The Barbarian (The Herod Chronicles Book 2) Page 25

  Herod didn't flinch. "This is private enough."

  The Queen's throaty laugh rippled upward. "You will need to take your army to Nabatea and dispose of Malichus before you see to your own business."

  Kadar gnashed his teeth. "War with Malichus could take months or years—"

  "I'm sure we can reach a compromise," Herod said calmly.

  Cleopatra's shoulder brushed Herod's. "Be prepared to use your famed persuasive powers on me, Herod of Idumea. And remember, I won't concede anything without gaining favors in return." The Queen strolled off, her translucent gown rippling over smooth curves.

  Obodas rocked back on his heels. "Holy heavens, how is a man supposed to resist her?"

  Kadar raised a brow at Herod.

  "By not forgetting Mark Antony," Herod said. "Antony would have my head if I lay one finger on his mistress."

  "What about the war she wants you to wage against Malichus?" Kadar asked, afraid he would hate the answer.

  Herod crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Though I'd love to repay Malichus for turning his back on me, I won't be talked into fighting the Nabateans."

  Kadar massaged his knotted neck muscles. Their plan called for them to go to Rome if Cleopatra proved unhelpful, a few months’ journey they'd hoped wouldn't be necessary. "So, it's on to Rome now?"

  "I want to work a little longer on persuading Her Royal Highness to see things my way."

  "You're a braver man than I am," Obodas said.

  The gilded chamber closed in around Kadar. Egypt didn't suit him. Not one bit. "Can you do without me tomorrow? I want to check on Lydia's slave woman."

  Herod frowned. "Take Obodas along with you. We wouldn't want you to fall into trouble the way you did last time you visited Alexandria."

  An image of Sabu Nakht's oily face and lank hair loomed. Kadar swallowed. "Nothing will go wrong. It's just a simple errand."

  CHAPTER 32

  Kadar and Obodas walked under the spindly palms guarding the two-story villa he'd sneaked into six years earlier when he came to rescue Lydia. Had he really been so young and reckless?

  He didn't regret coming to Alexandria, despite the loathsomeness of the copper mine and slavery. Yes, he'd suffered, but he'd gained Lydia. A more than ample reward for his troubles.

  Kadar knocked on the villa's wooden door. The bread and cheese he'd eaten for breakfast curdled as he imagined Lydia married to her old, fat uncle.

  "I entered through a window the last time I was here," Kadar said.

  Obodas rumbled with laughter. "Sneaking back out the window didn't work so well?"

  "Simeon Onias knew I was coming. I never stood a chance."

  The door creaked open. A freckle-faced slave maiden stared up in awe. "You must be Brynhild's blue-eyed giant. Bryn said you were brawny enough to lift an ox." The slave's wide eyes moved on to Obodas. "Are you his brother?"

  Obodas winked. "Do I look sufficiently ugly to be his brother?"

  The girl giggled and a hint of pink showed through her freckles.

  Kadar held onto his patience for the young maiden's sake. "I would like to speak to Brynhild."

  "Bryn isn't here. Our mistress sold her."

  Kadar winced. "Is Brynhild still in Alexandria?"

  Turning skittish, the slave maiden glanced back over her shoulder. "Her master is staying in rented rooms at the Sandbank Inn."

  Kadar dug a coin out of his pouch. "I hope we don't cause you any trouble."

  The freckle-faced girl grabbed the coin and snapped the door closed.

  Kadar and Obodas retreated to the street, stopped a passerby, and asked for directions. A half hour later they were two blocks from the reeking Nile, standing in front of a dilapidated three-story building. Kadar knocked on its faded red door. The door creaked open on its own.

  A woman’s panicked voice came from an inner room, screaming something unintelligible.

  Kadar barged in and ran down a long, narrow hall. Obodas followed on his heels. A crash and a jumble of yells and curses came from the left. Kadar and Obodas veered down another hall, charged into a dimly lit bedchamber, and skidded to a halt. Eight armed men surrounded them. Kadar and Obodas drew their swords and assumed a defensive stance.

  "What the devil?" Obodas said, breathing heavily.

  Heart slamming in his chest and blood pounding through his head, Kadar tried to make sense of what he saw.

