

  “She did not. But her sources of information are usually impeccable.” He placed his cup on the floor, carefully. “Has something happened?”

  Chariline cleared her throat. “I’ve had a little adventure.”

  She told him of the assault at Puteoli, followed by the incident of the stone pot. “He is clearly not trying to shoot me with an arrow or run me through with a sword. I think he wants to make it look like an accident. But he has been unsuccessful every time.”

  “Praise God!” Natemahar bowed his head, as though the weight proved too much. “The Lord’s hand has preserved you.”

  Chariline nodded vigorously. “That he has. But Natemahar! Who in Cush would want to kill me?”

  He shook his head. “I confess, I am mystified.”

  Theo crossed his arms. “Chariline believes it is the queen. Because she is coming too close to finding her father.”

  Natemahar’s brows furrowed. “That cannot be. She is the one who sent me to help you.”

  “This matter grows more baffling by the hour.” Chariline threw her hands in the air. “I forgot to tell you the most important news. I have found Vitruvia.”

  The spoon Natemahar had just picked up clattered on his plate. “You’ve spoken to her?”

  “I have! Her husband, too. You will have to meet them, Natemahar. They loved my mother. And you won’t believe this. But they have built one of her designs.”

  “Built it?”

  “Yes. They live in a domus designed by my mother. I showed you the drawing, in fact. The one with the triple arches. You remember?”

  “I think so. And . . . your father?”

  “Vitruvia does not remember his name.” Chariline considered telling him about Sesen. But taking one look at Natemahar’s ashen visage changed her mind.

  “You need to rest, Natemahar,” she said. “I will ask Priscilla’s permission to take you to my room. I am certain she will not mind.”

  Natemahar reached for her hand. “First, we need to speak, Chariline. I have something important to tell you.”

  “Of course we do. Right after you have had a little sleep. I don’t mean to be rude, Natemahar. But you look terrible.”

  “I can rest after we have spoken. I have a room at an inn not far from here.” He stood and wavered on unsteady legs. Theo leapt to support him before he collapsed.

  Chariline stiffened with alarm. “To bed with you, old man. Right away.” She kissed the top of his head and, ignoring his frustrated hiss, ran to the workshop to speak to Priscilla. In a few short moments, she had the chief treasurer of Cush lying in her narrow bed, where she left him with a promise to return for a long conversation after he had had a few hours of sleep.

  Her feet had barely touched the landing when there was another knock on the door.

  Theo strode toward the entrance, muttering under his breath, “If it’s another Cushite, I will greet him first.”

  A moment later, Theo returned to the courtyard, followed by Vitruvia’s soft-spoken servant. He bowed to Chariline. “My lady sends me with her compliments. She bids you return to her house immediately. She has found the letters you were seeking.”

  CHAPTER 25

  The topaz of Cush cannot compare with it.

  JOB 28:19, NIV

  Theo dropped Chariline off at Vitruvia and Galerius’s home before heading on to the palace. The official there had asked him to be present when the full shipment was delivered from the warehouse later that morning. Theo promised to return by lunchtime to collect her in another covered carriage.

  Chariline was shown into Galerius’s tablinum, where her host and hostess sat before the expansive marble table with a small stack of scrolls piled in front of them. Vitruvia had not bothered with the blonde wig today. Her own hair, dark brown and shot through with silver, had been arranged in a matronly pile on top of her head, leaving wisps that fell into her eyes.

  She rose to welcome Chariline, pushing silky strands of hair out of her eyes with an impatient hand. Galerius took one look at his wife and made an excuse to leave the women alone.

  Grateful for this private time with Vitruvia, Chariline stared at the treasure trove of letters Vitruvia had saved for twenty-five years. Dangling from each was a small leather tag marked with the date Vitruvia had received the letter.

  “I had hidden them amongst the books I inherited from my grandfather,” Vitruvia explained. “That is why I could not find them. My grandfather left enough books to pave the streets of Rome with.”

  “You have so many letters!” Chariline said in surprise. She only possessed four of Vitruvia’s messages to her mother. Her grandfather must have found some of the letters her mother had not hid as effectively. He would have destroyed those, no doubt.

  “I have saved every one of Gemina’s letters through the years.” Vitruvia sorted through the pile on the table. “I am sorry, Chariline, but I have not found the letter that mentions your father’s name, yet. I confess, every time I unfurl one, I get caught up in it and can’t put it away. It is taking me far too long.”

  Chariline smiled. “I am certain I know the name it will reveal, in any case. Take the time you need with them.”

  Vitruvia pulled out a short scroll and held it up with excitement. “This is the country villa she designed for me the year we met.” Chariline and Vitruvia pored over the sketch, younger and less sophisticated than the domus, yet already bearing the hallmarks of significant talent.

