Desert Prince

by Constance O'Banyon

He would have her. She would not be able to refuse him anything.

  Trisella laughed as she read the message from Tribune Vergilius.

  Bastet glanced up inquiringly, her mouth full of grapes. “What is it, Mother?”

  Trisella quickly explained to Bastet that she had suggested drugging Sabinah.

  “And he has agreed!” Bastet exclaimed. She reached for a glass of wine and took a gulp. Having heard about the drug’s effects, she was in horror.

  “For whatever the reason, our tribune has agreed. I shall send him my answer at once. Sabinah will soon learn there are many ways to command her obedience.”

  Bastet frowned. “I do not like the sound of this drug. And how do I know you will not one night use it on me?”

  Trisella looked at Bastet with a frown. “You, my daughter, do not need a drug to make you compliant.”

  Bastet stared into her mother’s determined eyes. “Is there no other way?”

  “Not with her,” Trisella said with excitement creeping into her tone. “I shall have the potion ready tonight.”

  Neither of them saw the Badari woman who was on her knees near the door, scrubbing the tile floor. Nor did they see her scamper to her feet and quickly leave the chamber.

  A short time later, Trisella was adding ingredients and mixing the potion. Heat from the brazier wafted across her face, and the sweet pungent smell of herbs filled the air. She reached for a bottle with shimmering blue liquid and smiled as she added two drops. The fumes alone were enough to send her mind reeling. She closed her eyes, imagining Tribune Vergilius’s strong hands on her own body. He was a handsome man, and she yearned to feel his lips on hers. She swayed as passion rose inside her. She imagined him pushing her down on a bed and plunging inside her.

  A moan escaped her lips, and she was panting.

  Her eyes flew open, and hatred filled her mind. Trisella had married her husband, not out of any love she had for him, but because she was a slave and he was the master of the house. She had served Sabinah’s mother, despising her all the while. Lately her stepdaughter had become a gentle beauty as her mother had been, and Trisella despised them both.

  When the potion cooled, Trisella removed it from the brazier and poured the liquid into a vial. She held it up to the light and smiled. Sabinah would soon lose her arrogance—she would have no choice when Vergilius took her body and destroyed her pride.

  Sabinah was reluctant to attend the banquet. She had heard nothing from Rafta, who was nowhere to be found. Ma’dou complained the woman had left a mountain of untended chores, and she would not have her back even if Rafta begged her.

  Sabinah had no way of knowing whether Heikki had really been Vergilius’s prisoner, or whether the tale had been a trick. She needed to discover what had happened, even if it meant spending the evening with Vergilius.

  On entering the banquet chamber, Sabinah saw the tribune standing across the room, so she started in his direction. Her stepmother intercepted her.

  “Sabinah, I know you do not wish to be here. You look pale tonight. Perhaps a cup of wine and a good night’s sleep will make you feel better.”

  Sabinah was stunned by her stepmother’s solicitude. “You do not mind if I leave the gathering?”

  “I insist on it.” Trisella maneuvered her down the corridor. “You get into bed, and I shall bring you wine to help you sleep.”

  Blinking her eyes in astonishment, Sabinah stared at her stepmother. Not even when she had been a child had Trisella shown any interest in her well-being. At the moment, however, she wanted to speak to Vergilius so she could find out what had happened to Heikki. “Usually you insist I entertain Tribune Vergilius.”

  “Bastet can see to his needs.” They had reached Sabinah’s bedchamber, and Trisella spoke to Isadad, who was straightening the bed. “You may leave. My stepdaughter is going to bed.”

  Isadad was stupefied, her gaze going to Sabinah questioningly. Bobbing her head, she made a quick retreat.

  “I shall be back shortly, expecting to see you in bed,” Trisella said, smiling as she left the chamber.

  Sabinah’s eyelids felt heavy, and she could only open them the merest bit. After her stepmother urged her to take a few sips of wine, Sabinah must have fallen asleep right away because she did not even remember her stepmother leaving the room.

