“Is she … we heard she was a great lady … is that so?”
“She is a queen. But I dare not tell you the country, lest the Romans decide to press you for information. You cannot tell what you do not know.”
“Let those swine come,” the young man said, his mouth twisted in anger. “I hope to see the day they are driven out of Egypt.”
The sudden sound of pounding horse hooves caught Julian’s attention, and the crowd parted as wild Badarian tribesmen rode into the village. Julian threw off his white robe to reveal a short black kilt embellished with cloth of gold. His chest was bare but for the gold and jeweled collar that proclaimed him prince of the Badari.
Julian watched the fierce warriors dismount and walk toward him, recognizing the man in the lead as his father’s general, Heikki. When they reached Julian, the Badari bowed their heads in respect.
Heikki was the first to speak. “Welcome home, my prince.” His dark gaze moved to the Sicilian. “And you, honored friend, Apollodorus, welcome back to Egypt.” The dark gaze settled on Julian. “You are now a man, and have much the same look as your honored father.”
“He sends you his greetings.”
Heikki smiled. “How fares Lady Adhaniá?”
Julian returned his smile. Heikki was a legendary warrior who was held in high esteem by the Badari. “She thinks of you with affection. When she heard I would be seeing you, she asked to be remembered to you.” Julian’s smile deepened. “You are part of the legend that surrounds my aunt’s winning of the Golden Arrow.”
Heikki grinned. “She defied all reason. And still remains undefeated.”
By now the other Badari from the ship had arrived and immediately greeted old friends while horses were led forward to accommodate them all.
Heikki frowned. “I had word from your father that you are to act in his place. There is much trouble brewing and a strong hand is needed to bring peace to the Badari. I am glad you have returned.”
Although he and Heikki had been speaking in Badari, Julian was sure some of the villagers understood them. “Let us leave here so these good people can go on with their daily lives,” he said. “Later you can tell me the details.”
The villagers had been watching with awe. They stood back respectfully as the tribesmen rode away, leaving only dust behind.
By the time they reached the desert, Julian felt exhilarated. While he had been on Bal Forea, he had known season changes and he had seen snow. During blizzards, he had been as restless as a caged lion. Now he smelled the sweet scent of the desert, and it was like a tonic to him.
He was home.
Julian straightened his shoulders and felt the power of his black stallion’s long gait as they moved swiftly across the desert. They rode until late afternoon, where they came upon an encampment that had already been erected. As Julian dismounted, the Badari who had remained in the camp greeted him with enthusiasm and respect, bowing their heads.
Julian was not accustomed to such deference from the Badari, because that honor had always gone to his father. It troubled him. To have something to do with his hands, he reached for the cage and released De-oro, watching the bird take to the sky and ride the wind.
Apollodorus sensed Julian’s unease. “Do not let them see your discomfort,” he said in a low voice so only Julian could hear. “They are giving you the respect that is your inherited right.”
Julian made no reply but went to the tent he was to occupy. Although the structure was small, it was made of dyed red goatskin, embroidered with gold threads. On entering, he saw the tribesmen had taken great pains to ensure his comfort. A tightly woven blue and red rug had been placed on the ground, and the walls of the tent were decorated with majestic hangings. One, which he remembered from his father’s tent, was a woven scene of men hunting in golden chariots.
Julian removed his ornate kilt and unhooked the jeweled collar, dropping them on a cushion. When he was dressed in a plain white kilt, he felt more like himself. For a moment he paced the tent restlessly, his mind troubled. Needing to get away so he could think, Julian left the tent and mounted his horse, riding to a distant sand dune.
Dismounting, Julian stood silently beside his prancing Badarian stallion. He watched the way the wind whipped the sand into swirling patterns that resembled waves upon the sea. The desert was in his blood; some age-old instinct called to him. He looked down at the oasis where they were camped, watching the date palms weave with the motion of the wind. He then turned his gaze to the wide arid expanse of the desert, drinking in the sights he had missed since leaving Egypt.
The untrained eye might not see it, but the desert pulsed with life. He saw a rabbit dig into the sand and listened to the far-off call of a jackal. The air was like perfume to him, and the sounds and sights were reminiscent of his childhood.
He knew Apollodorus had followed and now stood behind him, although there had been no sound to give the Sicilian away. “The sand whispers to me, Apollodorus.” Julian scooped up a handful and allowed it to trickle through his fingers. “It has the warmth of life.”
“This is home to you.”
Julian gazed in the distance over the flatland where sprigs of dry grass managed to push through the hardened ground. Without the dunes as an obstruction, night fell hard, and they were suddenly engulfed in darkness. “It is true. The desert is in my blood.”
Julian felt renewed stirrings of unease. Until now he had pushed his troubled thoughts to the back of his mind. His father had trusted him with this mission, and Julian feared he was not capable of honoring that trust. “Many times I watched my father make wise decisions, punishing the guilty, and on occasion when the crime required it, condemning the guilty to death. How can I step into the place of a man such as he?”
“You will know what to do when the time is right.”
“Will the tribesmen accept my authority?”
“Without question.”