  “She was only nineteen when she drew this,” Vitruvia explained. “I had sent her the first two books in my grandfather’s collection, and she designed this villa for me in thanks.”

  Chariline smiled shyly. “I own seven of your grandfather’s books. I have been studying them for years.”

  Vitruvia straightened so fast, a couple of the scrolls dropped to the floor. “You have been studying architecture?”

  Chariline nodded.

  “Do you have any designs?”

  “A few.” She reached for the cloth bag she had brought. “I forgot to give you this when we came for supper. A small gift.” She handed the scroll to Vitruvia.

  Vitruvia drew the scroll out of its fabric sheath and laid it out befo
re her. Her eyes widened. She splayed the papyrus over the table, using a heavy seal to anchor it on one side and a marble bust of Claudius on the other. For long moments, she studied the design, questioning Chariline’s choice of materials and calculations on load.

  “By Jove,” she murmured. “By Jove!” Her head snapped up and she stared at Chariline openmouthed. “My grandfather could not have designed anything better.”

  Chariline laughed and waved a dismissive hand.

  “Chariline, I do not exaggerate. This shows promise. More. It shows brilliance. My dear!” Vitruvia shook her head. “Do you have more?”

  “Not on me.”

  “I want to see everything. Every sketch. Every line. Every architectural design.”

  Chariline smiled all the way to her toes. “You shall have them.”

  “Your mother would have been proud of you. Proud that you have worked at your talent, trained in it. If I had the funds to buy a place in the country, I would build that villa today.” She tapped her finger on the papyrus for emphasis. “Lacking that, I will do everything in my power to find someone who can.” She grinned. “We won’t tell them you are a woman. Not right away. After they have dug the foundations, perhaps.”

  Chariline raised a skeptical brow. “No one will want plans that come without the architect himself. They will expect me to oversee the project in person. And I cannot hide my gender, Vitruvia. It goes where I go.”

  Her hostess laughed. “Your mother and I had the same trouble.”

  “Have you ever been hired to build one of your designs?”

  Vitruvia nodded. “A few. Not as many as I would have liked. My name helped to open doors. I am the only scion of Vitruvius’s line still engaged in architecture. My age also helps. And Galerius, of course, is a great support. People think a married woman is somehow more capable. As though Galerius would oversee me and keep me from making engineering mistakes. The poor dear can hardly read a map, let alone design a house.” She shrugged. “But it matters little. It is enough that he is by my side.”

  Chariline sighed. “I am a woman. I am young. I am unmarried. And I do not bear the name of Vitruvius. It does not sound very promising.”

  “You can’t give up before you start!” Vitruvia shoved a clump of wispy hair out of her eyes. “Besides. You may not be a Vitruvius. But you have one at your back.”

  She took a step away from the table, and her slipper caught one of the scrolls that had landed on the floor earlier. She bent to retrieve it and gave a strangled squeal as she placed it back on the table.

  “I think this is the one!” She pointed to an ink stain on the scroll. “I remember that stain. Your mother had written this in haste and left this smudge. So unlike her. She was usually impeccable. Which is why it caught my attention.”

  She unrolled the papyrus. “Let me see.” She hummed in a singsong voice as she perused the letter. “My heart overflows with happiness. When I am near him, I feel like I have finally arrived home. We belong to each other, Vitruvia. He is witty . . . intelligent, handsome . . .” Vitruvia skipped over a few lines. “Unusual kindness . . . encouraging . . . Aha! Here we are.”

  Chariline leaned forward, her eyes sparkling.

  “His name is . . . Natemahar!”

  Chariline jerked back as if slapped.

  “What?” Her voice emerged high, sharp, unrecognizable to her own ears. “What did you say?”

  Vitruvia looked up and froze at the expression on Chariline’s face. “Is something wrong?”

  Chariline tried to lick dry lips. “I could not have heard right. What did you say his name was?”

  Vitruvia returned her attention to Gemina’s letter and began to read. “His name is Natemahar. The queen is grooming him to become a treasurer. And he is the man I will always love.”

  “Natemahar?” Chariline rose on shaky legs. “Natemahar? But that’s . . . that’s impossible. Natemahar is a eunuch! He can’t marry or have children.”

  Vitruvia’s eyebrows rose. “Was he born a eunuch?”

  “Well, no.”

  “How old was he when he became one?”

  “Young. He was young.”

  “How young? Ten? Twelve? Twenty-one?”

  “I . . . I never asked.” She had always assumed that he had been a boy when it had happened, as was the common practice in such cases. But she realized now that he had never said so. It was not precisely a subject of conversation between them. Natemahar had alluded to it once, in vague terms, when he had referred to his ill health. It was a sensitive topic, she knew, and she made a point never to bring it up.

