Desert Prince

by Constance O'Banyon

  The only response he received from the boy was a contemptuous, haughty glare.

  Octavian swung around to look at Apollodorus. “Tell him what I said. I want to see his face when you tell him of his death.”

  “He understood you. If he does not speak, it is because to him you are unworthy. He will not acknowledge the man responsible for his mother’s death,” Apollodorus replied in a hard tone.

  Octavian glared at the man who had always stood at Cleopatra’s side. “I could have your tongue torn out for your insolence.”

  “Then do it,” the Sicilian challenged him.

  Octavian shook his head. “I shall keep you in health in the event I later have need of you.”

  “Know this, Roman: I will not serve you in any way.”

  Octavian was growing angrier with each insult Apollodorus threw at him, but he would mask that anger for the moment. “Tell the prince he is to die.” Octavian smirked, looking at Captain Vergilius, who ran his finger down the long blade of his sword. “I want to see him beg for his life.”

  Apollodorus placed his hand on the lad’s arm and spoke in Egyptian. “Are you still prepared to die?”

  The boy nodded and raised his chin bravely. “It will be my honor.”

  Apollodorus was proud of the young boy who faced death so fearlessly. Queen Cleopatra had already settled enormous wealth on the boy’s family. But it was loyalty that made the young man die in place of his prince. “His Majesty understands your words.”

  Octavian snapped his fingers and motioned to Captain Vergilius. “Take this lad and see the deed done.”

  When Apollodorus moved to follow the boy, Octavian spoke, “Stay. I have questions to put to you.”

  Apollodorus glanced back at Octavian, not bothering to mask his contempt for the man.

  “I have little doubt you would like to follow your queen in death,” Octavian said. “Your loyalty to her is legend.”

  “Death has no sting for me. I would welcome it.”

  “Then answer my questions, and you are free to do as you wish with your life.”

  Apollodorus had already planned to follow his queen in death, so nothing Octavian said would matter to him.

  “If you will tell me where I can locate Lord Ramtat, I shall reward you with more gold than you can spend in your lifetime.”

  Apollodorus became alert, his eyes narrowing, but he made no reply as he waited for the Roman to continue.

  “Very well, if you cannot be tempted by gold, name your price, and I shall pay it.”

  Still Apollodorus said nothing.

  Octavian was becoming frustrated and barely managed to hold on to his temper. “I understand Lord Ramtat’s wife is half sister to Cleopatra—if that is so, it would make her eldest son—” He snapped his fingers. “What is the boy’s name—I forget.”

  Apollodorus stiffened, dropping his gaze to hide his sudden concern for the Tausrat family. “I cannot say.”

  “Cannot or will not?”

  “You may choose which.”

  “I want only the eldest boy, and perhaps the youngest son, and the mother as well. Lord Ramtat and his daughter have little to fear from me.”

  Apollodorus’s brows knitted as he looked into Octavian’s cunning eyes. “I would not help you even if I knew where Lord Ramtat is, which I do not.”

  It was the answer Octavian expected. This Sicilian could neither be bought nor bribed, but Octavian had other plans. “Bravely spoken. But know this—I shall have no pretenders coming forward to claim Egypt’s throne. If I was told correctly, the eldest son was named after my uncle, the great Caesar. This namesake could misguidedly take it in his mind to stir up trouble since he is among the last of the Ptolemy bloodline. With the true prince dead, it is possible this young man could raise an army against me. Not that I fear an Egyptian army, but it would be an annoyance that I cannot afford at this time.”

  Apollodorus felt his throat tighten. He could not die as he had planned. Queen Cleopatra would expect him to protect her half sister and her family against Octavian’s bloodlust. “The young lord is a prince in his own right. I would not look to harm him if I were you. His people, the Badari, are a fearsome tribe and number in the thousands. Your legions would be slaughtered if you came up against them in a desert battle.”

  Octavian glared at the man. “Go, go,” he muttered. “I have no further use of you.”

  For a moment Octavian watched Apollodorus move across the chamber, and then he turned to Agrippa. “What would I not give for the loyalty that beats in the heart of that Sicilian. There is no deed he would not perform for his queen, even with her dead.”

