Beloved (32 page)

The king nodded, then said, “Farewell, Marcus Alexander Britainus. The gods go with you, and keep you safe until you return to us here in Palmyra!”

Marcus bowed to the young king, and then nodded to the others before his eyes found Zenobia again. They gazed lovingly at each other. “Farewell, beloved,” he said softly, and he heard her answer, “Farewell, my heart! I will wait!”

He did not look back again, but mounted his white stallion and rode off through the main gates of the palace accompanied by his family’s slave, Leo, and six of Zenobia’s personal guard. He did not know that she went immediately to a tower in the palace that overlooked the main caravan road west, and watched until he and his party became but specks upon the horizon.

Several days later the first of her guards returned. Marcus Britainus and his party had taken passage from Tripoli upon a first-class merchant vessel,
Neptune’s Luck
, which would be stopping only at Cyprus and Crete before it reached Brindisi. The second messenger returned, and shortly thereafter the third. The voyage was progressing smoothly, the seas calm, the winds perfect. He would shortly be in Rome. In two months’ time the fourth messenger returned back to Palmyra: the queen’s beloved had safely reached Italy. Zenobia stopped fretting. The Appian Way, the empire’s most famous road, ran directly from Brindisi to Rome, and was eminently safe.

Now Zenobia turned her eyes toward Egypt. They departed Palmyra on an early winter’s morning, the queen and her handsome son both riding within the same magnificent gold chariot drawn by four coal-black horses. The citizens of Palmyra lining the way to the Triumphal Arch screamed themselves hoarse at the sight of their beloved queen and their king.

“How they love you,” Vaballathus marveled over the cries of the crowd.

“How they love
you,”
she corrected him. “You are the king.”

“No,” he replied. “I have not yet earned their adulation. It is you for whom they cry, but when we return through this Triumphal Arch they shall cry my name, and I
will deserve it!
”

Dagian, the wife of Lucius Alexander Britainus, hurried into the atrium of her home, arms outstretched in joyous welcome. “Marcus!” She flung her arms round her eldest son, and then kissed him on both cheeks. “Praise the gods, you have arrived home safely!”

He stood back and studied her. She was nearing sixty, and yet he could see little change in the fifteen years he had been away. Her wonderful, once golden hair was gray, but the blue eyes he had inherited were as clear and sharp as ever. There were few lines in her beautiful face. “Did Aulus arrive safely?” She nodded in the affirmative. “And Father? He is still alive?”

“Yes, but only because he did not choose to depart for the Underworld until he had seen you, Marcus. He is sleeping now, but I will take you to him when he awakens.”

“Marcus?” A woman, very like his mother but with red-blond hair, had come into the atrium.

“Lucia?” By the gods, she had been but a slip of a girl when he last saw her!

“I did not think it possible, Marcus, but you have grown even handsomer with age,” Lucia said, coming up and kissing him as his mother had done.

“And you, my sister, have also grown lovelier,” he answered.

“No, Marcus,” she answered him wryly. “I have simply grown,” and she laughingly patted her matronly form. “The result of five children, and too good a cook. Wait until you see your nieces and nephews, Marcus. They are young men and women.”

“Yes, Marcus,” Dagian put in quietly. “Lucia’s children are almost all grown, and you, the eldest of my children, are not even married.”

He might have put it off, but suddenly he realized it was better to speak the truth now, so they might get used to it, rather than wait until after his father had died and then suddenly spring it on
them. “I will not be making my home in Rome, Mother. I will be returning to Palmyra.”

“Marcus! Why?”

“I am afraid, Mother, that my fifteen years in the East have made me prefer a dry and warm climate.”

“And what else? You cannot fool me, Marcus. Warm weather is simply not a reason for deserting your home.”

He laughed. He was not going to escape her curiosity. He had never been able to, even as a child. “There is a lady whom I wish to marry. She has consented, and so I will return to Palmyra.”

“Who is she, Marcus?”

“I cannot tell you yet.”

“Is she married?”

“She is a widow.”

“Young enough to have children?”

“Yes, Mother. She is young enough to have children.”

“Is she beautiful, Marcus?” Lucia asked softly.

“Little sister, if the goddess Venus came to earth, she would take my beloved’s face and form.”

“You are in love!”
Dagian was amazed.

“I am in love, Mother,” he admitted with a smile.

For a moment Dagian stared in surprise at her son. He had always kept his feelings in complete check, never exhibiting undue emotion, even as a little boy. He had grown into a big, elegant, intelligent man who always appeared a bit severe to her. He was not like her younger son, Aulus, always laughing, light of heart, deeply involved in life, unafraid of being hurt. He was not like his sisters, passionate and gentle women whose emotions were always quite visible. No, Marcus had been the reserved one, and now suddenly to see his face alight with love was somewhat startling.

“Marcus!”
The cry was almost a shriek, and came from a short, plump young woman with her father’s dark hair and eyes who ran across the atrium and hurled herself into his arms.

He swung her high above him, and she giggled with glee as he put her down. “Eusebia, my little bird, you have not learned to curb your passion for sweets, I see.”

“Calvinus says a skinny woman is no use on a cold night,” came the prompt reply. She eyed him frankly. “Jupiter! You have grown positively gorgeous! Perhaps I should move to Palmyra.”

“It is love that has softened him, Eusebia,” teased her older sister.

“Love? Marcus is in love?” Eusebia’s dark brown eyes were round with curiosity. “Tell me! Tell me!” she begged her oldest brother.

“There is nothing to tell. I will marry the lady when I return to Palmyra.”

“You aren’t going to stay in Rome?” His oldest sister spoke.

“There is nothing here for me, Lucia. You live in Ravenna, Eusebia in Naples; and Aulus in Britain. Father is the first of the Alexanders to make Rome his permanent home. He likes it. I do not. I will return to Palmyra which I have grown to love, Lucia.”

