Beloved (48 page)

“Love me,” she answered him, her lush body beginning to move provocatively beneath his.

Aurelian needed no further encouragement, for his manhood felt close to bursting with his desire. Feeling her long legs parting to encourage him, he pushed his aching weapon deep within her warm, wonderfully willing body, a groan of pleasure escaping his tightly clamped lips. The long and lovely legs wrapped themselves about him, and he had the fleeting thought that she was really the goddess Venus herself, come to earth to give sweet pleasure to him. Her hands ran smoothly down his back, then caressed his taut buttocks; her touch was more exciting than anything he had ever known. She was making love to him!

Zenobia quickly realized the effect that her boldness was having upon Aurelian. It roused him more than anything she could have done, and his excitement communicated itself to her. Together they fanned the flames of their desire, their bodies writhing passionately, both seemingly inexhaustible as he drove again, and again, and again into the lush and lovely woman panting beneath him. Her movements encouraged him onward. Never had he felt so strong, so manly, so immortal as within the throbbing sheath of this magnificent creature.

Then suddenly Zenobia cried out, “Ah, sweet Venus, I die!” and Aurelian, with a low growl of triumph, waited but a moment to assure himself that she had attained Olympus before releasing his own boiling offering to the goddess of love. He was shaken to the core of his being, and he could see that Palmyra’s queen lay in a deep swoon, her beautiful body covered in a faint silvery sheen of dampness that highlighted the pale-golden color of her skin. He would have believed her dead but for the pulse that fluttered in a tiny, provocative hollow at the base of her throat.

She soared upward, floating free and happy, seeing below her the mountainous home of the gods; and then as suddenly she plunged downward into a whirling, light-filled abyss that battered both her body and her soul. Something was wrong, but she could not understand what it was. With a low moan she tried to escape the sinking feeling. Slowly, almost painfully, she fought her way back to consciousness, her first realization of returning feeling being the firm kisses being placed upon her lips. Zenobia opened her eyes, and Aurelian smiled down at her before his lips took charge of hers once again.

His mouth demanded and she acquiesced, kissing him back with equal fervor, opening her mouth to receive his questing tongue.
The tongue touched the sensitive roof of her mouth, and she shivered. It rubbed against her tongue in a sensual gesture, then sucked, attempting to draw her very spirit from between her lips. She eluded him, and attempted to imitate his actions. She was pleased when he shuddered against her, and then he drew away from her. “Goddess, you will destroy me yet,” he murmured against her ear, and for the first time in months Zenobia felt genuine amusement bubbling up within her. Her laughter sounded warm and mischievous in his ear, and he was forced to chuckle himself.

They lay together for some time, and then she realized that he had fallen asleep, and so Zenobia slept, too. In the morning he made no attempt to hide from her servants the fact that he had slept with her, and Zenobia wisely refrained from comment. She desperately wanted to ask him what, if anything, he had decided for Palmyra; but she believed to ask such a sensitive question after their extraordinary night together would make it appear as if she had deliberately set out to use her body to influence him. She had, of course, but although she was willing to be totally honest with herself, she would not, could not be with Rome’s emperor. He would ever be her enemy, though she be his mistress. He would tell her when he was ready to tell her, and then, if necessary, she would try to soften his terms and see that Vaba remained Palmyra’s ruling king.

She helped to bathe him, and then bathed herself. When young Adria, Bab’s assistant, attempted to brush Zenobia’s long hair, Aurelian took the brush from her hand and did it himself, reveling in the silken swath that fell to the middle of her back. His big hand smoothed it after each passage of the brush, and when Bab, scandalized, clucked her disapproval he mildly ordered her to be silent. Then, on reflection, he said, “Bring your mistress a kalasiris the color of flame. I want to see her gowned in the bridal color.” Then he bent and whispered in Zenobia’s ear, “For you are my bride, goddess. You are the only woman who has ever made me feel. I believe that I am falling in love with you.”

“Is this how you treat all your captives?” she half-teased him.

“Do not jest with me, goddess. I mean what I say.”

Zenobia sighed. “Do not fall in love with me, Roman. I have warned you that I shall never again give myself into any man’s keeping. You are my enemy, yet in this I cannot hurt you. I am being honest with you.”

