Jewel of the Nile

by Tessa Afshar

  “Chariline, for twenty-five years, I have served as a treasurer. I have had charge of gold and silver, of jewels and coins and ivory. Of the famous topaz mines of Cush. Of forges full of iron and rivers of textiles. For twenty-five years, my job has been to oversee the most precious treasures of Cush.” His eyes softened. Filled. “But it wasn’t until I laid eyes on you in Philip’s courtyard that I realized what treasure really was. The most enchanting little girl I had ever seen. And by some miracle, you were mine! My own jewel.

  “You have been my treasure for seventeen years, Chariline. The first name in my prayers, the last name in my intercessions. Other than Iesous, there is nothing in this world more precious to me.”

  Chariline spun around. “Then why? Why have you lied to me all this time?”

  CHAPTER 26

  It is not an enemy who taunts me—

  I could bear that.

  It is not my foes who so arrogantly insult me—

  I could have hidden from them.

  Instead, it is you—my equal,

  my companion and close friend.

  PSALM 55:12-13, NLT

  Natemahar dropped his gaze. “Chariline, you cannot understand how deeply your grandfather loathes me. Your mother was engaged to be married when we met. Not to just any man. But to the son of a Roman quaestor, with ties in Egypt. He had promised a promotion to your grandfather after their children married. Our elopement did not merely embarrass Quintus Blandinus. It prevented his opportunity for advancement.

  “He blames me for that. For the years of being stuck in Cush. And he blames me for your mother’s death. If I had not gotten her pregnant, she would still be alive.

  “If your grandfather had discovered that I even knew about you, he would have hidden you in a hole I could never find. He is a Roman citizen. I am not. I have no rights or standing in regard to you, not if Blandinus decides to set himself against me. And he certainly would. He would never give you up to me.

  “I was afraid to tell you. You were a child. A slip of the tongue to your aunt Blandina and we both know she would have been too afraid to hide it from her father. He would have ripped you from me.”

  Chariline thought of the way her grandfather had blocked any means of her discovering Natemahar’s identity, had wiped his very existence out of her life, and had to concede the point.

  “You could have taken me. Away from Caesarea. From Cush. Away from him. We could have had each other somewhere, hidden in some corner of the empire.”

  “That was my plan with your mother. And it did not work out well. It would be even worse with you. Think about it, Chariline. Your grandfather would pursue us to the ends of the earth. Not because he loves you. But because he hates me. What kind of life would that be for a little girl? Never settled, running from city to city. I could not get a proper job. We would live in poverty. In fear. Always looking over our shoulders. How could I do that to you?”

  She arched a brow. “So instead you left me with a woman who could hardly bear to touch my hand. Hardly say my name without wincing. You left me, Natemahar! Left me to a lonely life. You abandoned me. How is that better? I could have had my father!” She choked. “I could have had hugs and kisses and everything a little girl longs for. You could have cherished me.”

  Tears streaked down Natemahar’s cheeks. “I did cherish you, Chariline. With every bit of my heart.”

  “Three or four weeks out of the year? A pile of letters and notes? You think that made me feel cherished? You think that was a better life?”

  Natemahar took a wavering step toward her. “There was not a day I did not long for you, child. I ached from your absence for every hour of those seventeen years.”

  She took a step back. “Not enough to reveal the truth, apparently. You could have told me later, Natemahar. When I was older. When you knew you could trust me. Confide in me to keep our secret.”

  “I was wary of the Kandake. As long as your grandfather had an influential position in Cush, she would have disapproved of any connection between us. Your grandfather might be a minor official, but as the only permanent Roman authority in Cush, he has the ear of powerful people. He could interfere with Rome’s policy toward our nation. Our semi-independence hangs by a thread as it is. The queen would not allow the nation to suffer because of my personal feelings.”

  A vein pulsed in Natemahar’s forehead. “That was her objection to my marrying Gemina, and it would have been her objection to us living openly as father and daughter. She would never allow it. Not while Quintus Blandinus could foment trouble for Cush.”