  Sabinah felt so hot. Needing to throw the bedcovers off, she discovered she could not move. She could swallow, hear, feel, but her body would not react when she tried to lift her legs.

  Her whole body seemed weighted to the bed. Her blood froze in her veins, and she felt cold all over.

  Fear tore at her mind.

  The shadowy world of her bedchamber, normally comforting and familiar to her, now was terrifying. Sabinah was living a nightmare, yet she knew she was awake.

  She tried to cry out for help, but no sound passed her lips. Attempting to raise her arms so she could pull herself out of bed, she discovered they did not respond at all.

  Suddenly she heard voices, and relief washed over her. There was a flicker of light as someone approached with a lantern. Whoever it was stood just out of her view, and she could not turn her head.

  She heard whispering, but did not understand the words.

  Why did they not help her?

  When she recognized Trisella’s voice, Sabinah felt relieved. But then her blood froze when she understood her stepmother’s words.

  “Mark you this,” Trisella said, lifting Sabinah’s arm and allowing it to fall limply back onto the bed. “My stepdaughter has no control over her movements. She is yours tonight.”

  Whom was her stepmother talking to?

  If she could have screamed, Sabinah would have. Vergilius’s voice sent fear slamming into her.

  “Finally she is mine. Traitor though she be—she is mine.”

  Sabinah felt his fingers move over her arm and down her side, and she realized she was naked! Had her stepmother removed her clothing?

  “My eyes have never beheld such beauty,” he said in a deep voice. “Sabinah has an audacious spirit that I want to capture.”

  Sabinah felt Vergilius’s hand move to her breasts, and she wanted to scream, and scream, and scream.

  Then she heard Trisella’s laughter. “Imagine having a woman who cannot respond to your touch, but whom you can use in any way you choose, and she cannot object.”

  Stricken to the heart, Sabinah felt a tear seeping from her eye. Trisella had committed the most reprehensible betrayal. She had drugged her, leaving her helpless. She felt Vergilius’s hot, wine-scented breath against her face, and her stomach lurched.

  “Get out!” Vergilius said in a husky voice. “Leave me alone with her.”

  Sabinah heard her stepmother’s retreating steps and wanted to call her back. There was no one to help her—no one to stop this man from ravishing her body.

  His hand touched her breast, stroking gently. “Long have I wanted you. Now I will have you.”

  She was Vergilius’s victim, and there was no one to save her.

  “You are mine,” he said triumphantly, touching his mouth to hers.

  Sabinah felt his hand trail down her thigh, but it went no farther.

  She felt his weight leave her suddenly, and he uttered a muffled sound.

  “Long have I wanted my dagger at your throat. Long have I craved your death.”

  It was Julian!

  She heard more muffled sounds and felt a covering being thrown over her body. She recognized Apollodorus as he lifted her off the bed and into his comforting arms.

  “Have no fear, Sabinah, you are safe. No one will harm you now,” the Sicilian murmured.

  There was more scuffling, and Sabinah heard Julian speak.

  “I would drive my dagger into your heart, but that would be too easy a death. I want you to experience fear such as my grandmother must have known when you tortured her. I want you to remember that Sabinah belongs only to me. Think of me lurking in every shadow. I want your sleep to be populated by
nightmares of when I shall come for you. Sleep lightly, Tribune, and place guards about you, but even that will not save your life. The next time we meet, you shall die.”

  “You are Julian Tausrat,” Vergilius said, fear in his tone.

  “You had better gag him, or he will have the whole household upon us,” Apollodorus suggested.

  “I know you, Sicilian. You are a marked man from this night forward,” Vergilius hissed in fury.

  Apollodorus laughed. “I tremble in fear, Roman.”

  Sabinah heard Vergilius cry out in pain, and from the sounds, she imagined Julian was tying him to the bed, and none too gently.

  “I assume the servants were told not to disturb you until morning,” Julian said. “Your gag is tight, cutting into your skin, and the ropes will cut off circulation to your arms and legs if you make any movement. Imagine the horror of not being able to move or to speak, and not knowing what awaits you in the dark. This will be a long night for you, not exactly the way you intended it to be.”

