Persian Rose (White Lotus Book 2)

by Libbie Hawker

  “Praise the gods!” Rhodopis said, hoping the break in her own voice sounded more like passion than the laughter she felt welling in her chest.

  “You will come to me now, won’t you? Now that you’re free of the Pharaoh and that coarse lout Xanthes.”

  “Of course I will, darling! Nothing can keep me away. As long as you swear to keep my secret, that is. I could never live with myself if Amasis found out, and… and punished you. Oh, Rax! No one must ever know!”

  “No, my love… no one shall learn it from me. But Memphis is a danger to us both now. You must come away with me, Rho—” he caught himself abruptly. “—My love. Leave Memphis with me… not as a hetaera, but as my bride.”

  “Oh!” Rhodopis said. Her face heated. She should have counted on this, should have seen it coming. If only she’d had more time to think, to plan…! Stalling for time, her mind working frantically, she said, “But where would we go?”

  “Why, to Lesvos, of course—to my family’s estates. We will be safe there. Amasis cannot touch us. No one—nothing can touch our love!”

  The improbability of it! Again, the threat of laughter stirred within her. Eulalia was supposed to be from Lesvos, and here was Charaxus, proposing to carry her off to that very island! If he has his way, reckon I’ll find out whether Lesvos has mountains or not. But I mustn’t let him think there’s any possibility. It’s too absurd to countenance.

  “I can’t leave Memphis… not just yet. I’ve debts to Xanthes that I must pay off. Amasis was going to pay them, naturally, but he won’t do it now that I’ve left.”

  “I’ll pay the debts for you,” Charaxus said at once. “You’ll want for nothing as my wife. I’ll care for you so tenderly, so devotedly. Oh, do let me make you happy, my jewel! It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Damn him!

  She thought quickly. “But I am working to get some of my friends out of Xanthes’ Stable, too. I can’t leave Memphis until I’ve helped them set up on the outside, as free hetaerae. I owe them a debt of another kind—a debt of gratitude and honor.” There was certainly no one in the Stable to whom Rhodopis owed any such thing, but the emphasis on honor was something the high-minded Charaxus seemed to accept, albeit reluctantly.

  “I suppose,” he said slowly, “it will have to do, if I cannot convince you to come away with me now. But how long will it take? How much longer must we wait to be married? My heart will burst with the strain of it!”

  “Not long, I hope.” Rhodopis gazed up at him with wide eyes, smiling her sweetest, most beguiling smile. She could see in the helpless shake of his head, the melting look in his eyes, that her display of innocence and devotion was having every desired effect. “Oh, Rax, I’m so happy to have found you! How the gods have blessed us. I don’t know how I lived without you, these two long years.”

  And how in the names of all the cruel, capricious gods will I keep you at arm’s length long enough to see my mission through?

  17

  The Pirate of Samos

  Charaxus rolled from his bed. He left the tunic he’d removed lying on the floor where he’d dropped it, and pulled a fresh, clean one from a cedar chest. It hung loosely on his body. Rhodopis watched rather listlessly as he opened the shutters of his bed-chamber window. A river breeze entered, carrying the crisp scent of the Nile. The air held a certain familiar spice, too—the promise of warm weather to come, and all too soon after that, the thick, pounding heat of summer.

  Rhodopis did not rise from the bed. She sprawled on her back, sniffing the air despondently, feeling the inevitable advance of the seasons. She had been in Memphis for two months now; winter was almost gone. She had dispatched eight notes to Cambyses and Phanes, but none had contained the message she knew the king waited to hear. This week, Cambyses finally answered. The king’s reply was terse: Deliver a useful connection, if you expect me to find any use for you. Do not delay any longer. It hadn’t taken much insight to read the threat in Cambyses’ message. Time was running short. Her body seemed to know it as well as her mind; there was never a moment now when her heart did not race. A constant lump had taken up residence inside her throat; Rhodopis often imagined it was the tip of Cambyses’ sword, pressing, waiting.

  “When we reach Lesvos, you’ll marvel at the views.” Charaxus lounged against the window sill, watching the river flow steadily by. “The Nile is pretty enough, I suppose. It is the greatest river in the world, of course, but even the grandest river is nothing, compared to the sea. The sea around Lesvos is blue as sapphires, dotted with lovely dark islands. It’s a sight worth looking at, I tell you.”