  At back the room, a man had a choke hold on Brynhild. The pear-shaped woman's arm was pinned behind her back at an unnatural angle. Hair stood out in all directions from her disheveled blond braids. Tears streaked her ruddy cheeks.

  Had they interrupted a robbery? The swordsmen surrounding them were dressed in a mix of armor, making them look more like a collection of mercenary soldiers than a band of thieves.

  Then a bald-headed man wearing rich robes stepped out from behind a decorative reed screen.

  Goda.

  Simeon Onias's bald eunuch strolled forward wearing a broad and pleased smile. "Barbarian, you leaped into my trap just as I knew you would. You oversized giants are so predictable."

  Kadar frowned. "How did you learn I was in Egypt? How did you know I would come here?"

  Goda laughed. "Word of Herod's arrival, accompanied by a blond giant, spread like wildfire through Alexandria. And a freckle-faced angel flew here as quickly as she could to collect her generous reward."

  Hate rekindling for the man who had sold him into slavery, Kadar pointed the tip of his sword at the eunuch. "Release Brynhild."

  "Goda blames you for his troubles," Brynhild warned. Arm yanked higher, she screamed pitifully.

  Kadar charged. A wall of swords blocked his path. He glared at the gloating eunuch. "I'll kill you if your man hurts her again."

  Goda paled.

  Obodas put a hand on Kadar's shoulder. "Everybody remain calm."

  "Drop your weapons," Goda demanded, hate gleaming in his eyes. "Or I'll order my man to break the loud-mouthed woman's other arm."

  Brynhild's whimpers rang in Kadar's ears. "Thundering Thor," he growled as he threw down his sword.

  A moment later, Obodas's heavy blade clattered against the stone floor. "What did you do to offend this toad?"

  Kadar shook his head. "I made the mistake of not dying in the copper mine. Simeon Onias wasn't pleased when he found out the eunuch hadn't killed me as he’d been ordered to do. Onias dismissed him."

  Goda waved his hand at the lead soldier. "Get on with it."

  "Down on your bellies, scum," the man barked.

  Obodas frowned, but dropped to his knees and stretched out on his stomach.

  Kadar's muscles tightened. Memories of his helplessness and vulnerability as a slave flooded back. Resisting the urge to fight his way free, he laid down beside Obodas on the spongy wood floor stinking of urine.

  The soldiers bound Kadar's hands and feet with horsehair rope.

  Goda came and stood over them. "I'm going to enjoy humiliating you, Barbarian."

  Grains of sand rasped along Kadar's skin. "Release Brynhild and do what you will to me."

  "Are you sure you want to hurt one of Herod of Idumeas's commanders?" Obodas asked in a reasonable tone.

  "You heard him," Goda replied. "The barbarian promised to hunt me down and kill me."

  Kadar detested the bald eunuch, but seeking revenge ranked low on his list of priorities. "Do you ever laugh or share drinks with friends? Oh, that's right, you don't have any friends."

  A smattering of laughter came from the mercenaries.

  The eunuch's lips pursed. "Oh, I have something special in mind for you."

  A sinking feeling rolled through Kadar.

  Goda snapped his fingers and a morose, sallow-faced man stepped out from behind the reed screen, clutching a bulky bundle in his gnarled hands.

  "The fiend has hired an unscrupulous Egyptian priest to carve you up," Brynhild choked out, then yelped in pain.

  Kadar strained against his bonds. "Just what do you have in mind?"r />
  Goda's smile was wicked. "Flip him on his back and bare his private parts."

  Kadar kicked and bucked, but was easily outmatched by four rugged soldiers. Rough hands clamped onto his arms and legs, hauled him over onto his back, and pulled at his tunic and loin cloth. Cool air struck naked skin.

  "Leave him alone!" Obodas yelled, struggling to get on his feet. Two men fell on the burly commander, knocking him back to his belly.

  Brynhild alternated between screaming curses and cries of pain.

  A leather band dug into Kadar's forehead, forcing his head back. A hammer and nails secured the strap to the floor. Arms already pinned behind his back, Kadar's bound legs were fastened to the floorboards next.

  Once they’d finished trussing Kadar like an animal pelt to a drying rack, the men stepped back, remarking enviously over his great size.

  A white silk slipper kicked Kadar's side. The eunuch smiled down at him. "Who's laughing now, Barbarian?"

