by Tessa Afshar
When Vitruvia had read about him in Gemina’s letters all those years ago, Natemahar had been a strong, vibrant man. Before this woman who had known him only as Gemina’s cherished husband, Natemahar felt too much the eunuch.
Vitruvia, sensing the awkward hesitation in him, took two long strides, covering the distance between them. She folded Natemahar in her arms and kissed his cheeks Roman style. “By Zeus’s beard, you are every bit as handsome as Gemina claimed,” she cried. “No wonder she ditched that ninny to marry you.”
Natemahar’s pinched lips relaxed. Trembled for a short moment, before softening into a grin. “He was a ninny.”
Chariline watched as Vitruvia pulled her father down on the bench next to her and plied him with warmth and questions until Natemahar forgot to be self-conscious. Before long, they were swapping stories about Gemina. Chariline sat, silent as a butterfly, absorbing every word, tucking every anecdote into a corner of her mind, to examine and relish later.
When Vitruvia’s drivers returned, Chariline set a table where they could eat together while they reminisced. An hour flew by. Then another. Wrapped up in Vitruvia’s and Natemahar’s vivid memories, Chariline sat in rapt attention as the food congealed on her plate.
Finally, Natemahar rose. “Forgive me, dear lady. Although I am in Rome, I still have duties to Cush. I must return to the inn to finish some letters before we set off for Meroë in the morning. I cannot tell you what a delight it has been to meet you, Vitruvia. Gemina is never far from my thoughts. But today, I felt almost as though I touched her hand.”
“I feel the same, Natemahar.” Vitruvia bent to retrieve another scroll from her bag. “A gift for you, if I may.”
Natemahar’s eyes grew wide. “For me?”
Chariline recognized the ink smudge at once. Her mother’s letter! The one that spoke of her father with such effusive tenderness. She watched him as he unfurled the letter and began to read.
His head fell forward, eyes glued to the page, fingertips gently running over the words. “Gemina,” he whispered. A single tear ran down his cheek and he swallowed convulsively. He bent down until his lips touched the name signed with flourish at the bottom of the page. “Gemina.”
CHAPTER 31
My heart is in anguish within me;
the terrors of death have fallen upon me.
Fear and trembling come upon me,
and horror overwhelms me.
PSALM 55:4-5
Theo rested against the prow, leaning into the wind as it cooled his face. He felt like a boiling stew, fear bubbling inside him alongside an effervescent excitement. And something more. Something that made him feel at once alive and terrified.
He turned to gaze at the cabin where his guests were staying. Father and daughter had never shared the same lodgings. He wondered how they felt about this new intimacy. Wondered if it was a welcome circumstance or an awkward one.
“Dinner is ready,” Sophocles cried, waving at Theo before knocking on the door of the cabin.
Incredible, Theo thought. The old sailor had retained the habit. As soon as he had clapped eyes on Chariline again, he had stopped cursing and begun knocking on doors.
Theo headed for the cabin to join his guests. There was barely enough room to fit all three. But he wanted this first meal to offer a measure of civilized comfort, a table and seats rather than a plate balanced on a lap.
“Sophocles has outdone himself,” Chariline said as he entered. “Chicken, Theo! He has made us chicken. And he has added fresh tarragon! It smells wonderful.”
Sophocles, who was lingering by the open door, turned an odd shade of red. Theo stared, unable to believe his eyes. He was actually blushing!
“We only left Puteoli this morning,” Sophocles said with an offhand shrug. “My stores are full. Easy to make good food when you have fresh supplies.” He tried to sound aloof, but as he turned to leave, Theo saw his smile flash, wide and pleased.
“It seems the way to get a decent, hot meal on this ship is to share a table with Chariline,” he said dryly.
She grinned. “Sophocles likes me.”
He sat on the stool facing her. “I think you have beguiled my cook.”
She rolled her eyes. “I compliment his cooking. I doubt he ever heard any praise from the rest of you.”
“Because he’s a bad cook!”
Chariline sniffed the chicken on her plate. “This smells delicious to me. And did you see the bread? Not a scorch mark on it. I think Sophocles has been practicing while the ship was docked.”
“Shall I bless the meal before it turns cold?” Natemahar asked.
“Please,” Theo said.
After Natemahar had finished praying, Theo turned to Chariline. “Did you ever think, when we were sailing to Puteoli, that one day soon you would be sitting in this cabin with your father at your side?”
She gave Natemahar a shy glance. “Not in my wildest dreams. Back then, I was still half convinced that Sesen was my father.”
Theo nodded. “I remember.” He frowned. “Why do you think Sesen reacted so strangely to you when you first met at the palace?”
Natemahar rubbed his chin. “I have wondered about that myself. Back in Cush, I was bewildered when Chariline first described his behavior. Now, knowing what he was plotting in that chamber, I suspect anything out of the ordinary would have alarmed him. He was taking his life in his hands, after all, planning such a conspiracy.
“Then, in walked Chariline. Servants are not supposed to go to the second floor, though of course, sometimes, it cannot be avoided. But something in Chariline’s manner must have caught his eye.”
