Daughter of Egypt

by Constance O'Banyon

  “Aye, he did say that,” Safra admitted, tightening her hold even more. “If you do not have a care, we will surely tip over!” she cried, clinging tighter to the golden rung.

  “Fear not. I shall get us to the goldsmith’s and back home without mishap.” Thalia’s expert young hands held firmly on the reins. “Trust in me to keep you safe.”

  “Aiee, I trust you, but not those great brutes,” Safra cried, her eyes widening. “Suppose they take it in their heads to race through the streets, crushing people as they go!”

  “My whites are as gentle as newborn lambs and respond to the slightest tug on the reins.”

  “Those beast are not lambs, they’re thistle thorns!”

  Thalia’s laughter danced on the wind as she reflected on the poor woman’s fear and slowed the stallions to placate her. The chariot was black with gold trim, and had been a gift from Queen Cleopatra. The four Badarian whites that pranced at the end of the red leather reins were a gift from Ramtat and had been specially trained to draw a chariot.

  Thalia loved the freedom she experienced when she could allow her whites to run full out—she loved the wind in her hair and sun on her face. But poor Safra was frightened out of her wits, so Thalia slowed their pace even more for the maid’s sake.

  Thalia artfully swerved to miss a row of tethered donkeys laden with wares for the marketplace. She laughed aloud when Safra groaned. The jingle of harnesses turned many gazes in her direction, and those who knew Thalia respectfully bowed as she passed.

  As they neared Alexandria, the roadway became more congested, and Thalia slowed the horses to a canter. She never tired of the sight of the numerous marble obelisks that vied for space against the background of the great lighthouse. In the distance, sunlight reflected off the Mediterranean Sea, giving the appearance of melted turquoise. The very air she breathed was charged with excitement.

  Thalia had always loved the sounds and smells of the marketplace of Alexandria and thought of it as the heartbeat of Egypt. The fishmonger called out that his fish was a fresh catch. A basketmaker’s artful fingers wove spindly reeds into shape. The potter’s wheel turned as masterful hands shaped a fat blue jug. Thalia loved Egypt as much as any daughter who had been born to this ancient land.

  When they reached the center of the marketplace, the press of humanity was so great that Thalia was forced to slow the whites to a walk. The goldsmith’s shop was just ahead, and she halted the team in front of it. Tying the reins off, she stepped from the chariot, instructing Safra to wait for her. The guards halted their horses to await her return.

  When Thalia entered the shop, she paused to watch the goldsmith lift a crucible of melted gold and pour it into a mold the shape of a coiled asp. She knew the piece was being crafted for Queen Cleopatra. When the goldsmith saw her, he immediately stopped what he was doing and bowed low. “Have you come for the ring Lord Ramtat ordered, Lady Thalia?”

  “Aye, Master Craftsman. My brother is anxious to make a gift of this to his wife.”

  The goldsmith bowed once more and handed her an ebony box that contained the ring. When Thalia stepped out of the shop, the sights and sounds reminded her of her childhood on the streets of Rome. But Alexandria was the queen of cities, with marble buildings reflected against blue skies, while Rome copied the architectural styles of those she conquered. Of course, Thalia’s Roman brother-in-law, Marcellus, was the newest Master Architect of Rome, and he copied no man’s work. She was proud of his accomplishments, which were admired by many around the world.

  Noticing her whites were growing restless and stomping their hooves, Thalia mounted the chariot and took up the reins.

  On the homeward journey, the streets were more congested, and it soon became necessary for Thalia to rein her horses to a full stop. Without movement, the heat was like the inside of an oven and sweat ran down her face, stinging her eyes.

  A sudden unease touched Thalia’s mind—at first it was just a prickle of disquiet, and then a trickle of edginess. Her gaze quickly moved over the faces of the people that surrounded her, but she saw nothing threatening. There was a sea of faces, all unknown to her, but no one who seemed to wish her harm. Then she swung her head to her left, and he was there. The one-eyed man.

