Persian Rose (White Lotus Book 2)

by Libbie Hawker

  “I’d heard the tale of the falcon and the slipper, of course,” Aesop said, “but I never imagined it could be true. Even if I had believed it, I couldn’t have dreamed that you were the woman Amasis found.”

  “I can scarce believe it myself,” she said, grinning. “And yet I’ve lived it—all of it. This has truly been my life, though it feels like something from a nursery tale.”

  Rhodopis’ smile dimmed a little.

  “There’s more to your story,” Aesop said softly.

  “Yes. And I know I can trust you—you, of all people! But oh, Aesop, I’m afraid. And I’m fearful if you know the whole story, you’ll think me a liability, and you’ll wish never to see me again. So maybe it’s better after all if I say nothing.”

  Aesop took her hand. “Perhaps I can help you, if you do tell me. You need help, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Rhodopis burst out, “ever so much! I’ve tried to be as clever and clear-headed as you taught me, but… but…”

  “You’re sixteen years old, my friend. Whatever is weighing on you, it’s a difficult burden for a young person to bear.”

  The starlit blooms of the garden blurred into great, soft balls of glowing light as tears filled her eyes. Rhodopis couldn’t stop herself from weeping; the relief of sympathy, of being understood, was far too great.

  Aesop patted her back. “You can trust me, Doricha. I will never hurt you, and I’ll help you if I can. I swear it by all the gods.”

  The sound of her old name filled Rhodopis with a surge of emotions, so powerful and sudden she couldn’t sort them out. They all wound together, binding in a hard knot somewhere below her heart. She shook her head, surrendering to the relief of a friendly hand and a sympathetic ear. And then, with another deep and ragged breath, she told Aesop everything.

  “Once I was in his harem, Amasis got it in his head to send me off to Persia, disguised as the Pharaoh’s daughter.”

  Aesop went very still, waiting for her to say more.

  “If he’d only wanted me to go and marry the Persian king, that would have been well enough. What woman wouldn’t like to be wife to a king? But he sent me to Persia with a secret task. Amasis is terribly frightened that Cambyses will bring down his armies from the north, and no one will be able to stop him. I was… I was meant to be Amasis’ eyes and ears in Babylon. Get to know Cambyses, and then tell all his secrets to Amasis, so he could find some way to stop the Persians from invading.”

  Aesop’s eyes widened, and his lips pressed into a thin line. But he regarded Rhodopis quietly, a calm acceptance of her terrible predicament, and waited patiently for her to say more.

  “But once I was in Babylon,” she said, “I met a man named Phanes. He’s the king’s most trusted advisor, and he saw through my disguise straight away. Aesop, there was nothing I could do to deter him—nothing! He was far too clever and persistent. But after he told me his great work—the goal he’s dedicated his life to—I found… I found that I wanted to help him after all. And I would have done it, I think, even if Phanes hadn’t had the power to expose me to Cambyses.”

  “What do you mean?” Aesop said slowly, cautiously. “What is Phanes ‘great work?’”

  Rhodopis’ voice dropped even lower, a whisper so faint she could scarcely hear her own words. “He intends to overthrow Amasis, and place Cambyses on the Horus Throne.”

  A tense silence. Finally, Aesop said, “I see. I suppose it’s no great surprise, that the king of Persia would seek to conquer Egypt. The way the winds are blowing, Egypt can’t continue to stand on its own—not for much longer. But I had assumed it would be some Greek king who claimed Egypt, when the time was right and Amasis was ripe for the harvest. The Pharaoh has made a tidy path for the Greeks, after all. But why do you care for his plan, Doricha? What is this affair to you?”

  “It’s because of Psamtik that I care.” Her voice was level, calm… hard with determination.

  “The Pharaoh’s son?”

  “Yes. He… he hurt me, Aesop, when I was in the Pharaoh’s harem. He—”

  “All right,” Aesop said, squeezing her cold fingers. “I understand. You needn’t say any more. Poor thing.”