  Kadar's blood boiled with hate. "I won't grovel for mercy or beg your forgiveness, if that's what you're hoping." A quick death was starting to look good. Very good.

  "What I want?" Goda scoffed. "I want the princely reward Simeon Onias will give me for your head after my mercenaries lop it off your shoulders. But first I want to watch as your foreskin is peeled away."

  Kadar's stomach roiled. "My foreskin? You don't mean to...you can't truly mean to—"

  "Circumcise you?" Goda gloated. "I can't wait to hear you scream louder than old Brynhild."

  Kadar broke out in a cold sweat and his loins curled up tight. "As long as you don't kiss me, I don't care what you do."

  The soldiers chuckled.

  "When will you learn to shut that big mouth of yours?" Obodas hissed, breathing heavily.

  Goda's face turned bright red, looking like his head was going to explode. He waved the priest forward. "Cut him. Feel free to make it slow, painful and messy."

  The sallow-faced man knelt down, unrolled his bundle of tools, pulled out a silvery, hooked instrument, and inspected the working end.

  Kadar's head spun sickeningly and his breath backed up into his lungs.

  The priest's hot, sweaty hand seized Kadar's leg.

  Kadar twisted and thrashed. The leather straps cut into his forehead and ankles. "Get away from me, you filthy dog!"

  Strong fingers squeezed Kadar's stones, ripping a guttural cry from his gut. Unable to curl up, his muscles strained against the blinding pain shooting through him.

  The priest's hot breath raked Kadar's face. "Stay still!"

  Kadar struggled to draw a breath. Then searing pain knifed through him. Warm blood pooled on his belly and oozed down his thighs. Through a thin blanket of black dancing before his eyes, Kadar watched the priest wave a red-smeared strip of flesh in the air. Watched Goda grab the bloodied foreskin away. Watched the damnable eunuch smile triumphantly.

  Kadar groaned. His manhood burning hot as fire, and his insides good as dead, he tipped his chin up, baring his neck for the mercenary's deadly sword.

  Shouts and confused scrambling rang through the room. Kadar saw Brynhild knock the eunuch to the floor. Taking advantage of the hired soldiers’ inattention, Obodas jumped to his feet, scooped up his discarded sword, and struck down one man, then another.

  Kadar strained against the leather bands, found a small amount of give in the tie holding his head in place. He yanked his head up repeatedly, felt the band loosen. His eyes watered at the searing pain stinging his flesh. He took a deep breath, and straining, he pulled and pulled. A nail gave way with a pop.

  Obodas's sword sliced through a wide-eyed soldier. Goda had gotten a stranglehold on Brynhild. Kadar's legs remained pinned to the ground. He sat up. A sharp stab of pain shot through him. He gritted his teeth and twisted toward Goda, slipped the horsehair rope binding his hands around the eunuch's neck, and yanked and pulled.

  Goda kicked and tugged on Kadar's hands, but the spiteful man received no mercy. The eunuch's life ebbed away, then jerked to a stop.

  Heart beating double time, Kadar shoved Goda aside, then searched for a sword to defend himself. A sandaled foot kicked a sword his way. He grabbed up the weapon, held it at the ready, only to see Obodas standing alone in the middle of the room. Four bodies lay sprawled on the floor. "What happened to the rest of the men?"

  Obodas made a face. "Hired soldiers always run away after the man paying them dies."

  A cool draft blew over Kadar's bare skin, raising his flesh. He stared down at his bloody, maimed manhood. Anger surged, then gave way to despair. He tugged his tunic down over his hips.

  Brynhild grasped her broken arm and crawled over to Kadar. "It's just a bit of tissue," she reassured him. "You're alive, and you can return to my Lydia. That’s what’s important."

  Obodas knelt beside Kadar, and worked on freeing him from the leather bands. "Leave him in peace, woman. Give him time to recover."

  All the time in the world wouldn't give Kadar a new foreskin. He touched his hand to the heavy amulet lying against his chest. And he felt as lonely and lost as the day he left his village behind and set out into the unknown.

  CHAPTER 33

  Two weeks after his forced circumcision, Kadar no longer experienced burning pain with every move he made. Now all he had to contend with was the blatant stares whenever he left his bedchamber. Herod and Obodas kept assuring him Cleopatra's household would soon find something new to gossip about, but the whispers and giggles continued to plague him.