“You have been hurt,” he answered her. “In time you will come to trust me, goddess.”

“Will you call the Council of Ten into session today?” she asked him, attempting to change the subject.

“The meeting is already arranged for the midday hour, goddess. While you slept yesterday afternoon I gave orders that Gaius Cicero see to it.”

She turned her head to look at him, and could not resist asking, “What have you decided, Caesar?”

“As you come to know me, Zenobia,” he said slowly, “you will learn that the secret of my success is always to keep my private life and my public duty separate. We will never discuss the business of the empire within the walls of our bedchamber.” He then bent and kissed her mouth lightly. “I am ravenous, goddess. Do you think we can persuade that disapproving old crone who serves you into bringing us something to break our fast?”

The reproof had been a gentle one, but nonetheless Zenobia felt a chill of premonition. Forcing it down, she called to Bab, “The emperor is hungry. Why have we not been fed?”

“Can I do several things at once?” Bab snapped. “First there was the bath, then the overseeing of this useless wench that you insist aid me, though the gods know she is more trouble than help, then
he
commands that I fetch a flame-colored gown for you! When am I supposed to have the time to get your breakfast?!” With a snort she turned upon the hapless Adria. “You, girl! Go and fetch breakfast for the queen—and
him!
I must remain and see to flame-colored garments. Humph!” Still grumbling under her breath, Bab waddled off into the queen’s wardrobe while the flushed Adria hurried off to see to the food.

“How can you put up with that sour old woman?” the emperor asked.

“She raised both my mother and me,” Zenobia said. “She is very dear to me even if in her old age she becomes impatient and frequently oversteps her place. I love her, Roman, and she loves me.”

He smiled. “I had an old grandmother like that. She was fierce and gruff, but somehow she always had a sweetmeat for you.” He reached out and pulled her into his arms. For a long moment they stood together, their nude bodies touching, his warmth and male scent suddenly familiar and almost comforting in her nostrils. They broke guiltily apart as Bab bustled back into the room, still grumbling beneath her breath about flame-colored draperies.

“Here!” She almost flung the natural-colored chamber robes at them. “That foolish girl, Adria, is deeply shocked by your immodesty,
and for once I am in total agreement with her. Are you athletes to run about in public as naked as the day your mothers birthed you? Put these on at once! Your meal will be here shortly, and unless you wish to display each other’s charms to the slaves you will clothe yourselves immediately.”

Meekly they obeyed her, but Zenobia’s lips twitched her suppressed amusement, especially as she could see that Rome’s mighty emperor was completely chagrined by the severe tongue-lashing he had just received.

“Is she a slave?” he demanded.

“No,” Zenobia whispered. “She was a freedwoman of Alexandria when my grandfather employed her to nurse my orphaned mother. She has always been a part of my life. She always will be.”

“She is elderly, goddess. I wonder if she can make the trip to Rome. It is a long way.”

“I cannot leave her behind, Roman.”

The arrival of their morning meal forestalled further conversation. Adria had brought a tray containing a pitcher of freshly squeezed juice, a mixture of oranges, lemons, and limes, a round red Arrantine bowl with hard-boiled eggs, freshly baked bread, a honeycomb, and another bowl filled with ripe apricots.

They sat facing each other across a round table, eating together as if it had been a habit of long standing between them. Zenobia reached for an apricot and, pulling it apart, removed the pit and popped half of it into her mouth. Chewing it, she changed the subject, asking, “What will you do until it is time for the council to meet?”

“I will have to ride through the city checking upon my men, goddess. I want no friction between your people and mine. We want a return to business as usual here in Palmyra.”

She stifled the angry retort that sprang to her lips. It would do no good, and if she were to convince him to allow Vaba to remain as Palmyra’s king, she must remain pleasant. They finished their meal with a modicum of small talk, then Aurelian quickly dressed and made to leave her, stopping as he went to place a passionate kiss upon her mouth.

“I should rather remain with you, goddess, than attend to this dull business.” He smiled down at her and then he was gone.

Alone!
At last she was alone again, if only for a few minutes. She would go out in her garden and walk among the calming flowers and fountains. It was not yet too hot to do so.