  “I’ll do anything to stop Psamtik from taking power… from ever holding the least shred power over another person. I never want to see that hideous beast on a king’s throne, with a king’s crown upon his head. He isn’t worthy of such an honor. And I will stop him from taking the throne, Aesop, no matter what I must do. Even if I lose my life in the attempt. Even if I must bring Egypt down with Psamtik.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to simply kill Psamtik? If you want to prevent him from ruling, I mean.”

  Rhodopis huffed a near-silent laugh. “How am I to get back into the Pharaoh’s palace? And what weapon should I use, that the king’s guards can’t take from me? No—strange as it seems, it would be easier to topple Egypt entirely than to find my way back into the palace, a free woman, and do away with Psamtik.” She paused; the insects sang on. “Like I told you, I can scarcely believe this is my life, and not some fantastical story.”

  “How are you to do it? This Phanes man—what has he planned?”

  Rhodopis hesitated.

  “You can trust me, Doricha. What loyalty have I to the Pharaoh—or to Egypt itself? We who have lived as slaves have no nation, no affiliation, save to one another. I feel much more loyalty to you—a friend—than to any king or country.”

  “I do trust you,” she said. “Maybe it’s foolish, for my life seems all danger and fear, and if I have learned anything since leaving Thrace, I have learned that I should put my faith in no one. But I trust you, Aesop. How can I not?” She clasped her hands together, squeezing so tightly that her nails bit into the backs of her own hands. “I’m back in Memphis to secure allies for Cambyses. He needs someone capable of driving a great, strong wedge between Egypt and Greece. But I must find that ally soon. My time is running out. If I don’t provide Cambyses what he needs, I know I’ll wake one of these nights to find a man with a knife standing over my bed. Cambyses is growing impatient.”

  “Have you thought of anyone yet? Identified any man who might suit your purpose?”

  “Polycrates of Samos seems likely,” she said. “He has the fastest ships, and his love for silver is far greater than his love for Egypt. But I can’t attract his attention—he’s so coarse and uncaring. Nothing I try seems to interest him. I attempted to catch his eye at a party a few nights ago, and he seemed amused by me, as he would be by any pretty woman. But he was not particularly drawn—not enough that I could hope to influence him. I had thought he would be here tonight. He is Samian, after all. But he hasn’t turned up, and now I’m starting to despair.”

  “I have encountered Polycrates a few times,” Aesop said wryly. “He is coarse, as you say, but despite his loud ways, the man has exceptionally refined tastes.”

  “Has he?” She smiled tentatively. The thought of Polycrates harboring an appreciation for the finer things in life was simply too incongruous.

  “Most men of his type do have fine tastes—mercenaries, I mean. Pirates. What else would drive them to seek out ever more fortune? In that way, Polycrates is no different from the merchants and guildsmen, and the sons of rich families who haunt these night-time parties. They all love rare, exquisite things; they all seek wealth so they can buy more silks, bigger houses, more fine wine and beautiful women—all the earmarks of class and status.”

  “But I’ve already disguised myself as the finest, most sought-after hetaera in Memphis. Even that hasn’t been enough to win more than a kiss on the hand from Polycrates.”

  Aesop stroked his chin, thinking. “Beautiful women can be had anywhere. A man like Polycrates is lured by rarity. You should dance for him, Doricha. Your dancing sets you apart from other women. It will drive Polycrates mad with desire; no one in Memphis dances half so well as you.”

  “That’s the trouble, isn’t it?” Her hopes sagged again. “If I dance, anyone who sees
me will know who I truly am. My disguise will be ruined. Archidike already suspects me; I’ve held her off with slander, but that shield can’t hold forever. And Charaxus knows who I am, of course—there was no avoiding him. If anyone else finds out… when they find out… rumor will travel back to the Pharaoh’s palace. Amasis and his chief wife will kill me if they know I’m back in Memphis, for it can only mean I’ve changed sides and gone over to Cambyses.” She choked back a sob. “I face death no matter what, Aesop! What shall I do?”

  “It’s true,” he said calmly, “the risk is great. Is it worth revealing your identity, to secure Polycrates and his ships? For you are correct: there will be no maintaining your present disguise once you dance.”