  Rhodopis sighed. She stared up at the frieze carved into the ceiling—storks wading among tall reeds—and allowed Charaxus’ happy chatter to recede from her consciousness. His joy at having her back was unfettered. Rhodopis found his attentions more stifling than ever before. Charaxus had thrown a most unwelcome complication into her maneuvers, and the gods knew her work had already been difficult enough to manage. Now she had to spend every third or fourth night in Charaxus’ bed, playing at lovers to keep him happy and complacent. One fit of anger or jealousy, and Charaxus might very well spill her secret, unmasking the enigmatic Eulalia for all of Memphis to see. Every night she lay in his arms was a waste of precious time—a chance squandered to find and deliver the connection Cambyses expected.

  Charaxus nattered on, glad as a hoopoe in a berry patch. “We’ll go sailing as often as you like, my love. There are many tiny islands worth exploring—quite private, too, so we can have them all to ourselves, little kingdoms for us to rule. And I know you’ll adore my family, when you finally meet them. My mother is the very best woman, kind and gentle, and my sister Sappho—”

  If only I had a boat now, Rhodopis thought darkly. I’d sail away to some tiny island off Lesvos and live in a hut made of sticks and mud, and count myself lucky, so long as neither Amasis nor Cambyses could ever find me. Nor Charaxus, either.

  The thought sent a new tingle up Rhodopis’ spine. Ah—a boat! That was exactly the sort of resource Cambyses’ hoped-for man must hold. A fast boat, capable of sailing quickly from Memphis to any Grecian port. And the man who sailed it ought to be well acquainted with Greeks of real power, the sort of contacts who held kings and princes in the palms of their hands. She had met plenty of merchants, of course, and all of them sailed to every port, north and south, that could be reached from the Memphian shore. But they were all so entrenched in their trades that they were content to stay put for most of the year, lounging about the city while hired men did most of the real work of a trader.

  “Why, that old Samian pirate sailed better than any man I’ve ever met,” Charaxus was saying. “Sappho and I went out on his fastest ship for a lark once, but we damn near lost our lives, or so it seemed to me. I’ve never seen anything go so fast on the water as that ship of his. I was terrified—I’m not afraid to admit it—but Sappho just laughed into the wind, as if it were no more unusual than riding a horse.”

  A bitter, ironic smile tugged at her mouth. A Samian boat, was it? She couldn’t help but remember Iadmon’s boat, the Samian Wind—the one that had carried her here from Tanis. She turned her mind dully toward those thoughts, reliving her days on the deck of the Samian Wind, more as a welcome distraction from her fears than because the memory was particularly sweet. Newly separated from her family—from the only life she had known—her poor, tender, childish heart had attached itself to Aesop’s kindness. Oh, she had not loved Aesop, of course. Young as she was, love had never crossed her mind. But he had been good to her. She still thought of him as the only real friend she’d ever had. Rhodopis wondered whether Aesop was safe now, whether he was happy. And she wondered whether she could ever expect to feel safe or happy again.

  Charaxus talked on, unaware that Rhodopis’ mind had wandered far away. “—But that pirate knew more than I’d given him credit for. I dare say he still does. He had quite the reputation for knowing things no other man ought to know. It was his connecti
ons with the rulers he worked for, I believe. He would do a job of work for one, and accomplish what no one else could—his ships were so very fast, he could go where no one else dared, and in half the time it would take anyone else, too—and once he’d earned the gratitude for this king or that, he would use that gratitude for leverage, and extract all sorts of rare things from their treasuries. Clever.” Charaxus laughed heartily. “Ah, me. What fun Sappho and I had with him, even if I was sure I’d fall overboard and drown. He’s in Memphis now, or so I hear. I ought to find him and see if he still remembers me, though I confess, I’m half afraid he would put me on his boat again, and furl out those great, red sails, and set the thing flying so fast that the wind strips the flesh right off my bones. I’m not as young as I was! I can no longer withstand the rigors of a pirate’s life.”

  Rhodopis sat up slowly. The linen sheets fell away from her naked body; the air was not as cool as it should have been. Winter was almost gone.