  “There are many who are loyal to you,” Agrippa bit out, affronted. “I, myself, can be counted among that number.”

  Octavian watched Apollodorus disappear out the door. “Not like him. He would happily have taken the cobra bite for Queen Cleopatra.” He shrugged. “Keep him under constant watch. If he stays true, he will find the Tausrat family for us.”

  “But Lord Ramtat fought beside Caesar and is greatly respected in Rome. Surely you mean him no harm.”

  Octavian stroked his cleanly shaved chin. “I will not rest easy until everyone with Cleopatra’s tainted blood has been slain.” He smiled slightly, his mind moving on to other matters.

  “Think of it, Agrippa—today, because of the bite of a deadly cobra, I have become master of the world!”

  Apollodorus left the palace, his footsteps measured, knowing he was being watched. He stepped onto the wide stone road that meandered toward the sea. Pausing, he observed the sun making its descent for the day in blazing splashes of fiery red that spread across the western sky. To him it seemed as if the sun god, Ra, in all his glory, was paying tribute to a dead queen, who, though not always ruling wisely, had ruled with her heart.

  Chapter One

  Thick, fog blanketed land and sea as Kheleel trudged forward, grateful for the mist that disguised their presence. Nervously, he glanced over his shoulder before he motioned young Caesarion to emerge from the litter. They were both garbed in bedouin attire, so it was unlikely anyone would recognize the young man as Cleopatra’s son, the rightful king of Egypt.

  To Kheleel’s dismay, the unfamiliar long robe of Caesarion’s disguise tangled around the boy’s legs, causing him to stumble against a young girl, and almost taking the two of them to the ground. Unfortunately, the collision knocked Caesarion’s kaffiyeh off his head, and it went flying through the air.

  Kheleel quickly pulled Caesarion to him, horrified when the girl scooped up the fallen headdress and extended it to the boy with a surprised look. The high priest hurriedly grabbed it from her fingers and replaced it on the young king’s head, rushing him toward the waiting ship.

  With fear pounding in his heart, Kheleel glanced over his shoulder at the slim girl, noting her quizzical gaze. Surely she had not recognized Caesarion, he kept assuring himself. The poor young man was so overwhelmed by the death of his mother, and the Roman troops on every street in Alexandria, he had scarcely spoken three words all morning.

  Looking weak and shaken, Caesarion leaned heavily against Kheleel. Feeling the young man’s brow, the high priest realized he had a fever. In truth, he feared Caesarion was too ill for a sea voyage, but what else was he to do but obey the queen’s orders?

  “Take comfort, young one,” he whispered, not daring to call Caesarion by his title. “All will be well.”

  He hoped.

  Fourteen-year-old Sabinah, of the house of Jannah, had not been fooled by the bedouin clothing worn by Ptolemy Caesarion or the high priest of Isis.

  She had recognized them both.

  As she paused to watch them board a foreign ship, she leaned against a crumbling wall, her mind whirling. She, like everyone else in the city, had heard of the queen’s death, and of Caesarion’s execution.

  But he was alive!

  She slid to her knees, taking in deep breaths. She tried to understand what she had witnessed, but her mind was
in a muddle. Was it possible someone else had died in Caesarion’s place, and the high priest was smuggling him out of Egypt?

  Sabinah slowly rose to her feet, taking in an unsteady breath. As the mist cleared a bit, she pushed her tumbled hair out of her face. Suddenly it occurred to her there was danger in possessing such knowledge. Glancing about, she saw no one watching her, but still she turned her footsteps away from the docks, then picked up her pace, walking quickly toward the marketplace, where she disappeared into the crowd.

  She must tell no one what she had witnessed, especially not her stepmother or stepsister, for they were not to be trusted.

  Chapter Two

  Egyptian desert

  Apollodorus topped the sand dune and glanced down at the huge encampment in the distance. It had taken him an extra week to reach Lord Ramtat’s camp because three Roman soldiers had been following him, making it necessary to lose them in the desert. Knowing Octavian, he had expected as much.