  Chariline smiled, a small, bitter smile she could not hide. “I always knew to avoid her. You had taught me that much.”

  Natemahar nodded. “Chariline, you . . .” Without warning, he staggered. His knees folded and he dropped to the ground.

  “Natemahar!” she cried and rushed to him. For a moment she forgot his betrayal. Forgot his abandonment. Dropping to her knees, she put an arm around his shoulder. Theo, who had retreated to the kitchen to allow them privacy, ran to Natemahar and carefully hauled him to his feet.

  “I will call for a physician,” he said.

  “No need.” Natemahar wiped his brow with a thin square of cotton. “I sometimes suffer from these spells. What I need is a few hours of rest. I would like to return to my inn. I will be more comfortable there.”

  “Of course,” Theo said. “Taharqa and I will take you.”

  Chariline stared at him, appalled. She had never seen him this ill. “I am sorry,” she said, clutching her arms. She should have given him a chance to recover from his travels before pouncing on him.

  His eyes shimmered, drowning in moisture. “Child, I am the one who is sorry. The guilt is entirely mine, as is the contrition. You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “Come,” Theo said. “Sit by the fountain. Chariline, bring Natemahar a cup of sweet wine while I arrange for a litter.”

  Chariline obeyed Theo’s bidding, her heart in two great knots. One a gnarl of worry. The other a tangle of betrayal and hurt and anger. They sat side by side while she held the cup to Natemahar’s lips and wiped his brow with water from the little pool.

  There was a strange intimacy to the moment. Had they lived as father and daughter, they would have had other such experiences. In sickness, in weakness, in celebration, in the daily familiarity of life together.

  She wiped Natemahar’s perspiring neck. Wiped the trickle of wine from the corner of his lip. And it came to her in a blinding flash of painful realization: her fingers were touching her father.

  Theo insisted on sending for a physician when they arrived at Natemahar’s private chamber. Taharqa added some encouragement in Meroitic that Theo could not understand, and with a sigh, the treasurer gave in.

  “Would you like to pray?” Theo asked after Taharqa left to fetch the physician.

  “That would be a blessing,” Natemahar said in his soft voice. “But I have inconvenienced you enough. You must have better things to attend than wasting your time on a stranger.”

  “Nothing that won’t keep.” Theo knelt on one knee by Natemahar’s bed. “You are not exactly a stranger to me, Natemahar. Your fame precedes you. Even in the church at Corinth, I had heard of you. It took me a while to realize the friend Chariline spoke of so often was none other than the chief treasurer of Ethiopia, as the Greeks call your nation, and the man who came to faith on the road from Jerusalem to Gaza.”

  Natemahar gave a pale smile. “I was reading a scroll of the prophet Isaiah in my chariot and Philip ran alongside to ask if I understood what I was reading. I invited him to join me in my chariot and teach me the meaning of the Scripture. I thought he would refuse.”

  Theo frowned. “Why?”

  Natemahar looked away. “Because of what I am. In Jerusalem, I was not even allowed into the Temple, though I was a God fearer and had placed my faith in the Lord. The Pharisees looked down on me. The teachers of the Law avoided me. But Philip climbed into my chariot an
d settled next to me as if we were old friends.”

  “How did you become a God fearer?” Theo asked, curious as to how a man of Cush would have learned of the Hebrew God. Even Taharqa still worshiped the Egyptian deities, though over the years, he had gained a healthy respect for the Lord.

  “I owe that to the Kandake, I suppose.”

  “Your queen is a follower of the Lord?”

  A corner of Natemahar’s lip tipped up. “Not quite. But when she intercepted Gemina and me on our flight from Cush, she decided I needed the kind of punishment that would leave an indelible mark in my memory. She sent me off to her torture chamber.”

  Theo’s heart sank. “I am sorry, Natemahar.”

  “So was she, as it turned out. Her man did not have the skills the Kandake supposed. She had only intended to teach me a lesson. The queen wanted to ensure that I would never pursue Gemina again. She expected me to recover fully after being properly terrified. Except that her man went too far.