“All those men in camp are much older than I, Apollodorus. Why should they trust my judgment?”
“Because you are their prince. For more years than any of us can count, the Badari have placed their trust in your family to guide them. It is no different with you. I am sure your father must have felt much the same as you are feeling when he replaced his grandfather.”
“If the Romans should come at us in force, do I ask my people to die for me?”
“You will not have to ask.”
Julian felt the wind touch his cheek. A cry came from the air, and he held out his gloved hand for De-oro to land. The hawk did not object when Julian slipped the hood onto its noble head.
“Your mother is the best animal trainer I have ever known, and I have known many. That bird would give its life to protect you.”
“Aye. She would.”
“And so, too, would the Badari.”
Julian gazed out into the desert for a long moment. Then he turned and smiled at the Sicilian. “Have I ever told you what your friendship means to me?”
“Among friends, such things do not have to be said. It was because of you and your family that I found the courage to live when I wanted to die.”
Julian glanced at him. “I have known of your pain. You loved the queen.”
“We all loved her.”
“But you loved her as a man.”
Apollodorus met Julian’s gaze. “If I did, she never knew it.”
“And you never found a woman who could replace her.”
“How can any woman compare with a goddess? My queen never looked at me in that way, and I could not give my heart to another.”
“Still, you have known great love. And perhaps my aunt knew how you felt about her. Do not forget she always kept you near.”
“I never forget that.”
Suddenly Julian thought of brown eyes in a face of such sweetness and innocence, it cut him to the quick. His “Little Sunshine.” She would be a woman now, probably married. “Let us seek our blankets. We must be off early.”
“Do
we ride for the encampment in the morning?”
“It is important that I first go to Alexandria. My mother has not heard from Uriah in many months, and she is worried about him. After I have seen that he is safe, I will settle this feud among the Badari.”
“I am told the last messages your mother received from Uriah were vague, and he rambled without making sense.”
Julian frowned. “It is painful to think something might have happened to the man who was my teacher.”
“There is danger in entering Alexandria.”
Julian turned away and mounted his horse. “We have faced danger together many times, Apollodorus. Now I must speak to Heikki.”
The Badari general was waiting beside a campfire. His dark gaze followed Julian when he seated himself nearby.
“It seems right to have you home, my prince.”
“It feels right that I should be here,” Julian replied. “Now, tell me about the trouble.”
Heikki stared into the fire. “I wish I could tell you there is nothing to worry about, but I fear if something is not done soon, the Badari will be split apart and scattered asunder.”
Julian leaned forward. “Then this is worse than we thought. Do you know who the troublemaker is?”
“Sheik Moussimi. He has made no secret that he wants to stand in your father’s place. He is doing everything he can to discredit Lord Ramtat and makes promises of wealth and glory to those who will follow him.”
“I remember him,” Julian said, knowing when a man like Heikki was worried, there was real trouble. “What else can you tell me?”
“Nothing more. But he must be stopped.”
“Aye. He must. Send out riders to locate him. Tell them I can be found at my mother’s villa in Lower Egypt.”
The general frowned. “I fear for the future of the Badari.”
Julian stood. “I will do what I can to stop this sheik.”
Heikki smiled. “We trust you, as we would your father.”
Nothing the fierce general could have said would have pleased Julian more. But it also troubled him. He was not his father.
Julian decided to spend his first night in Egypt sleeping in the open. He placed his sleeping mat beneath the stars. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he felt the desert wind on his face, and he slept peacefully.
Chapter Nine
Short of stature, Centurion Gallius wore his black curly hair clipped short. His eyes were a deep brown, and if Sabinah did not have such a dislike for Romans, she might have thought him handsome enough. Of late, she noticed the man had begun paying her marked attention, and Bastet had noticed it as well. Since Bastet was possessive of the centurion, considering him her future husband, she was in a rage.
The night was cool, after an early evening rain. Sabinah had once again been ordered to attend one of her stepmother’s banquets. She had tried to circulate through the chamber, smiling, but not stopping long enough to talk to anyone in particular. She soon realized her mistake because Centurion Gallius was moving in her direction and directing his footsteps so he would intercept her. She hurried forward, but he walked faster as well. Finding an empty space on one of the sofas, she quickly settled onto it, supposing since there were people on both sides of her, he would have no place to sit.
She was wrong. He snapped his fingers, and the man to Sabinah’s right stood, hurrying away.
“If I judged by your actions, I would think you were trying to avoid me,” he said, smiling.
To Sabinah’s way of thinking, the man overrated his own charm. “I always try to make my actions clear,” she replied, knowing she was trapped. It mattered not how often she rebuffed Gallius, he would not leave her alone. Annoyed, she turned her back on him, pretending to inspect the other guests.
“There is not a woman in this room who can match you in beauty,” he said in a voice that was meant to be seductive. “Everyone agrees you outshine Bastet.”
“Have you dared say this to her?” Sabinah asked coldly, turning to him. “Everyone knows my stepsister is the beauty of the family.”
He laughed. “That must be a myth put about by Bastet, herself. You are by far the more fair.”
He reached out to touch her hair, but she moved out of his reach. “I do not like being touched unless I invite it.”
