Desert Prince

by Constance O'Banyon

  “I would rather entertain a cobra than spend an evening with any of your friends.”

  “Imbecile! The Romans are lords of the world, and you are the only one who seems to doubt it. If you continue to act as you do, you will shame this family.”

  “This family knows no shame,” Sabinah said, watching her stepsister’s reflection in the mirror.

  Before Sabinah saw it coming, Bastet jerked her around and slapped her with such force the blow slammed Sabinah’s head back. She toppled to the floor while Isadad gasped in distress. Bastet’s dark eyes became like those of a statue: blank, and devoid of warmth.

  “Have a care. One day you will irk me once too often, and you will regret it.”

  Sabinah rose, tilting her chin. “Do not ever do that again, or you will have to drag me to your mother’s banquets!”

  “Silly girl. We all know the man you favor above the rest. Julian has not been seen in years, and even when he came around, he took no notice of you.” Bastet met Sabinah’s eyes. “Even if Julian were to return, you must avoid him, for my sake.”

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  Bastet leaned closer, harsh laughter escaping her lips. “How can you be so unworldly? I thought you would have found out by now that it was I who told Tribune Vergilius where to find Lady Larania.”

  Sabinah thought she must surely have heard incorrectly. “You?”

  “Aye. But you are as guilty as I am. You filled your belly with the money I received as a reward.” Bastet’s fingers dug into Sabinah’s arm. “And know this, foolish one—if Julian dared to enter Alexandria, he would soon meet with a Roman sword. The Tausrat family have always held themselves too high, but they are lower than the desert sands now that Rome rules in Egypt. While I am admired by the Romans.”

  Sabinah stared at Bastet in horror. “I have known you were misguided, but never did I think you were evil. It was monstrous to betray that sweet lady!”

  Bastet shrugged. “The woman once did me a harm by not thinking I was good enough for her grandson. I consider we are now even.”

  Sabinah choked on her anger. “If I had somewhere else to go, I would leave this house and never return.”

  “But you do not, do you? Whereas I shall soon be married and on my way to Rome.”

  Sabinah fought against the bile that rose in her throat. “It does not seem to me your Roman has marriage on his mind. Perhaps if you ask your mother, she will brew a potion to make him more amenable to the notion. How long does it take one man to decide whom he wants for a wife? You have known him four years.”

  Doubt crept into her stepsister’s eyes, but Bastet quickly masked it. “We are the same as married.”

  “I hear he already has a Roman wife.”

  “That is merely a small matter. He will divorce her for me.” Bastet had other lovers, but she preferred Centurion Gallius.

  “It seems to me if the man was going to divorce his wife, he would already have done so.”

  Bastet waved her hand in the air, changing the subject as she always did when the conversation did not suit her. “Well, will you come with me, or shall I tell my mother you refuse her orders?”

  Sabinah nodded, knowing if she refused, her stepmother would merely come after her, herself. Shaking the wrinkles out of her gown, she walked toward the door. “I will come.”

  There was a smirk on her stepsister’s face. Bastet looked on every situation as a challenge, and she regarded this outcome as a win. “Tribune Vergilius has shown a marked interest in you for some reason, and Mother wants you to be nice to him. Only the gods know what he sees in you.”

  “I find him disgusting—and now that I know you were the one who betrayed Lady Larania, I … feel the same way about you.”

  “Little I care for your good opinion. But it is time you contributed to the expenses in this house. Too long have you been allowed to take advantage of my bounty. You must soon take a lover, and Tribune Vergilius wants you.”

  This was a new threat, and it frightened Sabinah. The thought of the tribune touching her made Sabinah cringe. “Never! Tribune Vergilius can hardly utter a word that does not praise his own magnificence.”

  “Half-wit! There are many women who would give anything to be with him. When he thinks no one is looking, I see him watching me,” Bastet said with a jealous gleam in her eyes. “I am sure he would choose me over you, if he did not know of my fondness for Gallius.”