  “What did you say his name was, Rax? That Samian pirate of yours?”

  Charaxus turned from the window. He smiled rather possessively at her nudity. “Polycrates. Yes, I heard just yesterday that he was here, though no one could say why. Come to do the bidding of one of his friends, I suppose, whatever that secret task may be.”

  Charaxus left off all thought of Polycrates of Samos; he came back to the bed, stripping off the blue tunic as he went. He dropped it on the floor, atop the other he’d shed earlier that day. Then he slid beneath the sheet and began planting a trail of kisses up Rhodopis’ arm. His lips traveled to her shoulder, then to the soft curve of her throat.

  Rhodopis pulled back from, shrugging off his attempts to nuzzle closer. “Tell me more about that pirate,” she said lightly. “He sounds amusing.”

  “I’ll amuse you far more,” Charaxus promised.

  “No, really, Rax. I can’t go again today; you’ve worn me clean out. A girl needs a rest now and then, you know.”

  Still Charaxus persisted. His fingers moved busily under the sheet, teasing Rhodopis’ thighs, circling her navel. She gritted her teeth to stop herself from shrieking at him to leave off, to keep his hands to his own damnable self.

  “I’m curious,” she said, affecting a casual yawn. “I’ve never met a pirate before. What could bring him to Egypt, I wonder? It’s a terrible long way from Samos.”

  “Oh, Polycrates goes all over the world—wherever he’s sent. He’ll do for money what a thousand other men will not. That’s the way with pirates. They’re daring—” Charaxus kissed her neck, “—and adventuresome—” his mouth moved to her cheek, leaving an unpleasantly wet mark “—and so fearless they’re dangerous.” He nipped her earlobe, causing Rhodopis to start, uttering a little gasp of surprise. “But most of all, they’re greedy. Enough silver can buy a pirate’s hand—and his ship—for any task you can imagine.”

  Charaxus pushed her gently back onto the mattress. She rolled at once, dodging his hands, leaving him to groan with frustration as he cast his eyes up toward the carved ceiling, as if begging the gods for patience.

  “He must be working for someone here in Egypt, then,” Rhodopis said. “Do you think the Pharaoh has hired him?”

  “He may be working for anyone in all the world,” Charaxus said, rather shortly. “And as for who the Pharaoh has or has not hired, I’m sure you know more than I. You spent so long in the Pharaoh’s company, after all.”

  There was no mistaking the note of bitterness in his words. That was no surprise; Charaxus resented Amasis for having taken his lover away, and although they never spoke of it, Rhodopis could tell the fact that she had lain with the king of Egypt gnawed at his thoughts unceasingly. Rhodopis supposed it was a tall order, for any man to follow one of the wealthiest kings in the world, and expect to impress a woman more. If he knew how many times I lay with Cambyses—and how Cambyses pleased me—poor Rax would fall dead of envy right here and now.

  “But in truth,” Charaxus added, “Polycrates isn’t terribly likely to work for the Pharaoh, even if he is a pirate. At least, old Amasis would have to offer him a truly staggering sum to arouse his interest in the first place.”

  “What do you mean? You said pirates will do anything for pay. What does it matter so much, who hands over the silver?”

  “It has been a long time since I’ve seen Polycrates—much may have changed—but I recall him as an inveterate hater of Egypt, and of all things Egyptian.”

  Rhodopis prayed the thrill of hope in her breast did not translate to a visible flush of her tender complexion. “Oh?” she said casually.

  Charaxus laughed. “Once—some time before that wild sailing trip Sappho and I took with him—Polycrates told me he hoped Egypt would fall in upon itself. It’s too old and dusty, he said, like some dark tomb, and tombs never hold anything that isn’t dead. Words to that effect; I don’t remember exactly what he said, for it was years ago.”

  “Surely Egypt isn’t as bad as that.”

  “No, but the Pharaohs have always been hard on pirates up in the Delta—it’s an Egyptian tradition—and no doubt Polycrates has been forced to pay heavy tolls to access the Nile and ply his trade. I’m only assuming the reason. All I know is, Polycrates held a distinctively negative opinion of Egypt, the last time we had occasion to talk.”

  “I don’t suppose he is working for Amasis, then.”

