Lord of the Nile Page 2

  Danaë knew that both the cheetah and the albino skin were worth a king’s ransom. “I understand.”

  Lord Mycerinus attempted to smile, but it came out as a pained grimace. “I’m hoping the king will bestow my title on you. Although the title has never gone to a female, I have told him about your talent each time I stood before him. There is not a wild creature you cannot tame if it has never been corrupted by eating uncooked flesh.” He sighed, looking into her eyes. “Be cautious of those who stand beside the young king—they are cunning and conniving.”

  “You are saying I should not trust them.”

  “Never. I cannot say why, but I’ve always believed you have some connection with the royal house. Take care when you are among them.”

  They were far removed from the intrigues of Alexandria, but Danaë had been tutored well on the policies of Egypt, and she had her own opinions. “I don’t believe the royal family will pay much notice to me.”

  “At the moment, King Ptolemy has the greater force of Egyptians fighting for him, while Cleopatra has no more than a ragtag army. Although King Ptolemy is but a figurehead surrounded by a corrupt council, it is my hope that he will rise above those men and become the king we need him to be.” He closed his eyes briefly, and then focused on her once more. “My body fails me, but I must not fail you. And it is my hope you find a friend in the king.”

  Dread and unrest stirred inside her because she knew naught about court life, or even how to approach a royal. But her father was a wise man, and she trusted his guidance in all things. Seeing that he was tiring, and the lines on his face were deeply etched, she leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Thank you for the wonderful life you’ve given me.”

  He touched her cheek, and she almost cried out when she saw the tears in his eyes. “Farewell, daughter of my heart.” Then he reached for her hand and gripped it. “Trust very few with what I have told you today. If word were to reach the wrong people’s ears, and if they could put the pieces together about your birth, they might use you for their own gain. Take heed that you trust no one but the friends you are sure of.”

  “I will be careful,” she assured him, watching as he closed his eyes; the rise and fall of his chest was labored.

  After a while, Tobolt returned to give her father the medicine that would ease his pain.

  She sat there long afterward, quietly watching her father sleep. She had much to ponder, and all of it was heart-wrenching. When early afternoon shadows crept across the room, she kissed her father’s cheek and quietly left. The knowledge of where her life was taking her was almost more than she could endure—but endure it she must.

  It was early afternoon when Danaë found her way to the training grounds. She had grown up watching her father train wild animals. When she was but a young girl, not past her fourth summer, he had taken her into the training pens and begun instructing her how to train the animals.

  How long ago that seemed now.

  Danaë unhooked the cage that housed the monkeys, and her favorite, Sada, leaped into her arms.

  Choking on tears, Danaë placed a kiss on the monkey’s head, then put her back inside the cage. Her father had always told Danaë she had natural instincts for training animals and had praised her on how well the animals took to her. She paused before the lions’ cage and reached through the bars to stroke the spiky mane of the big male. He licked her fingers, and she smiled sadly, moving down the cages, mentally saying good-bye to each animal, knowing she’d not see them after this night.

  Good-byes were so painful—the servants she’d known all her life, the animals she’d loved and trained, and most of all, the man she had always thought of as her father.

  Sadly she left the training pens and returned to the house. Tomorrow she would leave her home, never to return, and it was breaking her heart.

  Ramtat stood at the bow of Caesar’s warship, listening to the even rhythm of the drums setting the tone for the oarsmen. He watched the ship cut through the darkened sea, each stroke of the oars taking him closer to Egypt and home after two years at Julius Caesar’s side. But he would find no peace there, for war was raging in his homeland, tearing it apart. He studied his hands, thinking of the sword he’d wielded, the enemies he’d slain. Ramtat was weary of war, but when he returned home, he would be forced to once more take up the sword.

  Only Caesar could end the bitter squabble between Cleopatra and her brother, Ptolemy.