  Bastet was becoming more self-absorbed and unreasonable as the years passed. She thought every man lusted after her, and most probably did. But once men came to know the real Bastet and her demanding personality, not to mention her unrelenting temper, they soon lost interest. For reasons Sabinah could not understand, Gallius was still enchanted by Bastet, thus giving her stepsister hope he would one day ask her to be his wife.

  With considerable disdain Sabinah entered the banquet chamber, glancing apathetically about her. Distaste coiled inside her at the garish display of wealth. To be sure, the Romans had been generous. The floors that had once been chipped flagstone had been resurfaced with expensive blue and white mosaic. There was always a bounty of food on the table: wild fowl seasoned with herbs, fish spiced with garlic, stuffed pigeons with their feathers still on them. There were fruit and almonds, as well as imported walnuts. Wine overflowed from jeweled goblets worthy of a queen.

  All purchased with Roman gold.

  High-pitched drunken voices reverberated off the vaulted ceilings, making the noise unbearable. Women, many of whom Sabinah had never seen before, were being openly fondled by some of the men. She closed her eyes when she saw one young officer shove his hand down the front of Trisella’s gown. Her stepmother laughed deep in her throat, moving so he could have better access.

  Sabinah was sick with disgust. She had to get out of the chamber before she became ill.

  Hurrying into the garden, she took big gulps of fresh air.

  But she was not alone.

  A man emerged from the shadows, and Tribune Vergilius appeared at her side. “I thought I would find you here,” he remarked, stepping closer to her.

  Of all the men Sabinah did not want to be alone with, Vergilius topped the list. At the moment, she could only think of him as the man who had killed Lady Larania. She feared him, and that made her angry. She groped for something to say that would discourage him but not offend.

  “I like this time of day the most,” she said, wishing he would go away. “I like to be alone so I can meditate.”

  He laughed, leaning his hip against a small replica of a stone obelisk, his sharp gaze on her face. “I believe I have just been put in my place.” He moved closer. “Why do you not like me?”

  “I never said I did not.”

  “I see no warmth in those lovely eyes when you look at me. Do you fear me?”

  She raised her head, meeting his gaze. “Should I?”

  He laughed. “It is I who am in danger from you.”

  Sabinah brushed past him. “If you will excuse me, I must see about one of our mares who picked up a thorn yesterday.”

  “I shall accompany you.”

  “Please do not bother. This mare is of the Badari breed, and she’s skittish around strangers.”

  “Run away, little Egyptian,” he said, his gaze sweeping her body. “I am a patient man, when the prize is worth winning.”

  Filled with disgust, she hurried toward the stable, mindful of the shadows near the end of the path.

  What if he followed her?

  She would be alone, and no one would hear her if she needed help.

  Pausing, she listened for footsteps, but all she heard was the call of a night bird, and the wind rustling through the top of a tall tree. Satisfied she was alone, Sabinah continued down the path.

  When she reached the stall where the Badari horse was stabled, she laid her face against its sleek black neck, tangling her fingers in the silken mane. Julian had given this horse to Bastet. But it was Sabinah who cared for the animal. B
astet did not like horses, and she never went near the stables.

  “Where is Julian?” she whispered to the horse. “Will he return—will I ever see him again?”

  She remained in the stable long enough for most of the guests to leave. Of course when everyone was gone, Centurion Gallius would accompany Bastet to her bedchamber and remain for the night.

  Sabinah was ashamed of her family. It made her ill just thinking about how her stepmother allowed those men to take liberties with her body where everyone could see. Her stepmother had said it was the Roman way of entertaining. If that was so, she was even more averse to the invaders. That was what they were—no matter how hard they tried, they would never win the hearts of loyal Egyptians.

  When Sabinah reentered the house, she was relieved that Tribune Vergilius had left. She crossed the room and seated herself beside her stepmother, not caring to join in the conversation, but answering only when someone asked her a direct question.