  “If I can convince Polycrates to side with Cambyses quickly, then I can be on my way back to Babylon before anyone in Memphis can catch me. But I can’t be sure of him—oh, if only I could be sure! Aesop, what if I dance, but Polycrates won’t pledge his ships?”

  “That is a decision only you can make—a risk only you can run. I wish I could offer more encouragement than that, Doricha. But I can promise this: I will support you and help you, no matter what you choose.”

  “Help me?” She swallowed her tears. “You mean in the work—Phanes’ plan. I can’t ask you to risk yourself, too. The gods put me in this predicament for reasons I can’t understand, but you’re free of it, Aesop. You should stay well clear.”

  His voice dropped lower. “I have no great love for Egypt as it exists now. Remember, Doricha: the same system, the same culture enslaved us both—took us from our families, changed both our lives forever. I would rejoice to see Amasis fall. Perhaps Egypt will fare better under Cambyses than it has fared under its present Pharaoh. One thing is certain: Egypt can hardly do worse.”

  Rhodopis had no strength to resist him anymore. Overwhelmed by the relief of friendship, she threw her arms around his neck, weeping on his shoulder, heedless of the eye-paint she left on his chlamys and his skin.

  “We will bring Polycrates to your side,” Aesop whispered, patting her back with his warm, gentle hand. “Trust me. We’ll find a way.”

  19

  Now

  Rhodopis clenched her hands behind her back, where none one could see. Sharp nails dug into her palms; the bite of pain stilled her as another wave of shivers threatened to wrack her body. This was how she had passed the early evening—holding herself apart from the party’s many guests, fighting back shudders of dread as one stark fear after another tumbled endlessly through her mind. The music was her saving grace. She lingered the musicians, allowing the complex interplay of harp, flute, and drum to comfort and calm her. Rhodopis had lived through enough dire circumstances to drop any woman dead from fright, but only once before had she felt so insecure, so certain a brutal end was at hand. That had been the moment she’d knelt before Cambyses, watching the tip of his sword scrape the dusty pavers of his courtyard. Now she groveled before neither man nor king—she stood poised, outwardly cool, aloof and fine as a star in the sky. But nevertheless, Rhodopis knew she was about to place her life in the hands of another, as she had done that day with Cambyses.

  How strange it felt, how disorienting, to stand once more in the andron of her first master. Her head was light, her spirit drifting, as if she moved continually in and out of the dream realm. Somehow, Rhodopis felt that Iadmon’s andron—indeed, his entire estate—ought to have looked quite different. The place was so eerily unchanged that she half expected to find a blue sash tied around her waist, with a simple white tunic in place of the fine hetaera’s gown. After everything Rhodopis had been through, all the varied identities she had worn—the different lives she had lived—how could Iadmon and his home have escaped the touch of time? She blinked uneasily at the room—the same warm light she recalled from earlier days, flickering in the same lamps. The finely made furniture of ebony and inlaid cedar, each piece standing precisely where she remembered it. Even the upstanding guests were the same—familiar faces she could name by instinct, bodies she knew well lounging on the couches. The pale pillars of the andron were a temple dedicated to stasis. Beyond the pillars, the same old gods waited, unmoved, in their rows of little niches.

  Three years gone, and nothing here has changed. Nothing, except me. Now Rhodopis was a free woman, not a slave-girl—or at least, she wore the guise of freedom. She would never be truly free, so long as she remained caught between Amasis and Cambyses, between Archidike and Charaxus with their threats of exposure. Superstitious dread milled in her heart. If Iadmon’s home was so completely unchanged, then perhaps she was, too. Perhaps she had not hidden herself as well as she’d thought. Had Amasis known for weeks that she had forsaken Egypt, and had opened her eyes and ears for Persia? The Pharaoh might be biding his time, waiting for a convenient moment to arrest her.

  No, she told herself firmly, fighting back another shiver. You must trust in Amtes’ skills. Your disguise is a good one.

