In truth, she was glad, very glad, for Julian’s presence. Though she was not interested in giving her heart to another man, she had decided Julian could be a good friend. She admired his strength and could learn from it.
Her anger and desperation built as she stalked down the street. She had not seen Alexander in more than a week, and the separation was like a spreading infection.
They passed the housing district on their right, with its flat-topped roofs empty of women performing their household duties for the afternoon. On the left, the market street’s taverns and shops had lowered their flaps.
They reached the palace steps and Cassia did not slow in her ascent, not even as she remembered being thrown down them the last time she was there. They crossed the portico, into the front passageway. Only then did Cassia consider that perhaps she would not get far enough to reach the king. She glanced back to Julian, but his eyes were unfocused and his lips moved silently. Did he pray to his gods as Malik had instructed? The thought unnerved her. But perhaps his prayers were working, for they continued unaccosted.
Their good fortune did not hold. At the edge of the palace’s lush garden courtyard, several male slaves appeared, their bare chests rippling with muscles and biceps that held their arms nearly aloft. Cassia slowed. “I am the mother of the prince, Alexander. I wish to see the king.”
Beyond the slaves, the courtyard was an oasis in the desert, a large square of greenery, tumbling over white marble benches and paving stones. In the center, a huge fountain sculpture of a goddess sent water crashing to the pool beneath it.
The slaves said nothing, but Cassia had already spotted the king, redolent in the center of the courtyard, on a chaise beside the fountain. Two women stood on either side of him, fanning him with large woven fronds, and a child-slave skimmed flies from the squared pool.
“King Rabbel!”
He opened one eye and turned his head toward her.
“It is Cassia, Alexander’s mother. I must speak with you!”
He pulled himself to a sitting position and studied her a moment, then waved her over. She approached, sensing the slaves held Julian at the entrance to the courtyard.
Then I shall do this alone.
She drew close to the fountain, and its circular wall of inlaid red-and-black tiles seemed like a series of hostile eyes, watching each step she took.
“I thought you had left Petra.” The king pursed his lips and looked her up and down.
“I could not leave my son, King. Surely you understand that.”
Rabbel smiled and leaned back in his chair. “I do not pretend to understand mothers, let alone foreign ones.”
Cassia tightened her muscles to control her fury, fearing she might attack Rabbel. “King, a boy needs his mother. I am asking you to allow us to remain together.”
“You want to live in the palace, do you?” Again, his tone was amused.
“I care not where I live, as long as it is with my son!” She turned cold eyes on him. “I will live anywhere you say, Rabbel. And I will bring Alexander to you as often as you wish. Only let me remain with my son!”
Rabbel pulled a grape from the nearby plate and placed it in his mouth. “He has been given to Bethea. She can mother him.” He shrugged. “Limp little thing that she is, it would do her good.”
She straightened. “And when your son, Aretas, was parted from you, did you content yourself with the thought there would be others to take your place in his life?”
The king’s face darkened, and warmth rose through her neck and face. She dropped to the marble floor beside his feet and placed her hands and forehead on his ankles. “I will do whatever you ask of me.” She knew well what she offered, for she had seen his look of interest. Could Julian hear from the courtyard’s edge? He would know what kind of woman she was.
Rabbel waved away the two attendant slaves, leaving them alone. She grew cold and pulled her hands from his body. Looking up from her knees, she met his eyes and saw he considered her request. He would let her stay in the palace, perhaps, if she made herself available. The thought both sickened and strengthened her.
There was no cost too high to protect Alexander.
But the king’s attention shifted from her, toward the entrance to the courtyard, and without turning Cassia sensed a dark and heavy presence, as though a cold wind had tunneled into the palace and wrapped them all in icy tendrils.
“Isn’t this a lovely sight.” The voice, low and threatening, moved across the courtyard.
Cassia stood and turned to face the queen. The woman’s pale skin stood in contrast with the black hair that framed her face. Her thin red lips were a tight slash.
Behind her, Cassia caught a strange glance of Julian, again with his eyes closed, and his hands raised to waist high and palms outward, as though he would push away the dark threat.
The queen swept toward them, her dark robes billowing. “Did I not instruct you to leave the city?” She turned to her husband. “Rabbel, this woman is a danger to the future of your kingdom. And she has disobeyed a royal command. She should be executed at once.” Hagiru snapped a finger and two slaves moved toward Cassia.
Rabbel held up a hand. “Peace, wife. She means no harm.”
Hagiru halted in her angry march, close enough for Cassia to see her flaring nostrils and clenched teeth. Her slaves stopped behind her. “She does not understand that Alexander belongs to Petra. She would have him scrabble in the dirt with her, a filthy peasant.”
Cassia lifted her chin to speak, but Rabbel cut her off. “She is a mother who misses her son.” He stood to move behind Cassia. “Have some pity.”
Hagiru studied Rabbel for a moment. “Very well.” She gave a tight shrug of one shoulder. “We shall not execute her. But she must leave the city!”
Cassia waited for Rabbel’s disagreement, but instead she felt the force of Hagiru’s control reach past her and grab at the king’s will-power. It shook her, this nearly tangible hold the queen seemed to have on Rabbel.