  If Trisella noticed Sabinah’s lack of interest, she made no mention of it. But then, her stepmother was busy charming a fat Roman who could not keep his hands off her.

  Sabinah shivered with revulsion. She would certainly not allow any man to take such liberties with her. She had heard rumors that some men referred to her as cold and unfeeling. Some said her heart was made of ice. What they could not know was that her heart belonged to Julian, and it always would.

  When Sabinah could safely leave the chamber without drawing attention, she hurried to her bedchamber. Tonight she had been able to escape without attracting her stepmother’s notice, but it would not always be so.

  Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it. How much longer must she endure the humiliation of her stepmother’s and stepsister’s actions?

  Tossing on her bed, Sabinah could not sleep. Bastet’s confession that she had told the Romans where to find Lady Larania sickened her. When the ugliness was too heavy for her to bear, her thoughts turned to Julian, and memories of him cleansed her mind so she could at last fall asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  The fishing village of Osage

  A small crowd of villagers gathered in a group near the shore, watching the billowing sails of a huge warship ride the waves.

  “Who can it be?” a woman holding a small child on her hip inquired. “It is not Roman, is it?”

  “It is like the ship we often saw in these waters some years back,” her husband, a ruddy-faced fisherman, stated with assurance.

  A young man stepped to the front of the crowd, shading his eyes against the sun’s glare, his gaze sweeping over the billowing red sails. A smile curved his lips as he recognized the symbol of a winged hawk perched atop a crown. “I have seen this ship before. Many of you must recall it as well. Lord Ramtat and his family usually sail on that ship.”

  All eyes turned to the young man. “He is speaking true,” a young girl agreed, frowning as a vague image teased her memory.

  The young man was still smiling as if he were remembering pleasant thoughts. “Lord Ramtat’s sister was once kidnapped, and I helped him find her.”

  “I recall the incident,” his mother said, smiling. “It caused quite a stir when Lord Ramtat, himself, came to the village in search of his sister.”

  “I was not here then,” an old fisherman said, his rheumy eyes never leaving the red sails. “What became of the sister?”

  “There were vague rumors that she became queen of some country, but I cannot say for sure,” the young man said. “I still have the armband she gave me. Although some have offered to buy it from me, it is my greatest treasure.”

  “Perchance she’s returning,” the old man said. “You all saw those twelve Badari warriors enter the village two days past. We thought it strange at the time. They set up camp not far from here. If you want the truth of it, they must have come to meet someone who is on that ship!”

  “Look you!” the young man exclaimed. “We shall soon know who it is. They are lowering the sails.”

  Julian stood on the deck of the War Bird, his hawk, De-oro, perched on his leather glove. The bird had been trained to attack on command. Its razor-sharp talons could rip a man to shreds, but there had never been an instance when De-oro had been ordered to harm a human. At the moment the fierce predator of the sky perched passively on its master’s arm.

  Julian wore a simple white robe, his only adornment a gold and leather headband and matching wristbands. As he leaned against the railing in brooding silence, impatience ate away at him. He had left Egypt as a boy and was returning as a man. His father had sent him home to seek out the sheik who was making rumblings of war among their fellow tribesmen. His gaze swept across the group of people gathered near the shoreline. In the distance he could make out a reed boat that was being rowed shoreward by fishermen who kept glancing over their shoulders in fear. He had waited long to return home and to once more walk on Egyptian soil.

  Apollodorus came up beside him and stood silent for a moment. Julian had been his pupil for four years; he had trained him to the best of his ability, and others had trained him as well. Prince Ashtyn, who was married to Julian’s aunt, the queen of Bal Forea, had trained Julian in spear and shield, and the arts of warfare. His aunt Adhaniá, who could outshoot any man, had helped him master the bow. Apollodorus had attempted to teach him patience, but he was not at all sure how well he had succeeded with the impulsive young prince.