  Thalia tensed, fear tingling all over her like ants crawling her skin. She glanced over her shoulder to see how close Jamal and his guards were, and her heart plummeted—they were some way back, attempting to maneuver though the crowd.

  Swinging her head back in the direction of her old nemesis, she watched him pushing his way through the throngs of people in an attempt to reach her.

  Since Thalia was hemmed in by the crowd, she could go no farther lest her horses trample the people in front of her. Her grip tightened on the whip, and she spoke quickly to Safra. “Step out and go quickly to Jamal. Tell him I need him at once!”

  “Mistress?”

  All the fear Thalia had experienced as a child now resounded in her mind, and panic took over her reasoning. “Go now. Hasten!”

  Safra looked confused. “Mistress, the guards can do nothing to clear the people from your path. Would it not be better to wait until the crowd thins?”

  Losing patience because the servant questioned her at such a time, she shoved Safra out of the chariot. “Bring the guards to me at once. Tell them I am in danger!”

  Thalia, still at a standstill, was vaguely aware that Safra was attempting to elbow her way to the guards. Frantically, she searched the crowd and was somewhat relieved that she could not see the one-eyed man. Perhaps she’d only imagined him? No, there had been no mistake—she’d clearly seen his deeply scarred face.

  Where was he?

  Just as the crowd began to thin and Thalia could take a deep breath, she felt a presence behind her. He was there—she could feel his chill gaze upon her.

  And then he emerged from the crowd. With heavy tread, he closed in on Thalia.

  Raising her whip, she tried to strike him, but he grabbed her wrist and jumped into the chariot beside her.

  From their mounted horses, other eyes watched the incident in the marketplace. Ashtyn’s voice vibrated with anger as he spoke to Captain Darius. “Turk got to her before us. Follow him and find out where he takes her, then return to me at once.”

  “Aye, Commander.”

  Captain Darius nudged his horse around the edge of the crowd, taking a little-traveled alleyway and coming out the other end, in sight of the disappearing chariot. He stayed far enough behind Turk so the man wouldn’t realize he was being followed. From the looks of it, Turk was having a difficult time subduing the young woman while trying to keep the spirited whites under control.

  Ashtyn watched Thalia’s confused guards scatter in every direction. They would never reach the princess in time to rescue her.

  Fools, he thought, as he helplessly spun his horse around. Why hadn’t they stayed close enough to protect her?

  Dark clouds were gathering in the north, and the smell of rain was in the air as Thalia struggled against the hateful man, fighting for her freedom. But he was too strong for her and managed to press her between him and the chariot. He wrenched the whip from her hand and applied it to the horses. The whites, not accustomed to the whip, leaped forward, and the crowd scattered to avoid the flying hooves.

  Thalia would not admit she was beaten. She shoved against the man, but with his heavy bulk, he merely smiled at her futile attempt.

  “Cease struggling,” he told her, grabbing her wrists in a tight grip. “I mean you no harm. Your safety is my one concern.”

  Fat raindrops pelted Thalia as she continued to struggle. “Why do you do this?” she cried, trying to loosen her hands so she could strike him. “Answer me!”

  He stared straight ahead. “Your questions will all be answered when the time is right.”

  Thalia thought of her mother and how grieved she would be when she heard what had happened. “If you mean me no harm, allow me to give a message to my servant to take to my mother.
She is unwell.”

  The stranger merely looked down at her with that cold, colorless eye, and she felt fear clog her throat. He seemed to know all the twists and turns of the side streets and alleyways that took them away from the crowds. He refused to slow the horses when some unsuspecting person was in his path, and Thalia thanked the gods that thus far no one had been trampled beneath the hooves of her whites.

  He was pressing against her so tightly she could hardly draw a breath, and she could not move at all.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked in a trembling voice. “I demand to know.”

  “A place where no one will look for you until I can safely get you onboard a ship.”

  Now she was really frightened. “You are taking me out of Egypt?”