“Do you plan to sell the business?” A man almost as tall as Marcus entered the room. “Welcome home, brother.”

“Thank you, Aulus.” Marcus was amused at his brother’s question. “I think we shall wait until the matter need be settled to settle it.”

“That’s right,” replied Aulus. “After all it will all be yours as the elder son, won’t it, Marcus?”

Marcus laughed pleasantly. “You haven’t changed, Auius. You are still spoilt.”

Aulus shook his head wearily. “The gods, Marcus! How long has it been since we have seen each other; and the second I lay eyes upon you I become the whiny little boy trying to compete. Forgive me, brother. I thought I had outgrown it.”

Marcus looked at his younger brother. Aulus was not quite as tall as he, but they looked very much alike with their blue eyes and chestnut-brown hair. He had been almost six when Aulus was born, and he had, he recalled, been totally unimpressed with the baby. Aulus, from the moment of his birth, had competed with his elder sibling, imitated him, followed him; but alas, the gap had been too great between the boys. Aulus had never been able to keep up, and although totally charming with everyone else, he eventually became embittered toward his brother, finding himself only when his maternal grandfather left him his estates in Britain and he could be his own man away from Marcus.

“We will make the decisions necessary together, when the time comes, Aulus,” Marcus said quietly, and Dagian was silently proud of her eldest child.

“You have had a long journey, my son,” she said. “I will show you to your room, and then perhaps you will want to bathe the dust of the road away.”

Knowing that his mother wanted to be alone with him for a few moments, he followed her from the atrium, leaving his sisters
and his brother behind to gossip. They ascended to the second floor of the house, and she led him into the simple bedchamber of his youth. Gone, however, were all the small things that had made the room his.

Dagian seated herself in the room’s one chair and looked piercingly at her son. “Now, Marcus,” she said. “I wish to know of this woman you propose to make my daughter-in-law.”

“Her name is Zenobia. She is the Queen of Palmyra.”

“The gods, my son! You aim high! How can you marry this woman if she is the Queen of Palmyra?”

“Her late husband Odenathus left her regent for their son, the young king. Once the king is married, her obligation is over, and Zenobia will be free to marry me.”

“But if her child is old enough to be king in his own right, then this woman is far too old to bear your children,” Dagian protested.

“We have a child, Mother. A daughter. Her name is Mavia, and she is the Princess of Palmyra.”

“What?!” Dagian gripped the arms of the chair and leaned forward, her lovely face very white.

“Hear me, Mother, before you speak again. I had barely arrived in Palmyra when I saw Zenobia and fell in love with her. Regrettably, she was about to marry Odenathus, who was then Prince of Palmyra.”

“She returned your feelings, though?”

“She didn’t even know, Mother. She was young, and very innocent, for after her mother’s death her father and her brothers all overprotected her. You would like her, Mother. She is very much like you in certain ways.”

Dagian looked like she might cry, but she fought back the emotion that threatened to spill over and asked in a voice that was less than steady, “How is she like me, Marcus?”

“She is stubborn, yet compassionate, intelligent, and kind. She was a good wife to her husband, and is a good mother to her children.”

“Yet she has borne you a child, Marcus. A child that you tell me is known as the Princess of Palmyra. I do not understand.”

“The night that Odenathus was killed, Zenobia collapsed with the shock, and we made love, Mother. In the morning I was gone and she remembered nothing. She believed the child to be her husband’s until she saw it, and then she remembered. We both thought it best that Mavia believe she is Odenathus’s child. To do
otherwise could have compromised the rule of young King Vaballathus, for although the boy is his father’s image, there are those who might say
he
was not Odenathus’s son.”

Dagian nodded, understanding Zenobia’s protective maternal instincts toward her children.

Marcus spoke again. “Now I wish to see my father, receive his final blessing, make his passage from this life to the next a happy one, and then return to my beloved in Palmyra. Zenobia is my very reason for living, Mother, and I ache with the separation from her.”

Dagian was now unable to control herself, and a flood of tears rushed down her face. “Oh, Marcus, you are my eldest child, and although I would never admit it before even to myself, you are my favorite child. I want you to be happy, but you cannot marry your Zenobia. Your father has arranged a match for you. He so wanted to see you married before he died. You must not be angry with him!”

Marcus was astounded.
“He arranged a match for me?
Has his illness rendered him mad, Mother? I am no boy for him to arrange a wife for me. I am past forty! Could he not have waited until I got home, and consulted with me on this matter?”

“Marcus, try to understand! He is dying and he wants everything in his life in order before he must make that crossing from here to the Underworld. His eldest son, a man these many years, remains unmarried. If you were a lover of boys he would have long since given you up, but you are a real man, and his only immortality.”

“Aulus is married, Mother, and he is also father’s son. Aulus is the father of several sons.”

“You are Lucius Alexander’s eldest son, Marcus, and he wanted you settled. He wanted you happy, as he and I have been all these years. He did not seek to harm you. Besides, why did you not write to us of your love for Zenobia. As always, you have been secretive.”

“I could not write to you under the circumstances, Mother. Surely you must see that Zenobia’s situation is far too politically sensitive, and if such a message had fallen into the wrong hands it might have brought down her government and endangered the empire’s eastern boundaries that she and her late husband protected so well for Rome. No, it is unfortunate, but this betrothal will have to be broken.”

“It cannot be,” Dagian almost whispered.

“Cannot?”
His brow darkened with anger. “What do you mean, ‘cannot,’ Mother?”

“Your father secured a great match for you, Marcus. You are to be married to the emperor’s niece, Carissa.”

“The match will have to be broken, emperor’s niece or no, Mother.”