Chariline toyed with a piece of chicken. “Then, why ask my age? Quiz me about my father’s name?”
“As soon as Sesen had a good look at you, he would have realized you were no ordinary Cushite. Your light skin, your amber eyes, your hair—everything about you gave away something of your history. You were different, and that made him suspicious.
“After you acknowledged that you were Blandinus’s granddaughter, he would have grown apprehensive. Why was the Roman official’s granddaughter acting as a servant? Had Blandinus sent you to spy on him?”
Chariline pushed her plate away. “He said it fits. What did he mean? Fits what?”
Theo was pleased when Natemahar pulled Chariline’s plate back in front of her. “Eat.”
She waved. “I am full, thank you.”
“Eat, or Sophocles will be hurt,” Theo said, eyes narrowed.
She had lost weight during her sickness, and her appetite had never seemed to return properly. She was not eating enough, and he had worried, over the past few weeks, that she might make herself sick again. At odd times during meals, he had found himself counting her mouthfuls and wondered if he was losing his mind.
His ploy worked and Chariline swallowed a mouthful. Natemahar waited for her to put another piece of chicken in her mouth before speaking again. That intentional delay made Theo smile. If the two of them banded together against her, she would not stand a chance.
“At the mention of your grandfather’s name,” Natemahar said, “Sesen would have remembered the old rumors. According to the stories that had circulated around the palace for years, Quintus Blandinus’s younger daughter had eloped with a Cushite. And there you were, the embodiment of the old gossip. Undeniably, a child of that union. No one knew for certain the identity of the man Gemina had eloped with. Many names had been suggested at one time or another, my own among them.”
Chariline’s brows rose. “You never mentioned that, back in Cush.”
“That is true. Another prevarication in the long line of my evasions. But Sesen would have heard that old rumor. The possibility that you were my daughter would have made him truly apprehensive, under the circumstances.”
“Because he works under you?”
“That, and because Sesen considers me an enemy. He always thought he should have my job. And now, a woman who might be my daughter had shown up in the
very chamber where he was having a clandestine meeting, planning the demise of the queen. You must have raised his hackles, my dear. Of course he wanted to know who you were. Who your father was. He had to know if you were a spy. Ascertain if his plot was in danger.”
Theo nodded. “That makes sense.”
Chariline flopped against the cushions. “And I jumped to all manner of conclusions.”
“Some of which were true,” Natemahar pointed out. “Sesen did know something about your birth.” He wiped his fingers with his napkin. “The whole time you were conducting your investigation, part of me was petrified that you might uncover the truth, and another part of me was proud of how clever and brave you were.”
Chariline grinned. “Were you proud when I assumed Sesen might be my father?”
Natemahar rolled his eyes. “In all truth, I wanted to rip his throat out. I couldn’t believe you thought that dolt could be your father. I found the very notion offensive.”
She gaped. “You were jealous!”
“Eat your chicken. And yes, I was. It might not have been so horrifying if you had chosen a more admirable man.”
“I must say, I am relieved not to be related to a killer. I told myself he had good reason for hating the Kandake. But I could not get past the murder part.”
Theo watched the banter between father and daughter with a faint smile. Every day, the awkwardness between them seemed to diminish, until there were moments when it was impossible to remember that they had been separated for twenty-four years by painful betrayals.
His throat turned dry as he remembered the image he could not banish from his mind. The image that had tormented him through sleepless hours. Natemahar, looking wounded and so alone, his voice a broken whisper, saying, I will always be less than other men . . . I will only bring you shame.
Theo had known, from the day he had heard Natemahar’s confession, that he would have to face his own fears, soon. Natemahar had lost seventeen years, wasted all the time he could have had with his beloved daughter, because he had believed himself to be less than other men.
He never gave Chariline a chance since he felt convinced that she would reject him. A rejection he believed he deserved.
Theo had realized, sitting in that chamber, watching Chariline fall to her knees and kiss the eunuch’s hands, all the while calling him Father, Father, Father, that the only way for him to have such complete acceptance was to open his heart to an equally perfect rejection.
He could not go on making the same mistake as Natemahar. Lose seventeen years of his life hiding his streaked hair and his secrets, burying his heart in the process.
When dinner came to an end, Theo gulped a breath and came to his feet. He felt his face pale. His stomach revolted. But he forced himself to go on. “Chariline, would you like to go out for some fresh air before you retire?”
She sprang to her feet. “That would be lovely.”
“If it’s all right with you, Natemahar?” Theo asked, politely.
Natemahar waved a hand. “Of course. It will give me time to prepare for bed.”
The night had set up its dark tent while they had been eating. Most of Theo’s men had rolled out their blankets on the deck and were preparing for sleep. Some were already snoring robustly. One was playing a soft note on his flute; a couple were engaged in a quiet game of dice, while Taharqa stood at the helm, his body bearing the weight of the steering oar as he leaned into the long wood.
The wind was blowing gently into the sail, carrying them at a decent speed. Theo guided Chariline toward the prow, which was thankfully unoccupied, and stood leaning into the oak railing. In the quiet, he gathered his thoughts.
“Do you know how the steering oars on a ship work?” he asked, his voice soft so that no one but Chariline could hear him.