  He fixed her with his rheumy eye. “I am taking you home to the island of Bal Forea.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, trying to squirm loose. “Are you mad?”

  “Nay, Lady—I will be greatly rewarded for capturing you.”

  She stilled and fell silent while a tremor shook her. The person she had run from for most of her childhood had finally caught her.

  “Who will pay you for my capture?”

  “You will learn in time.”

  She was in real trouble. No one would know where to look for her.

  “It will mean your life if you don’t set me free,” she told him.

  “I’m in no danger—your family will not miss you for hours, and by that time, we will be out of the city.”

  All the rooms at the villa were lit and the estate was a beehive of activity. Lady Larania’s guards swarmed throughout Alexandria, questioning people and searching every building in the marketplace, but they could find no trace of Thalia.

  Fierce Bedouin warriors surrounded the house and gardens, their swords unsheathed, ever alert for trouble. With trembling hands, Lady Larania finished the message she was writing to Ramtat, urging him to return at once. Rolling the scroll, she tapped it against the palm of her hand, wondering helplessly if there was more she could do.

  Jamal entered Lady Larania’s chamber with a heavy tread, his head bowed low in shame. “Mistress, you have every right to blame me for Lady Thalia’s abduction. But the man who took the young mistress timed his plan well. With the crowds swarming around us, there was no way we could reach Lady Thalia in time.”

  “I do blame you,” she said, standing and pacing. “I’m told you knew she had been approached by strangers on two different occasions and did not inform me. Why is that?”

  “Mistress,” he said, his gaze hitting the floor. “Not wanting to worry you, Lady Thalia ordered me not to say anything. She can be very persuasive when she puts her mind to it.”

  “Tell me everything that happened. My son will want to know when he arrives. Who was the man? Why did he take my daughter?”

  “I can think of no one who would wish her harm. But whoever did this was brazen—he took her in open daylight among a multitude of people, with her guards just behind her. He jumped into the chariot with your daughter and spirited her away. Before we could reach her, they had disappeared.”

  Lady Larania stared at the man. “No one just disappears.”

  Once more Jamal bowed his head, unable to meet his mistress’s accusing gaze. It was his responsibility to protect the Tausrat family. He had failed, and now bore the shame.

  “Mistress, what is it you wish me to do?”

  “I wish I knew.” Lady Larania turned her tear-bright eyes away so he would not see her cry. “If anyone is to blame, it is I.” Her shoulders hunched with weariness. “I should have remembered her telling me she had been followed as a child. But I thought her safe here. It never entered my mind that anyone would take her away from us.”

  “Mistress, be not concerned for your own safety. My warriors will not allow anyone to cross these lands.”

  She spun around to face him, anger choking her. “Do not think I worry about my own safety—I want my daughter back! Don’t waste valuable time and men guarding me.” She handed him the scroll. “Give this to your fastest rider and instruct him to travel night and day to reach my son. Have him inform Lord Ramtat of what has happened and ask in my name that he come here in all haste.”

  Jamal took the scroll, bowing low. “If Lady Thalia is still in the city, we will find her.”

  Lady Larania’s spine stiffened. “And if she is not?”

  Jamal gave a hopeless gesture and said glumly, “Then we will widen the search.”

  Chapter Eight

  When Thalia’s captor lifted her into his arms, she struggled and twisted, trying to get away from him. She could see that he intended to abandon her horses and chariot in a dank, narrow alley. “Let go of me,” she commanded.

  Turk laughed down at Thalia. “Someone will sell the chariot and steal the horses,” he said, carrying her away. “That will make it more difficult for anyone to trace us.”

  “My guards are Bedouin; they are not so easily fooled, as you shall soon discover.”

  His mouth thinned. “If the men who guarded you today were Bedouin, they deserve neither your praise nor my admiration. They did not protect you very well, did they?”

  Thalia fell silent.

  The big man carried her through twisting and turning alleyways that were unfamiliar to her. Near the outskirts of Alexandria, they were suddenly joined by three mounted men, one of whom led an extra horse.