  Amtes had done her work especially well this evening. The good handmaid had dyed Rhodopis’ hair that morning, smothering the red-gold that tried to peek through the fading color. Now Rhodopis’ intricate braid was darker than a stork’s wingtip. Her kohl and eye-paints were perhaps a touch too extravagant tonight, too gaudy for current fashion. But it was critical that Rhodopis should not be identified by Iadmon, or any of his friends… not, at least, before recognition became inevitable. Between black hair, bright paints, and the richest gown Rhodopis had found among those purchased by Phanes—a flowing silk in blue so deep it was almost purple—she bore little resemblance to Doricha the slave girl. Yet still, fear persisted.

  Why shouldn’t I be afraid? Only a half-wit could believe that all is well. If the night went as Rhodopis hoped—as she and Aesop had planned—then the mask called Eulalia would shatter for good. Tonight, Rhodopis would run the first trembling strides in a race against time and rumor. She was not at all certain she was strong enough to win.

  This party—this night—had been Aesop’s idea. He was a free man now, no longer a part of Iadmon’s household in any legal or official sense. Yet Aesop still enjoyed significant influence over the trader’s life and business. He had convinced Iadmon to host a Samian party of his own… and this time, Aesop had seen to it himself that Polycrates would attend.

  Rhodopis had received word early that morning that Polycrates would dine with Iadmon. She had sat for a long time at her garden window, trying in vain to gather her thoughts. Her feelings had been scattered like seeds before a storm wind—of little substance, whipped this way and that, impossible to catch and hold. Rhodopis had found but one firm thought she could cling to: Tonight, I’ll run the ultimate risk—my last gamble in Memphis. If the plan succeeded, she might hope to live. If it failed, all hope would assuredly be lost.

  With that certainty fixed in her mind, sunk deep and cold in the marrow of her bones, she had risen from her fruitless thoughts and turned to Amtes. “I was supposed to go to Charaxus tonight. You must send him word that I can’t see him.”

  “What shall I tell him?” Amtes had said.

  “Tell him I’m ill. Tell him anything. Tell I hate him, if you like, that I think he’s a meddling fool—it hardly matters now, if he knows the truth.”

  The music bent and slowed. It took on a melancholy air. Rhodopis accepted a cup of wine from a passing servant, more for the distraction than to quench any thirst. She sipped it slowly, never even tasting the vintage, and watched as Iadmon’s final guests arrived. Hetaerae moved through the andron, graceful and lithe as herons in river reeds. Now and then, a woman stooped to whisper in a friend’s ear, or dropped an enticing kiss on a man’s cheek. Servants bore the first course into the andron, carried on great trays of polished wood. But Rhodopis shook her head when the staff approached. Her stomach was far too ill with worry to eat tonight.

  A young man crossed the andron, his gaze fixed on Rhodopis. She shifted uncomfortably as he drew near, but she made herself smile at him.

  He bowe
d a polite greeting “Beautiful Eulalia, won’t you please join me for supper? I would be most honored to share my couch with you.”

  “You are very kind,” Rhodopis said, “but I cannot.”

  He chuckled. “I see. Waiting for someone in particular?”

  She laughed lightly, looking away, giving what she hoped was a passable imitation of shyness. Let the man think whatever he would. It mattered little, now.

  “Lucky man,” he said. “If you change your mind—or if he proves disappointing—feel free to find me. I won’t change my mind, I promise you.”

  He left her, and Rhodopis breathed a sigh of relief. Not only was she entirely too anxious to entertain any man tonight, but taking up company was no part of the evening’s carefully laid plans. Tonight she must hold herself apart from all other hetaerae—from all the guests. Tonight she must be the exquisite, unattainable, the rare creature Polycrates craved, the coveted object that would drive him to distraction. If the gods were merciful, it would work as Aesop had promised. She saw her conspirator moving purposefully across the andron, toward Iadmon on his couch. Aesop caught her eye. He gave her a fleeting but encouraging smile.

  He seems entirely sure it will all go off without any trouble. Wish I could feel half so confident.

  Aesop bent over Iadmon’s couch, murmured something in his hear. The master of the household raised himself on one elbow and looked around the andron with a rather suspicious air. Rhodopis’ heart sped with a nauseating lurch. She wondered what news Aesop had delivered, what could have put Iadmon in a state of sudden discomfiture. But then a tall, broad, dark-bearded figure strode between the entry pillars of the andron, and Rhodopis understood.