  Chapter Two

  Home to Danaë was a villa several leagues from the ancient village of Akhetaten. To her, it had been the best of all possible worlds. Her father’s property stretched from the fertile Nile valley as far as the barren desert land. Unable to bear the sorrow of her father’s imminent death and of being forced to leave her home, Danaë did the thing she always did when she was troubled.

  She ran.

  Running usually cleared her head and lessened her worries. Today she had run farther and faster than was her habit, but it hadn’t lessened the pain, so she continued to run. Her legs were long, and her body firm from the exertion of training animals. She could run long after others had tired.

  A falcon circled above her in the white-hot sky. She dodged thorn bushes and hurdled over the outer crumbling walls of what had once been a mighty city. Time and sand had eaten away most of the structures, and the encroaching desert had done the rest—the history of the city had been forgotten by the passing of time, and it had gradually crumbled back into the desert from whence it came. It always made Danaë a little sad that no one remembered the name of the ruins or the race of people who had once laughed and loved there.

  Her beloved Egypt was old—as ancient as time itself; there were probably many such cities buried by the desert sand and forgotten.

  Earth met sky on the distant horizon, and Danaë felt small and insignificant compared to the sheer vastness of the land. Her spirit was tied to the desert, and it was there that she felt most alive. But tomorrow she must leave forever this place that was in her blood, in her very soul.

  She tried to clear her mind of grief and concentrate on the many honors her father had earned in his lifetime, the most prestigious being that of Royal Animal Trainer—a title bestowed upon him by the late king. Her eyes were swimming with tears, but they dried on her cheeks quickly in the hot desert wind. In the distance were several huge sand dunes, some as high as the great pyramids themselves; one was so huge it blocked out the sky behind it. Danaë paused and bent, bracing her hands on her knees in an attempt to catch her breath.

  She’d gone farther than she’d intended—just over the next rise was an oasis frequented by trade caravans. Gauging the distance, she pondered if it would be better to return home or go on to the oasis where she would find fresh water and shade. The desert was a treacherous place with its shifting, changing sands; even those who thought they knew it well could become lost and wander aimlessly until death overtook them.

  When she reached the top of the next sand dune, she saw the oasis in the distance. The wide leaves of date palms were waving in the wind, beckoning to her with their promised shade. She leaped over a rock formation that appeared to be honed out of granite and seemed out of place in this desert setting. When she reached the oasis, she paused long enough to take several deep breaths, knowing it would be madness to take a drink of water before she’d cooled down. Dropping to her knees, she splashed water in her face, then cupped her hands and took small sips until her thirst was satisfied. With a sigh, she leaned against the rough bark of the palm tree and watched a lizard dig its way beneath the scorching sand.

  Danaë looked up at the falcon that circled above her and watched the bird of prey catch the wind current and drift gracefully downward. With a smile, she extended her arm, and the falcon landed on her leather glove. She stroked the soft feathers at the bird’s neck and planted a kiss on his dark head.

  “Tyi, what a useless creature you are. Did you stop to devour some luckless prey before catching up with me?”

&n
bsp; The falcon cocked his noble head and blinked his amber eyes as if he understood her words. She glanced up at the lush foliage that acted as a canopy protecting her from the burning sun. Although it was only mid-morning, the temperature would be unbearable when the sun hit its zenith. Her gaze skimmed along the sand dunes that rose and fell like waves in the ocean. The oasis was on the caravan route between Bita and Crimea. She tried to imagine what wonders could be found in those faraway cities at the end of the caravans’ journeys.

  Danaë could tell by the spicy aroma that still lingered in the air, and by the deep impressions left by camel hooves in the mud, that a caravan had passed this way earlier in the day. Shards of sunlight broke through the swaying palm fronds, and she stood, stretching her muscles. Going up on tiptoe, she plucked a fat date, and although it wasn’t quite ripe, popped it into her mouth.