He sighed. “Perhaps that would be best.”
Cassia’s heart crashed to the ground.
Hagiru’s triumphant eyes shifted to Cassia. She flicked her head and her two slaves approached.
Cassia twisted from them. “I can go myself.”
She tried to push past the cold figure of Hagiru, but the queen shifted to stand in her way, then leaned forward to whisper into her ear. “Careful. Not everything I do is known by the king.”
Cassia sidestepped the woman and walked to where Julian had remained through the encounter.
“Come.” She grabbed his still-raised arm. “Your prayers have done nothing here.”
EIGHTEEN
JULIAN ALLOWED CASSIA TO PULL HIM FROM THE COURTYARD, but he retreated without turning his back on the queen. Cassia did not see the pure hatred that poured into him from Hagiru. He and the queen locked gazes for only a moment, but it was long enough to realize she saw him as an adversary.
Cassia was wrong. His prayers had been effective here, far more than she could understand.
The dark presence that had rushed into the palace on the heels of the queen seemed to wash over him like a foul clot of mud. His spirit became at once alert to a clawing desperation to destroy, destroy, destroy.
He had begun to pray, knowing no other weapon with which to fight the presence.
Father, shield me from the flaming arrows of the evil one.
The evil did not retreat, but he felt it checked, as though it waited for him to weaken.
Escaping the courtyard changed nothing. The palace was full of the darkness.
He turned at last in the front hall, ready to whisk Cassia down to the sunbaked street. She was gone.
Fear sparked along his veins.
Senses unnaturally heightened, he heard the scrape of sandal on stone at the end of the hall. He caught sight of a flutter of white fabric before it vanished around a corner.
He called a hushed command after her. “Cassia, stop!”
Clearly she was oblivious to the danger, a threat more deadly than simply an angry queen. Julian felt a surge of protective fear. Where are you, Cassia? He ran for the end of the hall.
She had made it clear she did not want him, but he would not leave her to the destructive power that surrounded this place.
Around the corner, he skidded to a stop. They were on the west side of the palace, where a large courtyard was bordered by a range of stables on one side and the shade of trellised vines hung over the other. The Temple of al-‘Uzza towered alongside, and Cassia knelt in the center of a small, sandy enclosure with a waist-high stone wall.
She knelt beside Alexander.
A woman stood nearby. Long dark hair and an uncertain demeanor. She chewed her lip as though deciding whether or not to raise an alarm.
Julian felt the suffocating pressure grow again, a surging call to stand and protect mother and son in this place for a few moments. It was not simply his affection for Cassia. It was like a holy calling. He held back, raised his palms to the two, and lifted silent prayer.
Behind his prayer, his thoughts tumbled like water over rocks. What is happening to me?
Again he felt his senses grow impossibly acute. He could hear the talk of palace slaves somewhere inside, feel the quality of light shift as the sun moved, smell the burnt remains of a sacrifice.
He did not take his eyes from Cassia. She slipped her head covering down behind her head and embraced the boy, burying her face in his neck. Alexander patted her back, like one older than his years.
They spoke in whispers, and Cassia smiled, a wide, toothy smile. He had never seen her happy.
All the while, arms upraised, he continued to pray, to plead with the Father to keep all enemies away, to protect Cassia, to watch over Alexander. And he could feel the darkness. He had the strange sensation that he hovered over the two, arms outstretched like mighty wings, taking the brunt of the onslaught of evil, protecting them somehow, in some way far beyond his own ability.
He began to tire—and the presence was there, beating against him, waiting, waiting for its chance.
The woman with Alexander stared at him through eyes like pitch, and he sensed she was held in place against her will.
“Cassia,” he finally whispered, drawing her attention. “It is time.”
She frowned and shook her head. Alexander looked over to him and brightened. The boy waved a greeting, and Julian could read his name on the boy’s lips.
Julian slipped into the sandy enclosure, close enough to speak to Cassia, still trying to deflect the evil. “We must leave, Cassia.”
She glanced up at the woman, who seemed to be Alexander’s caretaker. Was this the wife of Aretas Cassia had told him about? She seemed to have suddenly awakened. Had he been the one to keep her from acting? She tugged at her hair. “I will scream if you try to take him.”
Julian felt himself slipping. He put his hands on Cassia’s shoulders, where she still knelt in the sand before the beautiful boy. “Come.” He bent to whisper in her ear. “We will return. Remember the plan. It is dangerous to stay.”
She shook off his hands. “I only want to be with my son.”
He was tired. So tired. But he could not let go yet. She was in danger. “Cassia! We are leaving now.”
Her ramrod backbone collapsed, and she gathered Alexander into her arms once again.
“Be strong, my son.” She pressed him against her. “Do not let them hurt you.” She rocked back on her heels and placed her hands on his cheeks. “How can I make you understand?” Her tears were flowing now, but Julian’s concern for their safety grew.
She looked up at him. “I don’t want to frighten him.” Then in a whisper to Alexander, “If they are hurting you, you must run. Even if you don’t know where I am. Do you understand?”
The boy’s eyes were round and luminous. He nodded, lips pressed together.