  She lifted her hand to her mouth. If Natemahar had become a eunuch later than she had assumed, he could be her father.

  Shock radiated through her, like a lightning strike, shaking her to the marrow. Her mind cycled through a dozen emotions with incomprehensible speed, barely registering each, confusion, anguish, anger flowing through her in an escalating whirlwind that left her gasping for breath.

  For seventeen years he had lied to her. Called himself friend. Allowed her to believe that her father was dead.

  He had even promised to help Chariline find the man. Find him!

  What a farce.

  With sudden clarity, she remembered Natemahar’s face when she had first showed her mother’s drawings to him. Remembered the way he had traced the drawings with such tenderness. Chariline had thought him moved by how closely they resembled her own style. Now she knew better. He was remembering his wife! The wife he had not once spoken of in all these years.

  He was a sham. A liar. A betrayer.

  His betrayal went far deeper than her grandfather’s deception. At least Grandfather had never pretended to love her.

  “Chariline, who is Natemahar?” Vitruvia asked.

  “A snake,” Chariline hissed. “A lying, deceiving, false pretender.”

  “I take it you don’t like him very much.”

  “Oh, I love him. And I am going to kill him.”

  Theo stretched his legs as far as the cramped confines of the carriage allowed. “You need to allow him to explain, Chariline. From everything you have told me about him, Natemahar has always cared for you.”

  Chariline turned on him. “Obviously, it was all a lie.”

  “Perhaps,” Theo said calmly. “Or perhaps he truly loves you.” He shifted closer to her until she felt pegged by his gaze. “The man I saw, gray with worry, exhausted in his attempt to find and protect you, was not pretending to love you. Natemahar might have a reason for thinking you were better off not knowing he was your father.”

  Chariline crossed her arms over her chest. Her back felt so stiff, it ached. “Don’t try to defend him, Theo.”

  “Why would I defend him? I don’t know the man. I am trying to protect you.”

  “It’s a little late for that,” she snapped.

  “I don’t deny you are hurt. But you could add to that hurt if you simply kick the man out of your life in anger. You need to give him the opportunity to explain. Natemahar must have believed he had good cause to lie to you.”

  Chariline sat very still, feeling like a volcano before it exploded. A part of her wanted nothing more than to march into the chamber where Natemahar was sleeping and start throwing bitter accusations. Or furniture. Whichever came more handy.

  Another part of her didn’t want to disturb his sleep. He had looked so fragile. She loathed to upset him.

  Chariline vented a bitter laugh. How could she still care? Apparently, seventeen years of affection could not simply be wiped out in one hour. Even now, knowing what he had done, she felt like she needed to shield that lying snake who had fathered her.

  When they arrived at the house, Chariline jumped down from the carriage and strode inside, intending to march upstairs in search of Natemahar. She skidded to a halt in the courtyard.

  The object of her internal torment was sitting on the bench, clutching the note she had written him before leaving for Vitruvia’s house. She had penned the sho
rt missive with a light heart, reassuring him she would return quickly. Return with her father’s name.

  Natemahar shot to his feet and stared at her face. The dark eyes looked tortured, bloodshot, and unblinking. “I tried to tell you before you left.”

  Chariline hardened her heart against the plea in his voice.

  “Have you always known?” she snapped. “Since my birth?”

  “No! No, Chariline. I was never allowed to receive any letters from Gemina after we were forced to part. No one told me about your existence. It wasn’t until that day I met you in Philip’s house, when you were seven, that I realized who you were.”

  Chariline went over the memory of that first meeting. Regurgitated every phrase, every nuance of Natemahar’s reaction. Replayed his shock when he heard her mother’s name, the stumbling step he took when he discovered who her grandfather was.

  She had never suspected the astonishment on his face that day. She had assumed it to be the natural surprise of finding a relative of Quintus Blandinus in Philip’s house.

  Now she knew better.

  “Let us calculate the mathematics of this relationship, shall we? Leave aside emotion and stick to the brutal testimony of numbers. You discovered I was your daughter when I was seven. And now, I am twenty-four.” She pretended to count on her fingers. “Seventeen years. You had seventeen years of opportunities. Six thousand two hundred and five days, not counting leap years, when you could have told me the truth. Written it in a letter. Sent a short note:

  “Chariline, I am your father.

  “In a few short moments, you could have set to right the record of years.”

  Her throat ached as she pushed down a rising wail. “You could not bring yourself to acknowledge me, is that it? To recognize me before others?” Her voice wavered. “Were you so ashamed of me that you could not even tell me I was your daughter?”

  Natemahar took a staggering step toward her. “No, Chariline! You misunderstand.” He shook his head, looking dazed, as though unable to think of words.