  Apollodorus smiled grimly. The desert was an unforgiving place and struck hard at those who did not know its secrets. Octavian would never discover what had happened to his spies. But he would send more men, and still more. Sooner or later, one of them might discover the Badari encampment, and that was the real danger to the Tausrat family.

  The Sicilian dreaded delivering his unhappy tidings. The family would be devastated to hear of the queen’s death. When he rode into camp, tents emptied, and he was greeted with great affection by a multitude of smiling Badari. Dismounting, he went directly to the huge red leather tent that belonged to Lord Ramtat. The tribe numbered in the thousands, and although they were scattered across the vast desert, they could come together with astounding speed when summoned by their sheik. The Badari were famous for the horses they bred—the magnificent animals could outrun and outdistance any other breed—especially in the desert.

  Lord Ramtat, himself, came out of his tent to greet Apollodorus. He was as tall as the Sicilian and wore his hair clipped short in the Roman fashion, a practical style for those in the desert. Ramtat’s welcoming expression changed to one of doubt, and his forehead creased with concern when he read sadness in Apollodorus’s eyes.

  “Tell me quickly, is Queen Cleopatra safe?”

  Apollodorus shook his head. “Let us go inside, and I shall tell you and the queen’s sister at the same time.”

  Lady Danaë was slight and looked even smaller standing beside her tall husband. Tears glistened in her eyes, and it was clear she was trying hard to hold on to her composure. “My sister dead. How can that be? We had no idea she was in danger.”

  Ramtat looked bereft. “Why did she not send to me for help?”

  “The queen knew her situation was hopeless, and she did not want you caught up in it,” the Sicilian said.

  Danaë sank slowly to her knees, sobbing. “All the light has gone out of Egypt—how dreary the world will seem without my beloved sister.” She wiped her tears as her husband raised her to the shelter of his arms.

  When Apollodorus looked into Lady Danaë’s green eyes, he was staggered by her resemblance to her queenly half sister. There were differences, of course—the queen’s face had been interesting, Lady Danaë’s was beautiful. “Octavian did not want the queen’s death—he wanted to take her to Rome as his conquest. Knowing the queen, you understand why she did what she did.”

  Ramtat comforted his wife. “Queen Cleopatra was Egypt in life, and still queen in death. When centuries pass, and we are all dust, she will be remembered.”

  A sudden horrifying thought hit Danaë, and she reached out to Apollodorus, her face pale, her hands trembling. “The children—what about them?”

  “Fear not, Lady Danaë. The three that were fathered by Lord Antony were sent to Rome. They will come to no harm and will be raised by Octavian’s sister.”

  Ramtat’s lips tightened in anger. “They belong to Egypt, not Rome.”

  “What of Caesarion?” Danaë asked, fearing to hear of her oldest nephew’s fate since Apollodorus had not mentioned him.

  Apollodorus leaned in as if to share a secret. “As far as Octavian is concerned, Ptolemy Caesarion is dead, murdered by his orders.” He went on hurriedly when he saw Danaë tremble. “Nay, dear lady, our king does not walk in the land of the dead.”

  “Tell me quickly,” Danaë insisted.

  Apollodorus explained how the high priest had smuggled Caesarion on board a ship headed for Bal Forea to be raised by Queen Thalia and her husband. He further elaborated on how a brave young lad had died in Caesarion’s place.

  Thalia was Ramtat’s adopted sister, who could not be loved more if she had been born into the family. “What about Antony?” Ramtat asked stoically.

  “Dead by his own hand. Octavian granted my queen’s last wish and allowed him to be entombed with her. I like to think they will be together eternally.”

  Ramtat nodded slowly. “Caesarion will be well cared for by my sister Thalia. We can all be glad he is under her protection. She will guard his secret and keep him safe.”

  “After today, young Caesarion must never be spoken of again. What is said here cannot leave this tent,” Apollodorus warned. He looked at Ramtat grimly. “There is yet more.”

  Ramtat motioned to a sofa and when they were all seated, Apollodorus spoke quietly. “Octavian’s revenge reaches farther than you know.” He met Danaë’s gaze. “He has men searching for you, Lady Danaë, and your children, especially Julian. He wants to rid himself of everyone of the Ptolemy bloodline, except the three he will control in Rome.” He hesitated for a moment. “Since Octavian believes Caesarion is dead, he turns his sights on Julian, seeing him as a threat to the stability of his rule in Egypt.”