She did not know how long she wandered amid the fragrant blooms; but suddenly Bab was there, fussing at her about changing from her chamber robe into what she scornfully called “those flame-colored draperies that
he
wants.” Zenobia’s amusement eased some of her apprehension, and she dutifully followed her elderly servant back into her bedchamber. Standing quietly, she allowed Bab and Adria to dress her in the crimson gown, but seeing her reflection in her large oval silver mirror, Zenobia suddenly tore the garment off with an oath.

“No! I will not wear this! Rome’s emperor will not dictate to me in even so small a matter as my clothing. Today, I expect, will be the last time my council meets—at least with me. I shall therefore be their queen this last time, and I shall dress like a queen—not like the emperor’s favorite whore!”

“Ha!”
A smile split old Bab’s face. “Now you speak like Palmyra’s queen! All this morning you have sounded like the Roman’s pet bird, all soft and cooing. What shall I bring you, my baby?”

“I will wear Tyrian purple, the royal color. Adria, fetch me the proper kalasiris, sleeveless please, and a matching cape; and Bab, get the jewel cases. It is Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, who will head this Council of Ten meeting, not Aurelian’s mistress.”

For a few minutes Zenobia stood amid the shredded wreckage of her torn gown while her two servants hurried back and forth doing her bidding. When the jewel cases were brought, the queen opened them all, staring down at their contents. Already upon her bed lay a gossamer spun kalasiris of Tyrian purple, its embroidered and fitted bodice replete with golden stars that tumbled down amid the narrow pleats of the skirt, glittering and twinkling like the very stars in the night sky.

Carefully, she considered her jewelry. A jeweled collar would have been a simple choice, but she closed the cases containing these pieces and waved them away. The collars were neat, and she wanted to be opulently magnificent. Finally her eye lit upon a necklace of irregularly shaped amethysts, some set within yellow-gold settings, others hanging from their settings by web-thin yellow-gold wires. Smiling, Zenobia lifted it out of its case and handed it to Bab. “This one,” was all she said, and then she pulled a rather barbaric pair of matching earrings from the jewel case. “And these.” The box was closed, and Adria proffered another leather case, this one filled with bracelets. Zenobia selected two armbands, fashioned like snakes, each golden scale perfect,
their flashing eyes of small but choice purple sapphires. The last box offered contained rings, rings of every size and shape, with gemstones of every sort known to the world. Zenobia chose but one: a huge purple scarab beetle into whose back was carved the seal of Palmyra.

The door to Zenobia’s apartments opened, and Vaba and Flavia entered. The queen turned to her son and his wife, holding her arms out to Flavia. “Dear child, I should indeed scold you. I am far too young to become a grandmother.” She hugged Vaba’s wife, and then inquired anxiously, “You are well now?”

“I tend to be sick in the early afternoons, and sometimes in the mornings,” Flavia smiled with a little shrug. “Both quite normal, my mother assures me.” Then the girl’s face grew worried. “What is to happen to us with the Romans in the city, Aunt Zenobia? Will they kill us? Will my child be safe?”

“So many questions, Flavia! Dear child, I do not know what will happen, but I am certain that Aurelian means this family no harm. I believe what he wants is to restore Roman rule to this city again, but that we shall try to prevent for Vaba’s sake.”

Flavia’s face became less fearful. “You have always been a favorite of the gods, my lady.”

“Of late,” murmured Zenobia wryly, “I have begun to wonder.” She motioned to a chair. “Sit down, Flavia. You must not tax yourself.” Then she sat down herself.

Vaba, however, remained standing. “What is happening in the city?” he demanded.

“We do not know,” Zenobia replied. “Each district in the city has been cut off from all the others so the people may not mix freely. It is impossible to get from one area to another without a pass, and precious few are being issued.”

“Then we must wait for the council meeting,” Vaba said quietly.

“Yes,” his mother answered, and then, “Where is Demi? I have not seen him since the Romans entered the city.”

Vaba frowned. “My brother disagreed quite violently with my decision to surrender to the Romans. He left the palace two nights ago, and I have no idea where he is. I do know, however, that he has banded together a group of young patrician hotheads like himself, and they are considering a guerrilla-type warfare upon the Romans.”