Persian Rose (White Lotus Book 2)

by Libbie Hawker

  But Polycrates showed no sign of leaving off. He talked on and on, recalling the women who had pleased him best, in ports from Aphaia to Akrotiri, Halicarnassus to Troy. Every woman had been surpassingly beautiful, talented, unique in some distinct and important way. But who among them could compare to Archidike? The wild, the untamable, the unpredictable hetaera with blue fire in her eyes and a mouthful of hateful curses. As Polycrates’ lust for Archidike waxed like the full moon, Rhodopis’ heart began to beat with unexpected surprise. It seemed Archidike meant more to the Samian than Rhodopis had assumed. She was not just a favorite hetaera. Rhodopis with her dancing, her exquisite rarity, was at best a mere curiosity. It was Archidike who had captured Polycrates’ heart. She wondered if Archidike was aware of it yet—or, if she knew, whether she cared.

  “There is no one in all the world who can compare to Archidike.” Polycrates finished his worship by stabbing a fig with his eating knife. He plucked it from the blade with his teeth and chewed slowly, eyes closed in ecstasy, as if the fig held all the sweetness of Archidike’s kiss.

  “I am surely nothing like her,” Rhodopis said. “And you do know how to make a woman feel inadequate! Here I am, back for more—and all you can speak of is her?”

  “You’re not back for more,” Polycrates laughed. “You’re here to talk to me about this mysterious business of yours, whatever it is that plagues your mind. Talk, then.”

  Rhodopis saw at once that she could not convince Polycrates to commit his ships in this way—sated as he was, hungering only for the woman he loved. He would laugh her off; he would never believe she could deliver on a promise of Babylonian silver. She would have to lure him back to bed after all. With Archidike gone, she might hope to reignite his passion for the exquisite and the rare. It might be enough to bring him around.

  “Maybe I changed my mind,” she said lightly. “Maybe I’m back for more, after all.”

  Polycrates laughed, but said nothing.

  “When one must share, one never gets quite enough for satisfaction.”

  He watched her steadily over the table with its half-emptied tray. Rhodopis could all but read his thoughts: Is she in earnest? Does she truly want me again?

  Rhodopis stood; for the second time that day, she cast off her linen cape. “I am not Archidike,” she said slowly, “but surely I have some merits.” She untied the dress. It, too, fell once more.

  Polycrates came to her with another raucous laugh. He lifted her in his arms and laid her across on his supper couch. Rhodopis scratched his back and shoulders as he positioned himself above her; she bit his arm as hard as she dared, trying to make herself seem as dangerous and unpredictable as Archidike. Anything to bring him to her side, to enmesh him in her charms—anything to get out of Memphis that night.

  “You do have merits of your own,” Polycrates said, running his hands up her body.

  “As do you,” she murmured.

  “Which of mine do you like best?” He moved her hand to his cock, hard and ready beneath the Egyptian kilt.

  Rhodopis squeezed dutifully, but she said, “Your fast ships, of course.”

  He laughed. “My ships? I don’t believe a woman has ever given me that answer before.”

  “Then that makes me unusual, too.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t take you for the type of woman who craves the sea. That sort of woman is typically less…” He seemed to be searching for the right word. “Refined.”

  “But your ships do sound wonderful.” She ran her hands up his muscular and rather hairy chest, twined her fingers behind his neck. “I would love to see them. Wouldn’t it be a great laugh, to go sailing together?”

  “Sailing—where?”

  “Anywhere,” Rhodopis said at once. “Far beyond Egypt. You said you’ve never been to Babylon—”

  “No ship can make it to Babylon.”

  “But you could sail to Gebal, and take a caravan across the desert to Babylon. Don’t you want to see it? I’ve heard it’s the greatest city in the world—far better and richer than Memphis. You have no great love for Egypt—you told me as much at Charaxus’ party, the first night we met. I have no love for this place, either. Let us both go away together. Let us leave Egypt—tonight! I feel so… oh, wild and unpredictable! Come, Polycrates, let’s do it before we change our minds.”

  His hands darted up behind his neck; he seized Rhodopis by the wrists and, quick as a cobra’s strike, pinned her arms above her head. The dense, black beard descended upon her mouth. His kiss was forceful, dominating. But his hands pressed harder, fixing her to the couch. When he pulled back from the kiss, Rhodopis squawked in protest, trying to free herself from his grip.