She cast him a surprised glance. “No.”
“Two paddles at the stern of the ship project out into the sea, acting as rudders. They are buried underwater so that you rarely see them, except for their long handles. They are quite small, but along with the sail, they can set the trajectory of a ship. A steering oar can smash you against deadly rocks or bring you into safe harbor.”
Her full lips softened, making his heart beat harder. “Thank you for the lesson in seafaring. But I fear I cannot become a sailor. My heart is quite set on architecture.”
He wiped a hand down his face. “I was trying to set up an image.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said, instantly contrite. “Sometimes I forget you are a poet.”
“I was too long-winded and technical.” He cleared his throat. “All I meant to say is that there are hidden things in the soul, like a ship’s tiller. Things that can set the course of your future. Set you careening into rocks.
“I saw this with Natemahar, that day at the inn. His secret belief that he would bring you shame. That was the rudder of his life for so many years.”
She was looking at him earnestly, amber eyes glued to his face, lips parted. For a moment he forgot his speech. He could only think about what it would feel like to crush those lips under his. To plunder their soft secrets.
He took a deep breath and turned away, looked at the moon, at the stars that dotted the sky with bright abandon. Anything to distract himself from her ridiculous pull, until he wrenched his mind back to what he must reveal.
That cooled his blood quickly enough.
His hand fisted and he forced his eyes back on her face. “I realized that day that I am not very different from Natemahar. My body may not have been marred, but my soul has.”
Chariline wrapped her hand around his fist. “You can tell me anything, Theo.”
He tried to swallow and could not. He tried to nod, but his head refused to cooperate. “Remember I told you I was a foundling? That Galenos found me?” He wet dried lips. “He brought me home and raised me alongside his two children. He always treated me with kindness. But his wife, Celandine . . .” He shrugged. “She found me an offense. The fact that Galenos carried me home the day she had given birth to a healthy daughter—a foundling child whose parentage would forever remain obscure—seemed to her an insult. To Celandine, I remained, at best, a servant. Galenos, of course, could not adopt me while his wife barely tolerated me.
“I never knew who I was in that house. A slave? A son?”
He untangled his hand from Chariline’s hold and leaned his arms over the railing. Staring into the ocean, he said, “Ariadne became the only constant in my life. Her brother, Dionysius, was older. He had a brilliant mind for books and preferred study to the outdoors. Ariadne and I had the same interests. She always saw me as a brother. Her twin. We were the same age, and she had not known life without me.
“But in my heart, I never believed I belonged to that family. Even Galenos did not legally acknowledge me as a son until recent years. He had his reasons.” He shrugged. “Still, I remained the outsider. Ariadne might have seen me as a brother, but I did not see her as a sister.”
“You fell in love with her,” Chariline whispered.
“I did.”
He heard her intake of breath. “You still love her?” Her voice shook.
He turned to face her. “Not that way. It has taken me a long time to realize it. Watching her with my brother has made me see that Ariadne was right, all along. We are brother and sister. If not for the confusion of my childhood, I would have recognized it sooner. I certainly would have recovered from the pain of that rejection faster.
“What transpired soon after these events, however, almost crippled me. I cannot regret it entirely as it drove me into the arms of Yeshua. It forced me into a deeper faith than most, I think.”
He ran his hand over his lips and found them snow-cold under his touch. In spite of the warm air, his whole body shivered. “Ariadne found a letter from my mother.” He waved a hand. “Too long a story to go into now. Suffice it to say that because of that letter, we discovered who I was. It revealed my identity.
“My mother was a slave
in Rome. She and Servius, the younger son of her master, fell in love with each other. Servius chose to marry her. He came from a noble family, and his father, enraged by his decision, disowned him. That is how Servius and my mother ended up in Corinth. Galenos knew them since their properties bordered one another. He told me they were devoted to each other and became happier still when Justus was born.”
Theo fisted his hands again. “But their lives were shattered. According to the letter, a few years after Justus was born, my mother was raped.”
Chariline gasped.
Theo pushed through even though everything in him wanted to stop. To guard this most awful of secrets. “In her letter, she did not name the man. We will never discover his identity now. He disappeared after the attack, and my mother thought the worst was over. That she would heal from this awful violation in time. Then she realized she was pregnant.”
“Oh, Theo!”
She must know where this story was headed, he thought. He waited for her to take that tiny step backward, to move away from him. To put an extra layer of distance between them. She took a step. But it was toward him. Again, she wrapped her hand around his fist, opening it this time and holding his stiff fingers like an anchor.
She had not understood, he told himself. Had not grasped where this tale was headed.
He had to force himself to go on. “My mother prayed the child would belong to Servius. When I was born, she took one look at me and knew.”
“The silver streak,” she said.
Air huffed out of his lungs in a humorless laugh. “Those powers of observation at work again. Yes. The silver streak.” He ran his free hand through his hair. “He had it. The man who violated her. When she saw me, she knew whose babe she had carried.”
He blinked as Chariline took another half step toward him. He could smell the cinnamon-rose scent of her, feel the warmth of her hand still wrapped around his. Why did she not move away?