Cassia looked to the woman, still held at a distance. “Take care of him.”
The dark presence increased around them. Julian had weakened, and now it was too late. He was too exhausted to spread strong wings over them again. He reached under Cassia’s arm and pulled her to standing, then toward himself. She leaned down for a last kiss on Alexander’s cheek, then let Julian take her from the enclosure.
He did not release her until they were on the street, but then he broke away. He labored for breath, felt a bitter nausea reaching up into his throat.
Cassia walked as one dead, seeing nothing of his exhaustion. Had she even felt the evil?
They walked in silence for some minutes, but then Cassia made a tiny sound, the whimper of a bird caught in a trap, and she seemed to crumple before his gaze. He caught her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She buried her face in his chest and wept.
The palace encounter had so shaken him that he felt he might weep as well. The force of oppression that had been so tangible, the sense of power flowing through him—power to understand, to protect, to fight—and now this small woman in his arms, a woman who had burned through his resistance in only a few short weeks.
“There is something terrible in that palace, Julian.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “I felt it pounding through me like . . . like a river of evil.”
He stroked her hair. “There is much you need to understand, Cassia. A battle is being waged here in Petra, and I fear your Alexander is at the heart of it.”
She raised her face to him, still in his arms. “You and Malik, you seem to understand. Do you know how to fight this battle?”
Julian looked back toward the palace. Did he? He had never experienced anything like the confrontation he had just encountered. And though he had nothing to show for his effort in the palace, no sculpture created, no audience impressed, he sensed his work there had been more important than anything he had ever accomplished.
He had come to Petra to remain hidden and to remain apart.
He laid his hand on Cassia’s cheek. He had failed.
NINETEEN
CASSIA HAD THOUGHT SHE COULD NOT CONTINUE TO WAKE and sleep, work and eat, after once more leaving Alexander in the palace. But somehow the sun rose and set each day as it always had, and she rose with it, spent her days at the tombs and her evenings with Zeta and Talya. They had a small plot of land near the wheat fields on the northern side of the city where they grew herbs. Cassia willingly shared some of her secrets, and the two women swore the plants doubled in growth each time Cassia touched them.
But her heart was in none of it, not the tomb work nor the herbs, not even the evenings when Malik and Julian came to visit with the women. Sometimes Julian asked Cassia to tell him more about Alexander, and the stories she told made her feel connected to her son still, as if she had given him a thousand kisses and tucked him into bed in the next room.
Often Julian and Malik talked with Zeta and Talya about their One God. The talk was odd to her, as Malik and the women were Nabataean and Julian was Roman, and they seemed to want to include her, a Syrian. “God of all,” Malik would tell her. She did not want to contradict him, but their god had done nothing for her. Still, she sensed a darkness in the palace and wished she understood more of this battle.
Julian’s plan to remove Alexander took shape by degrees. Several of Malik’s friends, his church he called it, had found work in the palace. Cassia did not understand why they would do this for her, and she was grateful, but the plan moved too slowly. Her son was not safe.
So one evening, when the women had left to join the gathering of the church and Cassia had stayed behind, she slipped down from the rock-wall home and crossed the city to the south, back toward the end of the gorge that had brought her into Petra.
She had not been this way since the night she’d arrived and the trader had followed her to the amphitheatre. But the wide street led only to the gorge, past the theatre, and she found it easily.
Her next task would not be accomplished so simply.
The amphitheatre, like so
much of Petra, had been cut almost entirely out of the rock cliff. Its half circle of seats divided into six wedge-shaped sections, the cunei. The orchestra had been cut from an outcropping of bedrock and extended across the entire stage.
Cassia entered at the second level of the three-story facade that faced the seating area and quickly found the barrel-vaulted corridors that would take her down a level to the orchestra.
The darkened passageway slanted downward, then led to steps. She emerged at the side of the stage, her footsteps echoing back from the seating. The three-story scanae at her back was clad with marble and painted plaster, but the seats were red Petra sandstone, and the setting sun lit them like fire. She searched the side walls of the theatre for a passageway below.
She found a narrow slit in the rock and entered it, ducking under the lintel into the darkness. The passage smelled of damp stone, perhaps a spring that flowed under the theatre.
Cassia called out a greeting, hoping for a response. Ahead, a dim light beckoned her to enter deeper into the bowels of the theatre.
A face appeared at the end of the passage, an older man if the long white-gray hair was an indication.
She pressed on and the man stared, as though he had never seen a woman below.
“I am looking for the gladiator training,” Cassia called.
He shook his head. “None for sale.”
She reached the end and stopped before the old man. He wore a rough tunic with the sleeves cut off, revealing a network of ancient scars on his forearms. His hair hung below his shoulders, unwashed for some time.
“I do not wish to purchase anyone. I wish to find his trainer.”
His eyebrows shot up and he clicked his yellowed teeth together twice. “Follow me.”
He led her deeper underground, through narrow passages lit only by an infrequent torch and smelling of unwashed men. Cassia was rethinking her decision, as it felt as though she descended to the underworld with this man. Finally they reached some sort of central chamber with cells surrounding it.
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