  Sabinah felt no pity for Vergilius. He was merciless, and he deserved no mercy.

  Julian continued to speak quietly, but there was something deadly in his tone. “I was told all of my grandmother’s fingers were broken before she died. Tonight I break only two of your fingers so you will know some of the pain she suffered.”

  Sabinah heard the sound of bones breaking and an agonized cry that was not entirely muted by the gag.

  Apollodorus had lingered so Sabinah could know her tormentor had not gone unpunished, but it was time to take her away. He could sense she was distressed by what Julian was doing, but he knew that Julian was exercising great restraint, and the villainous Roman deserved a much worse fate at his hands.

  Sabinah was aware they were passing through the garden because she smelled jasmine and heard the tinkle of a fountain. She heard Julian’s footsteps behind them and his voice as he spoke to someone who had just appeared.

  “You must leave with us, Rafta,” Julian said. “It is no longer safe for you to be here. Know that I am thankful for your service. Had you not warned us and directed us to Sabinah’s bedchamber, we would not have been able to rescue her.”

  She heard the sound of a jingling horse’s bridle, and was aware when Apollodorus lifted her into Julian’s arms. Moments later they rode away into the darkness.

  Julian held her close and whispered in her ear, “Beloved, what manner of drug did your stepmother give to you?”

  She could not answer.

  “Apollodorus, her body feels like a wilted flower left too long out of water. What did they do to her?”

  “I have heard of such a drug. Worry not, there will be no lasting harm when it wears off in a few hours.”

  Sabinah attempted to speak, but she could not. She did not know where they were taking her, but she thought it might be Uriah’s house. When Julian dismounted, she heard a gate squeak.

  When they entered the house, their only guide was moonlight. She imagined they did not want to draw attention by lighting a lantern.

  Julian placed her on a soft bed, gently tucking the bedcover about her.

  “Sleep, Sabinah. I will not leave you this night.” He took her hand in his. “I wonder if you can hear me. If you can, I ask your forgiveness for placing you in such danger. Thanks be to the gods you are with me now.”

  Sabinah wanted to tell him she was sorry she had failed him. She did not know she was crying until Julian bent and kissed a tear from her cheek.

  “I wanted to kill the Roman for touching you.”

  She had heard his threats to Vergilius. Her stepmother would find him in the morning, or perhaps poor Isadad would discover him. Vergilius would be terrified after tonight. For he would know, as she did, that Julian had meant every word he’d said.

  She soon fell asleep, knowing nothing would harm her tonight. Julian was watching over her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Rome

  General Marcellus stood before Augustus wearing his red and gold uniform, his dark gaze expressionless, his dislike for the man hidden just below the surface. “You sent for me.”

  The irritation on the emperor’s face was easy to read. “Aye, I did. Ten days ago. You took your time.”

  “I was outside the city of Tivolai, Octavian, overseeing the building of the aqueduct you commissioned. Although I left at a crucial moment in the construction, I came directly here.”

  The emperor was furious because Marcellus continued to refer to him by the name he had abandoned when the Senate had raised him high. He bit the inside of his mouth and winced from the pain, which did nothing to help assuage his anger. Marcellus did not like him, and Augustus would no longer tolerate his disrespect. “Heed this, Master Architect—I am now known as Augustus Caesar—henceforth you will refer to me by that name.”

  Marcellus regarded him with thinly veiled contempt. “I ask you to pardon my forgetfulness. I have always known you as ‘Octavian,’ and it is difficult to call you by another name.”

  For reasons Augustus could not comprehend, he desired this man’s respect. “Is there a reason we cannot be friends? Surely that is possible since you held my father in high esteem.”

  “I held your great-uncle in high esteem. I never met your father.”

  Augustus stood and whirled around. “You dare speak thus to me?”

  Marcellus did not flinch or back down. “Is the truth banned from Rome since the Senate appointed you emperor? Great Caesar was not your birth father—that is a truth known by all.”