  “Later, my physician told me that the queen had been furious when she discovered the extent of the damage to my body. At the time, I was too sick to know anything but pain. I remember wishing myself dead through the long hours of endless torment.

  “To try and save my life, the Kandake sent for the best physician she could find, a Hebrew named Coniah. Coniah dragged my broken bones from the doors of death. But even his expertise could not restore me fully. When I rose from my bed of infirmity, I was as you see me.”

  A eunuch, he meant. He could not even say the word, Theo realized.

  “It took me several months to regain my health. Coniah would speak to me of the Lord as I convalesced. He was well versed in the Scriptures. By the time I recovered, I had walked away from the gods of Cush. Eventually, the Kandake gave me permission to go to Jerusalem and worship my God.

  “But I found myself—” he gave Theo a sidelong glance—“not quite welcomed. I purchased a copy of the scroll of Isaiah, hoping to learn in the isolation of my own heart. It was this scroll I was reading when Philip found me and began to teach me about the Messiah.”

  “Is it true you asked to be baptized before you had arrived at Gaza?”

  “Indeed. Why waste time? I have been trained to recognize treasure when I see it. Over two decades have passed since that day, and I still remember it as if it were this morning. The most glorious hour of my life.”

  For a moment, the hollow, haunted look on Natemahar’s face was replaced by a glow not of this earth. Theo stared in mute wonder. Natemahar’s faith seemed like a living fire, a burning power that warmed the room.

  “I always admired your story of faith, Natemahar,” he said. “The way you received the Lord, welcomed him so quickly. I never thought one day to meet you.”

  The treasurer dropped his gaze. “I am sorry to be a disappointment to you, young man.”

  Theo placed a hand on the treasurer’s shoulder. “On the contrary. I see a man who wanted to protect his daughter to the best of his ability.” Theo tried to make his voice level. “Believe me when I tell you, I wish I had a father like you.”

  It took Theo four hours to return from Natemahar’s inn. By then, Chariline was pacing the confines of Priscilla’s courtyard, wearing a groove in the old mosaics. “What took so long?” she gasped when Theo and Taharqa finally walked through the gates.

  “I called for a physician.” Theo rubbed his neck. “He will attend Natemahar until he regains his strength. As it is a recurring condition, the physician does not seem overly concerned.”

  Chariline expelled the breath she had not realized she was holding. She clutched her hair and dropped her chin to her chest. “I thought I had killed him.”

  “No. No. He is not strong, as you know. But he will recover.”

  Chariline sat abruptly on the damp floor next to a pot of rosemary. “Theo, I don’t know what to do. All I wanted was to find my father. And now that I have, I feel that my heart will break.”

  Theo lowered himself to the other side of the pot. Absently, he plucked a sprig, crushing the needlelike leaves between his palms, until the camphoraceous scent of them filled the air.

  “Remember what I told you?” he said. “Weeks ago, on the ship, I reminded you that the Lord is with you. Always. This is the season you need to remember that promise. Your always season. You are not alone as you walk through this wilderness.”

  “Natemahar abandoned me, Theo.”

  “But Yeshua will not.” Theo’s gaze slid away from her. “You need to go and see Natemahar.”

  Anxiety crawled across her chest, a centipede with a hundred legs poking at her. “And say what? That everything is well between us? It is not! That I forgive him? I do not!”

  “He does not want you to lie. That will not heal either of you.”

  “The last time I tried to tell the truth, he collapsed!”

  “Yes, I know. But he had been traveling for weeks. He was overtired and anxious. For years, he has hidden this secret, held it from you, borne the weight of it, and finally, it has come to light. That is enough to make anyone collapse. Now you need to finish what you began.”

  “What? Finish screaming at him?”

  “If you need to. Just as importantly, finish listening to him.”

  “There is nothing he can ever say that will excuse what he has done.”