  Danaë would miss the desert and she lingered for a while saying good-bye. Tyi flapped his wings and gave a cry as he took to the air. Danaë’s hearing was keen, and she detected the sound of a large animal nearby. It wasn’t until she saw the black leopard appear over the low rise to the west that she became aware of being stalked by the cat.

  She turned her head into the breeze and watched the sleek leopard move gracefully toward her, then braced herself as the cat leaped at her with a force that took them both to the ground.

  “Obsidian,” she said, scratching behind the cat’s ear, “get off me—you’re much too heavy.” The cat was huge, with corded muscles and sharp claws that could rip prey apart, but she was gentle with Danaë.

  The creature licked her face, making her turn away to avoid the lapping tongue.

  “I told you to get off me!” Danaë said, trying to shove the cumbersome beast off her.

  Still the cat pressed against her, so Danaë slid her fingers into the thick black fur, and Obsidian purred with contentment. The black leopard was a rare color; most of her species were tawny with darker spots. Danaë shoved against the muscled neck, and reluctantly the animal moved off, turning her back as if pouting.

  “You naughty cat—you broke out of your cage again, didn’t you?” Danaë scolded.

  Obsidian flexed her muscles and turned her sleek head to regard Danaë with a lazy gaze that made her owner laugh. Only last year a committee from a nearby village had presented her father with a petition that the leopard be forbidden to run wild and, furthermore, that the beast be kept penned at all times. Even though they now kept her caged when she wasn’t with Danaë, it was too late to change the cat’s habits. Obsidian’s ways had already been set, and she was accustomed to roaming free.

  Danaë tapped the black head with her fingertip, and green eyes stared into hers. “You know you did wrong.”

  Obsidian stalked to the watering hole and bent to drink while Danaë glanced around to make certain no one was nearby to report the cat was on the loose. “We must go now!” she said in a tone of voice that was meant to be obeyed. “I said now!”

  Obsidian showed her annoyance with a subtle hiss that only made Danaë laugh. When the cat brushed against her leg, and her tongue lapped out to lick her fingers, Danaë knew she had already been forgiven.

  As she started running toward home, Danaë glanced upward where Tyi gracefully glided on the wind currents. The falcon had always been jealous of the cat, and today he was showing his displeasure by swooping toward Obsidian, and then soaring up to catch another wind drift, then diving at the cat once more. Oddly enough, Obsidian was intimidated by Tyi and flinched with each dive the bird made.

  On reaching the fruit orchard at the outer perimeter of the villa, Danaë finally slowed her pace, her hand on Obsidian’s studded collar to signal the cat to stay at her side. When she reached the vineyard, the pickers paused in their work to cast terrified glances at the big cat, so Danaë paused only long enough to pluck a ripe grape and eat it. Fields of grain waved in the distance, and Tyi spread his wings and headed in that direction in search of small game.

  This was her world, and she knew she was looking at it for the last time. She was heavy-hearted when she and Obsidian passed beneath the shade of the tall, graceful cypress trees, her movements scattering birds from their nesting places. They progressed down a well-worn path toward the sprawling, mud-brick, whitewashed house. Step by step, the leopard matched her pace and stayed even with her when they reached the household gardens where the heady scent of sage filled the air. Danaë watched Tyi dip and glide elegantly through her bedroom window where the bird’s perch was kept.

  Unlike the field workers, the kitchen slaves paid little attention to Obsidian, who often wandered the house. Most of them had watched her grow from a cub to a full-sized leopard. Danaë moved down the narrow hallway to her bedroom with Obsidian at her heels. “In your cage,” she said in a commanding voice. “No—don’t look at me like that. In your cage!”

  The animal balked.

  “Do it!”

  With an irritated swish of her tail, Obsidian finally complied.

  Bending down, Danaë examined the wooden closure that had been chewed through. “I see how you did this. I shall have to get something stronger to keep you in the cage—especially since we will be traveling,” she sighed.