  “Certainly not. If Amasis needed that sort of work done, I am sure he could find more affordable—and more affable—men.”

  Rhodopis’ stomach fluttered. Was this, at last, the chance she needed? Had the gods pierced her dark despair, provided a tiny crack through which some hope gleamed? That glint of possibility was silver-bright, yet slim and fleeting. In Babylon, she had seized narrow opportunity when Ishtar had presented it. She must do the same now, and trust that the gods would once again uphold her. But even as her heart raced with newfound hope, Rhodopis counseled herself sternly. You can’t let expectation run wild. Over the past two months, she had met more men than she could count, hoping each new acquaintance would lead to a breakthrough. And countless times, those fragile hopes were dashed. This Samian pirate might very well prove to be another fruitless branch.

  But if I don’t try—if I don’t meet him myself and find out—the gods might never give me another chance.

  Rhodopis rolled back toward Charaxus. She kissed him lightly on the lips. “This pirate friend of yours sounds amusing. I want to meet him myself.”

  Charaxus cringed, an expression of pure chagrin. “It has been several years since I saw him last. He may not remember me at all, let alone count me a friend. And… he is a terribly coarse man, Rhodopis. That is usual among men of his sort, yet still, I hesitate to expose a woman to such a… personality.”

  Rhodopis laughed; there was nothing feigned in her amusement. “You hesitate to expose me? Me, a hetaera? Any person might say a hetaera is ten times coarser than the very worst pirate on his most offensive day.”

  “You won’t be a hetaera forever,” Charaxus said quietly. “You’ll be my wife soon, a true lady of Lesvos.”

  I’ll be dead soon, bobbing face-down along the Nile, unless I bring someone useful over to Cambyses’ side. “Well,” she said with forced cheer, “I’m neither a wife nor a lady of Lesvos yet. If I’m ever to meet a real Samian pirate, I had better do it now, while I’m still a hetaera. Oh, won’t you, Rax? Life has been too dull lately. This winter is hanging on relentlessly. I need something to look forward to, or I’ll go mad. Let’s have a little fun, can’t we?” She kissed him again. This time, her kiss was slow and lingering. “Come, darling. No pirate can hurt me while you’re here to protect me. Won’t you say yes?”

  “Well…” Charaxus hesitated again. Rhodopis beat her lashes, feeding him her most charming and seductive smile. “Well, all right,” he finally agreed. “I’ll make some inquiries. If he has the time… and if he still remembers me… I’ll see what can be done. Anything to keep you happy, my love.”

  Rhodo
pis had warned herself for days not to become overly excited about the prospect of Polycrates. But despite her sensible admonitions, she couldn’t quell the fluttering sensation in her stomach as Charaxus’ guests began to arrive at his small, elegant home. She had dressed in her most beautiful gown, a smooth, shimmering silk of carnelian red. She waited just inside Charaxus’ portico in a pool of golden lamp light, greeting each guest with dignity and quiet grace as he arrived. It was a task was reserved for the mistress of the house in Lesvos, Charaxus had told her. She was acting in the place of a wife, taking on a role she neither wanted nor was suited for—all to please Charaxus. Rhodopis felt as if she were being tried out, like the singers and players who audition before masters of performing troops. Yet that was silly, she thought glumly as she watched another litter arrive in the courtyard. Charaxus had already set his heart and mind on marrying Rhodopis. This was no trial of her capacity or fitness for a wife’s work. No doubt, Charaxus intended the role as a sort of gift—a privilege, a treat he assumed Rhodopis would savor.

  Rhodopis would never have minded the task, if she’d had any real intention of marrying Charaxus. Indeed, she might have been flattered. But as it was, acting the good little wife only made her feel all the more used and confined. She was resolved to play the role perfectly, though. Wasn’t she a hetaera? Hadn’t she been trained for a hetaera’s life, fitted for the role by the best two men in the business—Iadmon and Aesop? And what was a hetaera’s life, if not one feigned role after another? She set her mind to play this part without complaint, with all the poise and aplomb of a well-polished hetaera. Tonight would go well; it must. She would make it so by main force, if necessary. Nothing—not even Charaxus’ sentimental fantasies about a happy life in Lesvos—would ruin the evening.