  When the one-eyed man attempted to lift Thalia on one of the horses, she reached up and tore at his face with her fingernails. He smashed his huge hand against her jaw, and she knew no more.

  Thalia wasn’t sure how long she had been unconscious. She groaned and blinked her eyes, tenderly touching her throbbing jaw. She heard a buzzing in her ears and closed her eyes against a wave of nausea. Her captor held her in front of him on a horse. She was jolted against the man and cried out in pain.

  “I did not want to hurt you,” he said.

  “You’re a swine,” she spat, the sheltered noblewomen reverting in an instant to the child of the streets who had to fight to survive. She pulled herself up stiffly, not wanting him to know how frightened she was or that she was silently crying.

  Once, the stranger’s horse stumbled, and he caught Thalia by the arm to keep her from falling. She felt the strength in his callused hands, and knew he was capable of killing her if he decided to.

  As the city disappeared behind them, so did Thalia’s hope. They were racing across the desert, and she watched as sunlight broke through the clouds and struck against the sand, turning it the color of burnished gold.

  It was long after sunset when they finally halted at an abandoned limestone quarry. Thalia had ridden past the site many times on her way to the Badari encampment. It was a crude campsite, with only one tent. When her captor lifted her off the horse, she noticed his companions avoided looking at her and wondered why.

  The big man motioned the others away, then led Thalia to the tent. When she balked at the opening, he gave her a shove, and she almost lost her footing. She expected him to follow, but he did not. Thalia wondered if, after all these years of trying to elude this man, she would finally find out why he had hunted her so relentlessly.

  A lantern that had been placed on a small stool did little to brighten the darkened corners inside the tent. After pacing until she was weary, Thalia finally dropped down onto a cot, taking notice of her surroundings. To her surprise, the tent was well furnished; there was an ebony cushioned stool and the cot was covered with a valuable tiger-skin robe. A pitcher of water sat on a low table, and she reached out to examine a jade drinking cup with precious stones inlaid in its curved handle.

  Thalia frowned, wondering why the man had taken the trouble and expense to add such comforts for a captive. By the gods, what could this man want with her? He said he was taking her home—what did that mean?

  Thalia paused at the tent opening and listened to the murmur of voices. Although she did not speak their languag
e, she understood enough words to recognize that they were speaking Greek. If they were not Romans, who were they?

  Thalia cringed and stepped quickly away from the opening when she heard heavy footsteps crunch against loose limestone. Her breath caught when her captor’s deeply-accented voice called out to her.

  “May I enter, Lady?”

  His question made no sense—he had captured her, struck her hard enough to render her unconscious, and now he was asking her permission to enter the tent?

  “Go away.”

  “I will only take a moment of your time.”

  Thalia tugged at her short tunic, trying to cover as much of her legs as possible. “It is not for me to invite you in since I am your prisoner. Were I your hostess, you would certainly not be welcome.”

  “Nay. You are not my prisoner, but an honored guest. I want to ease your mind by explaining some things to you. Would you not welcome answers to the questions that have surely plagued you for years?”

  Though she cringed at the thought of being alone with him, Thalia did want answers, so she capitulated. “You may enter.”

  He eased the opening aside, and since he was so tall, had to stoop to enter. The flickering lantern cast half his face in shadow, and he looked even more menacing than usual. Thalia scrambled backwards until she reached the far side of the tent, watching every move he made, lest he come too near her.

  He seemed to sense her unease and kept his distance. “Again I ask forgiveness for striking you. But I had to silence you. It is my hope that you will learn to trust me,” he said gruffly. “I will never do you harm; I want only to serve you, most high lady. Will you not sit so we can talk?”

  “If you wish me no harm, you will allow me to go home.”

  “I am taking you home.” He motioned to the stool near the opening. “Do you mind if I sit in your presence? I am not as young as I once was, and today has been hard on these old bones.”