  Ramtat shot to his feet. “Let that weasel attempt to take my wife and children,” he said angrily. “There will never be a day my Badari could not take on a Roman legion.”

  Apollodorous shook his head wearily, burdened by the threat this family faced because of their ties to Queen Cleopatra. “It will not be a legion Octavian sends against you. It will be a continuous stream of men who will be dedicated to finding you. He will not stop. You know him well enough to understand that if he fails once, he will merely try again.”

  “He wants my children dead!” Danaë said in disbelief.

  “And you,” the Sicilian said pointedly. “I was followed when I left Alexandria. But fear not. The bones of those spies now bleach in the desert sun.”

  Ramtat drew in a deep breath. “My mother must be warned and brought here to safety. When Octavian learns of our villa in Alexandria, he will go after her for information.”

  Apollodorus nodded. “My thought exactly. Before I left Alexandria, I sent a messenger to warn Lady Larania, knowing if I went myself, I would be followed. She sent word to me that she would not be driven out of her home by a Roman upstart. Your mother is a most … courageous woman.”

  “I believe what you mean is my mother is a stubborn woman who will do what she pleases.”

  Apollodorus looked stern. “None of us should underestimate Octavian. Though he is cowardly and unpredictable, he has the might of Rome clenched in his fists. And he will use it against you, as he did my queen. Who would have thought she could be defeated?”

  Ramtat nodded, glancing at his wife. “Though I believe Danaë and the children will be safe here in the desert, I am not willing to take that chance. I will make arrangements for us to sail to Bal Forea as soon as possible.”

  “I do not want to leave Egypt,” Danaë told her husband. “My sister died bravely. Can I do any less?”

  “The children?” her husband reminded her.

  Danaë’s face fell, and she nodded slowly. “Aye,” she admitted. “They must be our first concern.”

  Apollodorus looked at Ramtat. “Herein lies the real danger: Octavian has commissioned a man with one task, and one task only—to locate your family. I have seen for myself that this man is as unscrupulous as he is relentless. He is the one who took the life of the young
boy who died for Caesarion.”

  There was an edge to Ramtat’s voice, and his gaze was like a razor, “Tell me his name.”

  “Captain Vergilius. I found out all I could about him before I left Alexandria. He came up through the ranks and is neither liked nor respected by his compatriots. Be that as it may, he is the man Octavian has appointed to find you.”

  Apollodorus watched a flare of anger darken Ramtat’s eyes. The Sicilian knew his friend would rather fight than leave, but he was a man who would first consider the safety of his family.

  Ramtat turned to his wife. “I need to get you and the children out of Egypt.”

  “I know,” she said, clutching at his robe.

  “I shall contact my sister Thalia, and have her send her swiftest ship.”

  No one took notice of Julian, who stood at the curtained area that led to the sleeping quarters. He clenched his fists, fighting back tears. His aunt, Queen Cleopatra, dead—his cousins taken out of Egypt. Hatred burned hot inside him for the man responsible for those deeds. When he could no longer hold back tears, he angrily brushed them from his eyes.

  His bloodline was a proud one. From his father’s side, he was a nobleman of Egypt, and a prince of the fierce desert Badari. From his mother’s side, he had blood ties to Queen Cleopatra. He had been named for his father’s friend, Julius Caesar, a fact that had always given him pride until now.

  At that moment Apollodorus spotted Julian and motioned him forward. “Your son should be told everything,” he suggested to Ramtat.

  Lord Ramtat stood eye-to-eye with his sixteen-year-old son, who looked much as he, himself, had at the same age; the only difference was that Julian had his mother’s remarkable eyes. Ramtat saw the angry glint that now burned in those green eyes. “I believe my son already knows.”

  Julian bowed his head in respect to the man who had not only fathered him, but was also the tribal lord of the Badari. “What will we do, Father?” he asked. “Do we ride to Alexandria and drive the Romans out?”