  Augustus tried to take a calming breath. The meeting was not going as he had expected. Since Marcellus was married to Lord Ramtat’s sister, the Lady Adhaniá, Augustus wanted his opinion on her family. The one thing he knew about his general was that he would not lie to him. “Let us get past that and speak of the reason I sent for you.”

  Marcellus focused his attention on the imperial banner that was draped above Octavian, no doubt to remind people of the man’s divinity. “In serving you, I serve Rome,” he said woodenly.

  “Put your anger aside. I did not send for you to ask where your wife’s family is hidden, knowing you would not tell me anyway. I will ask you this; how powerful is your brother-in-law’s desert tribe?”

  Marcellus saw no reason not to answer since the Badari were in no danger from Rome. “They number in the tens of thousands—their power is beyond anything you can imagine—they owe their allegiance to only one family, the Tausrats.”

  Augustus’s face whitened—the old oracle had spoken true. “How is it possible that the desert can support such a large number of people? Surely there is not enough water or food.”

  “They are scattered not only throughout Egypt, but as far as the Sinai and the deserts of Petra, and even beyond that. When their prince calls them, they come together as one, becoming an unimaginable force. The Badari have the most impassioned warriors you will ever meet. I doubt there are many among them who would not die for Lord Ramtat, whom they refer to as ‘El-Badari.’ And they give that same loyalty to Ramtat’s son, Prince Julian.”

  Augustus looked thoughtful. “So it would not be beyond reason to assume the family is hiding somewhere in the desert, protected by these desert dwellers?”

  “What is your reason for summoning me to Rome?” Marcellus demanded.

  Augustus was hiding a secret he had shared with no one, not even Livia. Even with the extra guards at his door, he had awoken on three different occasions to find a note pinned to his pillow with a dagger. The message was always the same, threatening his life if he did not lift the death sentence on the Tausrat family.

  Someone was circumventing his guard and entering his bedchamber undetected. Whoever it was could have killed him any one of those times, but had not. It was terrifying how close death had come to him. He had to put a stop to it.

  “I am not asking you to tell me where I can find the Tausrats. I want to know if any of that family has designs on the Egyptian throne.”

  Marcell
us saw a flicker of fear in Octavian’s eyes, and he saw the emperor’s hand tremble. Smiling to himself, Marcellus understood the reason Octavian had sent for him. Two of Ramtat’s Badari had snuck into Rome, and their reach was long—there was no wall that could keep them out, no guard they could not sneak past, no bedchamber they could not enter.

  “I can tell you none of them harbors such an ambition. The family wants no more than to be left alone to live their lives as they choose.”

  Augustus stared into Marcellus’s eyes. “Is that the truth?”

  “Rather than lie to you, I would not answer your questions at all.”

  “What would happen if … say …” Augustus stroked his chin. “If one of that family died by my orders?”

  Marcellus stiffened. “Should that happen, you would unleash a power too terrible to imagine. The Badari are not like us—they have served the same family as far back as their history is recorded. At this time Ramtat’s son, Julian, is the person who holds the tribes at peace. You do this family a great wrong. If you do not want war to erupt and spill all over Egypt, you must cease your persecution of my wife’s family.”

  “I have been reconsidering a decision that was made in the heat of anger, years ago. I may have acted too hastily when I issued the death sentence on the Tausrat family.”

  Marcellus was cautious, but there was something different about Octavian, a veil of fear lurking in his eyes when he spoke of war with the desert tribe. “I am not sure I comprehend your meaning.”

  Augustus met Marcellus’s gaze. “If what you say about the Bardari is true, Lord Ramtat could already have raised an army to drive Rome from Egypt. Why did he not do that when Queen Cleopatra died?”

  “For reasons you may not understand. Ramtat did not want to burden Egypt with another war—he wants peace for his people, both Egyptians and Badari.”

  “Elaborate.”

  Marcellus’s voice deepened with emotion. “I will share this with you—Ramtat will most certainly call for war if you cause harm to another member of his family.”

  “How?”

  “If you knew the might of the Badari, you would not ask. Do not do it, Octavian, lest you lose your grip on Egypt and see your empire crumble.”