Undaunted, Gallius merely smiled. “What is your desire? Speak of it, and it is yours.”
“It is my desire that you leave me alone.”
“I cannot do that, my lovely one.”
A shadow fell between them, and Gallius scrambled to his feet as Tribune Vergilius appeared. “Did you not hear the lady? She would like you gone,” Vergilius stated in a commanding voice.
“Aye, Tribune. I was but admiring this charming lady,” the centurion said, scurrying away.
“That is done. He will trouble you no further.” Vergilius nodded at the cushion his subordinate had just vacated. “May I join you?”
Sabinah glanced into cold, lusterless eyes. She despised Tribune Vergilius, and it was difficult to be civil to him. “I just remembered, I must speak to my stepmother about something.”
She would have risen, but he dropped down beside her and gripped her wrist. “Remain with me for a little while. I promise not to bore you.”
She recoiled from his touch and shoved his hand away. “I do not know you, Tribune.”
“I can remedy that.” He reached for a flagon of wine from a nearby table, and instead of sipping the honeyed nectar, he downed it with a gulp, wiping the excess from his mouth onto the back of his hand. Then he smiled as if secretly amused. “I do not know why I keep coming back to you. You are an enigma. You have the power of all beautiful women to draw attention to yourself, but you do not enjoy it.”
She said nothing.
He cocked his head, catching her glance. “You are as skittish as a newly born colt. But I am dedicated to plowing through your defenses.”
Vergilius was a handsome man, tall and broad shouldered, dark haired with luminous brown eyes. But nothing he could ever say would make Sabinah forget what he had done to Lady Larania. He still lived in her home and enjoyed her riches, which infuriated Sabinah. “I hope you do not expect me to respond to such a statement. I would not know how.”
“What do you respond to?” Vergilius asked in frustration. “It cannot have escaped your notice that I admire you. Yet you treat me as if I am your enemy.”
She turned her cool gaze on him, not caring if she made him angry. “My most fervent wish is to see all Romans gone from Egypt.”
Vergilius stiffened, his gaze hard. “Attend to what I say, for your life may depend upon it. Treasonous words are not tolerated. If the wrong person heard you speak thus, you would not be beyond the reach of Roman law,” he said bitingly.
She shrugged. “Before you Romans arrived, we in Egypt were allowed to speak our minds—now you tell me it is treasonous to do so. How can you possibly think you can win my approval by threatening me?”
He became annoyed. “I did not mean for you to take my words as a threat. I was merely warning you of the danger if someone other than myself had heard you. As for me, I want to know you better.” He nodded toward Bastet as she flirted with one of his officers. “Your sister does not share your views on my countrymen.”
“My stepsister has never been accused of being choosy about whom she associates with.”
His dark brows met across his nose in a scowl. “Your own stepmother welcomes us into your home, but you are not so congenial. Matter of fact, I would call you hostile.”
“My stepmother does not share my views and does not look upon Romans as invaders.”
It startled Sabinah when Vergilius laughed.
“I am glad I amuse you, Roman.”
“I cannot say why, but I find you delightful. No one has dared speak so outrageously to me, certainly not your stepsister.”
“If you think I am anything like Bastet, you are mistaken. You would do well to seek other company.”
; Vergilius wondered why he was so intrigued by Sabinah, whose cold beauty was talked about among his fellows. He had tried every way he could think of to win her approval, but she brushed him off as if he were a pesky gnat.
His gaze moved over honey-colored skin that he so longed to touch. The torchlight lent her red hair a luster that made it shimmer as if it were on fire. When he glanced into her huge brown eyes, he felt that he was being submerged in their depths. A flirtatious curl rested against her cheek, and he wanted to press his lips against it.
Vergilius felt awkward with her, and he had never felt that way with a woman before. “I cannot seem to resist you,” he said with sincerity.
Sabinah was made uncomfortable by his excessive flattery and sought to turn the conversation to other matters. “Why do you attend my stepmother’s banquets?”
“We Romans find few families here in Egypt who open their homes to us as readily as your family has. I crave the company of an intelligent woman. Imagine how lonely it is for me, being unable to interact with those of my own class.”
“Those who curry favor with Romans are hated and despised. My family is shunned for our association with your kind. And as for your class”—she tilted her chin upward, staring into his eyes—“I heard you were a common soldier before you became a captain and then a tribune.” She blinked her eyes. “Did I hear wrong?”
His face actually reddened. “Even so, I am a tribune, and a man of wealth, and therefore worthy of respect.”
“I fear, Tribune Vergilius, I am not worthy of you. Is it not true that you Romans believe all other peoples are barbarians? My poor stepsister does not understand why she cannot marry Centurion Gallius, although he has promised he would take her as his wife. She ignores the fact that it is illegal for a Roman citizen to marry a foreigner, and that our own queen’s marriage to Lord Antony was not recognized in Rome.”
Vergilius suddenly relaxed. “If that is all that troubles you, put your mind at rest. Egyptians are looked upon as a worthy race. And as for a dispensation, it is easy to obtain one from the Senate.”
“So Bastet has nothing to worry about?”
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