  “So. You want my boats, eh? You’re after my ships. That’s why you came here today.”

  “No, I—”

  “I am no fool, Eulalia.”

  “I only want to sail away. An adventure!” She put on a show of pout and tease. “I thought you liked adventurous women.”

  “No well-bred woman wants to sail off with a pirate like me—not when she’s one of the most sought-after hetaerae in Memphis, earning a fortune every night. I doubt even Archidike, wild as she is, would give up so much freedom and wealth to sail from port to port.” His scowl deepened. “And you came here today without being called; I never sent for you. You came of your own accord, to try to convince me to spirit you away in one of my ships. Tell me what’s truly going on here, Eulalia. Tell me the truth, now, or I shall get angry.”

  Rhodopis bit her lip. A great shudder of surrender passed through her body, wracking her limbs, sending a curious warmth down her spine. What did she have to lose by confessing the truth to Polycrates? Archidike would do her work, if Charaxus hadn’t already; the Pharaoh would know all about her return to Memphis by moonrise. Rhodopis’ life would be forfeit. She may as well be honest with the man.

  She looked up into his dark eyes. “I’m a spy,” she said calmly. “I was a hetaera here in Memphis, but Amasis took me into his harem, and then sent me off to Persia to report on Cambyses. Only, once I got to Babylon, I changed allegiance and agreed to work for Cambyses instead.”

  His shaggy brows raised.

  She went on. “I want the Persian king to conquer Egypt, and restore it to the way it was before we Greeks had so much influence. I want Amasis pulled from his throne, and I want his son Psamtik destroyed.” The fire of hate flared in her belly. “I will see Psamtik destroyed, do you hear me?”

  The pirate nodded slowly, but still he said nothing.

  “Cambyses is ready to do it,” Rhodopis said, “ready to fall on Egypt—but he needs Greek allies. I’ve been here in Memphis for weeks now, trying desperately to find someone—anyone—who seems likely to make a good alliance with Persia. Someone who can stop Amasis from getting the help he’ll need when Cambyses attacks. I found no such man, though… until I met you. Your fleet, your connections in Greece and in Memphis—and you have no loyalty to the Horus Throne. I want you to join forces with Cambyses, and help us conquer Egypt.”

  Still Polycrates held his tongue. He continued staring down at her, wide-eyed with some emotion Rhodopis couldn’t quite place. It might have been horror. She thought a hungry bolt of greed cross his expression, too, with a quick, silvery flicker. Then, all at once, he threw back his head and roared with laughter, so loud the andron seemed to shudder. He released her; Rhodopis jerked her hands down to her chest and rubbed her wrists, glaring.

  “You hurt me, you brute.”

  “What a tale!” Polycrates said.

  “It’s all true—every word.” She fought to sit up; Polycrates retreated on the couch, allowing her to scramble upright. “You must believe me.”

  “I do believe.”

  “You… you do?”

  “It’s too absurd a tale to be false!”

  Polycrates returned his attention to the figs on his supper tray. He ate one, then another, while Rhodopis sat with her heart thumping, waiting for him to speak. At last, unable t
o bear the suspense any longer, she said, “Now that you know, what are you going to do?”

  Polycrates only chuckled. He stood and stretched with his bare back to Rhodopis. The red tracks of Archidike’s claws still showed on his skin. Polycrates lifted his cup of wine, drained it in one long draft. When he lowered the cup, he wore an air of happy buoyance like some brightly colored robe. “What am I going to do?” he said. “Why, I’m going to overthrow Egypt, of course. What else should a man like me do, when given with such an opportunity?”

  Rhodopis did not trust him. She swallowed hard. “You’re only teasing me. It’s cruel, Polycrates, when my life depends on finding someone to help.”

  He shook his head. “It’s no jest, Eulalia. I’m quite serious. I go wherever the money’s best, and the money hasn’t been good in Egypt for years now. I’m only here now out of necessity—and perhaps, if I’m honest with myself, to enjoy Archidike one last time. But Amasis is a fool, and Egypt is plagued by this damnable unrest. I expect the pay will be much better under Cambyses than any fares I can hope to earn here in Memphis.” He stilled, suddenly thoughtful. “It seems so clear to me now—go to Persia, and sell my ships to their cause. It’s a wonder I never thought of it myself, for everybody with a spark of intelligence can see where Egypt is headed. But the truth is, I never would have thought of it if you hadn’t spilled out your confession to me. You funny little hetaera.” He laughed again, hearty and amused. “The gods are strange, aren’t they?”