  Kadar slowed when he reached the arched entryway to the private Roman bath Herod was using. The very bath Mark Antony used when visiting Alexandria. The sound of water lapping against stone mixed with the drone of male voices. A wreath of fragrant almond oil wrapped itself around him. He tugged on the neckline of his tunic. Leave it to Herod to hold a vital staff meeting in a Roman bath.

  Kadar entered the vaulted chamber and walked softly across a sea of blue and green mosaic tiles.

  "Don't tell me you think you can actually sneak in unnoticed," Herod called out, his booming voice echoing off murals depicting the green banks of the Nile, flourishing with exotic water birds and blue lilies.

  Herod, Pheroras, and Obodas reclined on the benches lining the perimeter of the pool. Kadar exhaled heavily and lowered himself onto a marble stool sitting next to a table holding a pitcher of wine, silver cups, and bowls of bread, cheese, and grapes. He plucked up a red-veined grape and stared at it sightlessly. "Have you made any progress with Cleopatra?"

  "Take off your tunic and join us in the pool," Herod ordered in a tone that said he wouldn't take no for an answer.

  Never bothered by nudity, be it his own or others, Kadar couldn't look at his own nakedness now without his face heating. He was far from ready to expose his altered state to the world. "I suppose you're trying to help. Don't!"

  "Get in the pool," Herod growled.

  Kadar flung the grape at the image of a black-beaked Ibis staring from a spindly stand of bulrushes. He yanked his brown linen tunic over his head. Resisting the urge to turn his back, he glared at the other three men, unwound his loincloth, and tossed it aside. Dank air rushed over exposed skin.

  "Glad to see the physician didn't cut off any of your important parts," Herod observed dryly.

  Obodas wagged his brows. "The women will still like you just fine."

  Pheroras glanced down at his nether region, then back at Kadar’s face. "I can’t imagine why you're hiding. You have no reason to complain, if you ask me."

  The ribbing from his fellow soldiers didn't sting as much as Kadar had feared. He walked to the edge of the pool. "Shut your mouths before I shut them for you."

  His friends grinned like fools.

  Kadar allowed himself a small smile before diving into the cool pool. He swam underwater to the opposite wall, reemerged, and wiped the water from his face. "Will Cleopatra help you raise an army or is she still toying with you?"

  Herod's black eyes lost their glitter. "Her Royal
Highness is still insisting I fight Nabatea and King Malichus before she will help me retake Jerusalem. My spies tell me Mark Antony won't return to Egypt until next spring at the earliest." Herod pushed a wall of water away from his body with his arms. "I don't think I have any choice but to go to Rome."

  The trip meant their loved ones would be stranded atop Masada for months longer. Time Hasmond and Parthia would use to strengthen their defenses. Time enough for people to forget about Herod.

  "I think you should continue to work on changing Cleopatra's mind," Pheroras said.

  Obodas scratched his trim beard. "Going to Rome is a big risk."

  Kadar hated the idea of going even farther away from Lydia. "Will Antony help us?"

  Herod looked like he had bitten into a sour grape. "Antony should be here himself, ridding his provinces of the Parthian menace, instead of traipsing about Rome whoring and drinking and scheming against Octavian. With civil war looming between Antony and Octavian, we might not merit an audience with either of them, much less squeeze support out of them."

  Kadar rolled his shoulders. "We don't have any other options, do we?"

  "No," Herod said and blew out a frustrated breath. "I agree with Pheroras. Cleopatra is our best hope for now."

  Obodas climbed to his feet. Water sheeted off his massive body. "I'll shrivel up like rotted fruit if I stay in this pool any longer."

  "I need to write a letter to my son," Pheroras said, following Obodas out of the pool. The two men strolled off toward the dressing chamber.

  Herod swam to Kadar's side of the bath.

  Kadar lowered himself further into the refreshing water. "I'm going to stay a bit longer."

  Herod reached out and tapped the hammer-shaped amulet hanging on a black leather cord around Kadar's neck. "Still holding onto your pagan ways, I see."

  "I am a pagan."

  "Are you?" Herod gaze slid down, then back up. "You can find a physician who can restore your foreskin."

  Kadar winced and covered himself. "Don't jest, you big ox."

  A white-toothed smile lit Herod's face. "I'm not. Some Hellenistic Jews resort to epispasm."