  “Perhaps not. But it might explain a few things. Things you need to know. I saw the way you ran to him when he crumpled. Saw the look of terror in your eyes. Saw the way you cared for him. In the midst of your anger and rage, you still offered him tenderness. I know you have lost all trust in Natemahar. But love can bridge your way back to him.”

  His voice dropped low until she had to strain to hear him. “There is many a son and daughter who has never been loved by a father the way Natemahar loves you.”

  Chariline wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to hold herself together, trying to keep her bones from shattering with misery.

  Theo pried her hand away from her side and held it. She stared at his fingers, long and tapered and strong, swallowing up her own in their clasp. Warmth climbed from his palms, creeping into her wrist, her arm, her neck until her face grew as hot as one of Lollia’s cooking pots.

  “Listen,” Theo said, and Chariline ripped her gaze away from his hands, training her eyes on him. “You have already lost twenty-four years. Twenty-four years of ordinary moments. Of belonging and being known. Don’t waste another twenty-four years on anger.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Instead of your shame

  you will receive a double portion,

  and instead of disgrace

  you will rejoice in your inheritance.

  And so you will inherit a double portion in your land,

  and everlasting joy will be yours.

  ISAIAH 61:7, NIV

  The next afternoon, Chariline accompanied Theo to Natemahar’s inn. She found him sitting at a narrow desk, writing official documents in a pool of sunlight. He dropped his treasurer’s seal when she followed Theo into the chamber.

  “Chariline.” Natemahar rose slowly. “I . . . I did not expect you would ever want to see me again.”

  “Half of me doesn’t,” she said honestly. “The other half won.”

  “I am grateful for that half. Though, I understand the other.”

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Better, thank you.” He indicated a stool to her and the bed to Theo, and they all sat on the edges of their respective seats. An awkward silence filled the room.

  Natemahar cleared his throat. “May I order some food for you? Spiced wine, perhaps? The inn provides decent fare.”

  “Thank you, no. I helped Lollia cook today and for some reason, now I feel quite full.”

  “You cooked?” Natemahar’s brows rose. He was well aware that her only acquaintance with a kitchen came from helping to haul food to the table.

  “I helped.”

  “Chariline was the official taster, like the prophet Nehe
miah for the king of Persia,” Theo provided. “She sampled everything before it went into the pot.”

  “Very amusing,” Chariline said, oddly irritated by Theo’s jest. “In fact, I peeled, chopped, washed, fetched, stirred. And, yes, perhaps I tasted a little.” She shrugged. “Aunt Blandina and Grandmother do not like me anywhere near the kitchen. But Lollia and Priscilla have been teaching me a few things.”

  At the mention of Aunt Blandina, another awkward silence filled the room.

  “Child, you cannot know how sorry I am,” Natemahar burst out. “How deeply sorry I am for the pain I have caused you. I never realized your life was so difficult with Blandina. She always seemed kind to me. Insipid. Petrified of her father. But kind. I had no idea she was cold and distant.”

  “I never told you. Not everything. What would have been the point? You could have done nothing about it. Or, so I thought.” Chariline inhaled. “Aunt Blandina is kind, in her own way. Then again, I took her sister from her. My birth was responsible for her death. I cannot blame her for the grudge she holds against me.”

  Natemahar’s jaw protruded. “I am in no position to judge,” he said through grinding teeth.

  “No.”

  Unable to remain seated, she scrambled to her feet. “Natemahar, you could at least have told me the truth when I discovered my father was alive! Why put me through that ridiculous farce? Why read Vitruvia’s letters and say nothing? Touch my mother’s drawings and not admit who she was? Why let me chase after Sesen?”

  Natemahar wiped a hand over his mouth. She saw that the fingers were trembling and had to contend with a fresh wave of writhing anxiety.

  “What could I have told you, child?” Natemahar said. “That after all your years of longing, after what seemed like a miraculous discovery, this is what you have for a father?” He pressed a hand to his chest. “This broken half man? This fragile shell that is inferior to every normal man?”