  Again the black tail swished with displeasure. Danaë laughed and ruffled the animal’s fur. “Don’t worry, I’ll allow you out later, and you can sleep at the foot of my bed tonight.” Lifting a stool, she braced it against the cage door, knowing that if Obsidian wanted to escape, such a flimsy barrier would not deter her.

  Removing her leather glove, Danaë hung it on a peg, just as her maidservant, Minuhe, entered the room with a fresh jug of water.

  Minuhe had soft brown eyes and was tall and thin. She was an attractive woman with nice features, and like Danaë, she cared little for wigs of any kind. She dressed in plain white linen, her dark hair swept back from her face with ivory combs.

  “Mistress, the physician asked me to inform you that your father is resting peacefully; he has given the master an herb drink that will let him pass to the other world without pain.”

  Guilt slammed into Danaë—she should have remained at her father’s bedside today instead of running off into the desert. Hurriedly she went down the hallway to his chamber. Long into the night she sat beside his bed, but he never stirred. Twice Tobolt entered, giving her father medication so he would continue to rest.

  It was only two hours before dawn when Minuhe came for her. “The animals have been taken to the boat. It is time for us to leave.”

  Danaë bent to kiss her father’s cheek, knowing she would never see him again in this life. Her hand brushed across his brow, but still he didn’t stir. “I love you, Father,” she said as she moved toward the door. Danaë didn’t stop or look back, fearing she would be unable to leave if she did.

  A cart was waiting out front, and Minuhe led her charge toward it. Since her leaving had been kept secret, none of the servants had gathered to bid her farewell. Faraji, the guard who would accompany them to Alexandria, was mounted on his horse, and he acknowledged Lady Danaë, while his gaze swept the surroundings, looking for trouble of any kind.

  Danaë settled on the cushioned seat, and Minuhe climbed in beside her. It was but a short distance to the boat landing, but with each turn of the cart wheel, Danaë felt the distance yawning behind her. Sweet memories swirled through her mind as she left the only home she’d ever known.

  “How long have you known that your master was not my real father?” Danaë asked Minuhe, keeping her voice low so the man who drove the cart would not hear her.

  The servant met her steady gaze. “I was but a young woman when the master brought your mother to the villa. I helped the midwives deliver you, and I later prayed to the gods to save both you and your mother. You were given into my care that day.”

  Danaë looked at Minuhe accusingly. “You should have told me. I’ve always told you everything.”

  “I was sworn to secrecy,” she said, as if that excused everything. “Y
our mother kept her own secrets, and though she was afraid for you, she died peacefully after I promised to guard you with my life.”

  Danaë’s mother was a faceless shadow creature to her, and her real father she would never know; the man who had raised her and loved her as his own was her only family. “It’s almost more than I can bear to think of Father dying alone. It seems wrong that I cannot stay to see that he’s properly interred before I leave for Alexandria.”

  “That you cannot do! The master fears that Harique will arrive before you get safely away.” Minuhe shook her head regretfully. “Your cousin’s rage will be fearsome when he finds you gone. He will search for you.”

  Danaë nodded, refusing to cry for fear she would be unable to stop. “What you say is true, but it will be difficult to leave everything I love behind.” She met Minuhe’s gaze. “Harique will be cruel to the slaves at the villa—I’ve seen how he treats his own slaves. If only I were a man, I’d stand up to him—but being a woman, I must run like a coward.”

  “No one would ever accuse you of being a coward. You will do what you must and leave the others to the care of the gods. They can no longer be your concern.”

  “How will I live without Father?” Danaë exclaimed, feeling as if the weight of ages rested on her young shoulders.

  “Life is hard for you at the moment. But it will not always be so,” Minuhe told her, brushing tangled hair from her face. “You have known the love of a father, and he has arranged your future with a guiding hand. That knowledge is what you must carry with you from this place.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Minuhe patted Danaë’s hand. “You must let go of the past. When you reach Alexandria, you will begin a new life.”