  A slow, hopeful light crept around the edges of Rhodopis’ thoughts, like the morning sun peeking over a misty horizon. She wasn’t doomed after all—not yet, not for certain. She scrambled from the couch and snatched up her dress, donning it hastily. “We must sail to Persia as soon as possible. We must leave tonight!”

  Polycrates laid a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Why the rush, girl?”

  “Cambyses is expecting an ally by now. And he’ll be so glad to have you, with all your ships, and all the people you know—here and in Greece. You can influence—”

  “You’ve got some other reason for leaving tonight.”

  She pressed her lips tightly together. But reluctance and secrecy were only habits by now. She had already told Polycrates the most dangerous and damning tale. What trouble could the rest of the truth make?

  “I do have another reason. My name isn’t Eulalia—it’s Rhodopis. If Amasis learns that I’m back in the city, he’ll send his guards after me straight away. There will be no mercy for me, Polycrates—I betrayed the Pharaoh. Charaxus knows who I really am, but I angered him this morning, and he went off full of hate, vowing to spread the word that I’ve returned. And…” She hung her head, unable to look at him while she spoke on. “And Archidike knows, too. Archidike has her own reasons for hating me. She would be very glad to see me hurt, or even killed.” She looked up at him again, lurching forward in sudden desperation. “But I would never hurt Archidike, Polycrates—you must believe me! The sourness between us is all due to a misunderstanding. I’ll leave her well alone, for your sake, if you’ll only help me get away before she can tell the Pharaoh I’m here!”

  Polycrates patted her on the shoulder. It felt so strange to receive a comforting gesture from this large, overbearing man—one who had only touched her with the basest of lust until now—that Rhodopis nearly laughed. But there was nothing amusing about her predicament.

  “I can’t leave tonight,” Polycrates said. “Arrangements must be made; my crew will take at least a day to track down and rally back to the ships. There are some other details I must see to before we can sail.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “How long, then?”

  “Tomorrow night. I can be ready to sail then. You must lie low for one more day. You can do it, can’t you?”

  “I shall have to,” Rhodopis said faintly.

  “Good. Meet me at the North End quay tomorrow at moonrise, second to last mooring. My ship is called Omen.”

  “You won’t leave me behind?”

  He laughed, harsh and loud. “Gods, no. If what you’ve said is true, I’d best have you beside me. How else can I hope to explain myself to King Cambyses? If I haven’t your blessing, he might think me a spy sent by Amasis. Then it would be my head on a spear, instead of yours.”

  23

  At Moonrise

  That night, cowering in her little house, Rhodopis and Amtes occupied themselves by packing a large basket apiece for the coming journey. They would be forced to travel light; they could risk no conspicuous parade of goods, streaming out of Eulalia’s estate toward the North End quay. Whatever they brought out of Memphis—each necessity for the long journey—must fit within the two large baskets Amtes had procured. The baskets had tightly fitted lids and woven straps for the women’s shoulders. Rhodopis would carry one, Amtes the other; whatever they could not hoist to their own backs would be left behind for the servants to claim.

  Rhodopis and her handmaid wrung a few tense hours out of the work, sorting carefully through each possession in the house, weighing its relative benefits and potential uses. In the end, she and Amtes packed a few changes of plain, unadorned clothing, the simplest hygiene goods, and a handful of bracelets and earrings each. None of the jewelry was too grand or rich, for they must be able to trade the pieces with ease in port towns along the way. The bartered ornaments would be used to secure whatever essentials they could not carry away. Amtes also packed her writing brush and ink, along with a few scraps of papyrus. She had sent her last pigeon that afternoon, alerting Cambyses that Rhodopis had secured his expected ally, along with a small fleet of fast ships. They both prayed the message would reach Babylon in time.