  Apollodorus knew Julian had been burning with the need to return home. He had been instructed by the best, and he was honed and ready for what awaited him in Egypt. The Sicilian watched him with a pensive gaze, a half smile curving his mouth. His charge was aware of himself as a warrior, but not as a man who had left many brokenhearted young women behind in Bal Forea.

  While Apollodorus was tall, Julian was taller. He wore his dark hair long in the manner of the Bal Foreans. His face was finely chiseled, his green eyes bright and piercing. He had his father’s strength and his mother’s tenacious spirit. His voice was deep and he spoke with a sonorous tone.

  “Your arrival does not go unnoticed,” Apollodorus observed, nodding at the people gathered onshore, their gazes sweeping over the ship.

  “Even so, there will be no Romans among those citizens, and none to tell of the landing. My father trusts these villagers, and so must I.”

  Apollodorus knew how difficult it had been for Ramtat to let his eldest son return to Egypt without him. But it was time one of the family rejoined the Badari to settle their disputes. There was unrest among one of the tribes, and perhaps it was more widespread. One of the sheiks was attempting to force his will on others and must be brought to account.

  Apollodorus nodded at the villagers. “You must trust no one. There will be those who wear the face of friendship, but beneath their smiles lurks treachery.”

  “That is what my mother said to me. She did not want me to return to Egypt.”

  “It is only natural for a mother to have concerns, and yours more than most since she knew the danger you would face.”

  Julian heard the anchor splash into the water, and saw the ship’s crew readying the punt boats. He glanced up at the white-hot sky, feeling the sun’s heat on his face.

  Home.

  “The War Bird is a swift ship,” Apollodorus said, breaking into Julian’s thoughts. “The rest of the world could learn from the ship builders on Bal Forea.”

  “Aye.” Julian fell silent, watching the small punt hit the water and bob on the waves. He placed De-oro in a cage and fastened it securely. His father had assured him there would be tribesmen waiting for him at the village, and though he saw no sign of them, that did not mean they were not there.

  Both he and Apollodorus climbed down the rope ladder, settling in the small boat, and immediately, strong-armed boatmen rowed them toward shore. The six Badarian warriors who had accompanied them to Bal Forea four years ago would be in the second boat.

  Julian watched the shore grow ever nearer. He still saw no horses, but the Ba
dari were masters of blending with their surroundings. They would not show themselves until they wanted to be seen.

  The punt bumped against the pier, and Julian stepped ashore. The people hung back as if frightened, and he could not blame them.

  Suddenly a young man about Julian’s own age broke away from the crowd and knelt before him. He wore a homespun tunic, his hair clipped close to his ears. He had huge brown eyes that at the moment held a confused expression. “Be you Lord Ramtat? You have the look of him, but different.”

  Julian motioned for the man to rise. “I am his son, Julian. Do you know of me?”

  “Aye. You are prince of the Badari,” the young man said, going back down to his knees. “I feared we would never again see any member of your family alive. You are all under a death sentence.”

  Julian’s gaze swept the crowd. “Will any of you tell the Romans of my return? My father trusts you not to. Can I trust you as well?”

  A rumble went through the crowd as the men gathered about him. Some actually touched his arm, others just smiled, welcoming him home.

  “No one will hear of your return from this village. We are all Egyptians, the same as you. But three weeks ago a Roman patrol came here. They are always prowling around,” the young man spat.

  “Do not put yourselves in danger. If you feel threatened by them, be truthful. They will not find me, and I do not want anyone to be hurt because of me.”

  “We will tell them nothing,” the young man said. He touched Julian’s arm. “Prince, may I ask a question of you?”

  “Aye.”

  “The young woman, Lord Ramtat’s sister. Is she safe? I never heard what happened to her.”

  Julian grinned. He had been told the story many times of how a young lad in this village had helped his aunt. “By chance are you the one to whom my aunt gave her armband?”

  “Aye. That would be me.”

  “Then know this—my aunt told me how you aided her escape when she was in deep danger.”