  But it did not take long to prepare for the journey. As night deepened and both women fell idle, Rhodopis carried a bowl of incense out into the garden. She crouched among the flowers, drifting the smoke across her face, praying to Ishtar and a host of other gods for mercy and protection. Now and then, the streets beyond her walls would surge and with angry shouts, and every time she flinched, certain that Polycrates had abandoned her and the Pharaoh had come. Often, she broke into tears, frantic with the strain of waiting. She could do nothing but pray, casting her fears up to the distant white stars.

  By the time the incense had crumbled to ashes, Rhodopis was bone-weary with fear. She crept into her bed and slept for a few merciful hours, too exhausted to pray any longer. But morning came relentlessly, and when she rose, Rhodopis was more frightened than ever before. An impossibly long day stretched ahead, bleak and cruel—hours of useless pacing, hours of uncertainty while she waited for moonrise to come. She ate little of the food Amtes brought, and remained beside her window, by turns tearful and emotionless, then somber with acceptance. Polycrates was every bit the pirate, the consummate opportunist. She was painfully aware that he might have found some advantage in selling her out to the Pharaoh, or gratifying his lover Archidike by sealing Rhodopis to her fate. By the time the sun set, she was half mad with tension. She would have welcomed the Pharaoh’s guards pounding on her door by that time, merely for an end to the strain.

  But at last, the purple shroud of twilight descended over Memphis. Night’s black deepened. The thin, sharp crescent of a white moon edged above the garden wall. When pale starlight limned the first spring blossoms in her garden, Rhodopis breathed deeply. The cool night air filled her, calmed her. For a moment, she half convinced herself it was the first breath she’d ever drawn.

  “It’s time,” Amtes said quietly, coming into the chamber. She had not painted the false tattoos on her face that morning; the disguise would no longer be needed. Faint traces of ink remained on her cheeks and brow, eerie, shadowy. Amtes hefted her basket up from the floor, fitted its straps on her strong shoulders.

  “What have you told the household staff?” Rhodopis said.

  “That you’re off to attend a client who prefers late-night engagements. I kept my cape’s hood up while I spoke to them, so they didn’t see my face, and notice my tattoos missing�
�� in case anything goes amiss. If we run into trouble, we must return here to the estate, and take up our old disguises.”

  “Nothing must go amiss,” Rhodopis said hotly.

  Amtes tossed a cloak of simple, unbleached linen to Rhodopis. “Put this on.”

  “And if the servants see me leaving, dressed this way?”

  “They’ll think it’s part of the games you play with tonight’s client. In the morning, they will find the letter I’ve written. It says you’ve gone back to Lesvos to see your dying father one last time, and you’ve left all the goods in the estate for them. That will keep them all well paid through the end of the year. They won’t be caught out in any desperation.”

  Amtes wrapped a long scarf around Rhodopis’ head, covering her black-dyed hair. The scarf made a rather skimpy costume, but Rhodopis could knew she could shelter better beneath that simple strip of silk far better than she could in the trappings of a hetaera.

  Amtes slipped something small and hard into Rhodopis’ hand. The latter looked down in surprise. It was a small knife, sheathed in flat, slick leather. Two long, thin braids of dark silk trailed from the sheath.

  “In case we are separated,” Amtes said. “Tie it around her waist.”

  Rhodopis did as her handmaid said, then lifted her basket and settled it on her shoulders. She nodded to Amtes. Side by side, they slipped quietly through the darkened house, out beneath the portico, and across Eulalia’s small, neat courtyard. When they passed beneath the outer gate, quiet as a pair of shadows, Rhodopis’ heart lurched with an uncomfortable sensation of exposure. She pulled the rough cape close around her body, seeking some comfort in its folds, and hurried along the street toward the quay.

  Amtes had already scouted the route earlier that day. She led Rhodopis swiftly through the alleys, the empty market squares. Step by hurried step, they pressed on toward the river. They passed through groups of men and women who went about the business of early evening—bearing jugs of water from the river, beating sleeping mats on the street corners, or laughing and jostling as they moved from one beer shop to the next. No one cast an eye in Rhodopis’ direction; she moved among the citizens of Memphis, unremarked. Still, although the city appeared to take no notice, Rhodopis couldn’t rid herself of a dreadful, sinking certainty she and Amtes were followed. Again and again, she glanced back over her shoulder, scanning the streets for any sign of pursuit. But there was no one—no suspicious shadow darting in her wake, no troop of soldiers closing with their swords upraised.