Beloved (53 page)

“And how is my son to live in Cyrene, Caesar?”

“He will be given a most generous allowance, Zenobia.”

“And after they are gone, we shall go?”

“Yes. You, and your younger son if we can find him, and your little daughter. She is a most charming child, goddess. I like her, but she certainly does not resemble either you or your sons.”

“She resembles my mother’s people,” Zenobia said quickly. “Mama was quite blond and fair; but tell me, Roman, you have been seeing my child?”

“She was quite worried about you, goddess, and needed réassurance. I was able to offer that reassurance. I am very good with little girls. You must remember that I raised my niece, Carissa.”

“You might have allowed Mavia to be with me,” Zenobia said sharply.

“No, goddess. I felt you needed the nine days of mourning to reflect upon your situation. The child would have distracted you.” He was telling her once more that it was he who controlled her life.

“As always, Caesar, you are most kind and thoughtful,” Zenobia murmured.

Aurelian laughed. “Why is it that even when you are thanking me, goddess, I get the feeling that you are slinging missiles at me?”

Zenobia looked at him, eyes wide, her whole expression one of innocence. “I do not understand,” she said, “I thought I was being most polite to you, Caesar.”

“The hell you did,” he muttered thickly, reaching out and pulling her against him. “You continue to fascinate me and defy me at every opportunity, goddess!” A hard arm was tight about her slender waist, and now his free hand cradled her head as his mouth came down on hers in a brief but burning kiss. “I am tired of sleeping alone,” he said. “Your mourning is over, Zenobia, and tonight I intend returning to your bed. Have you missed me, goddess?”

“No,” she said, smiling up at him, her gray eyes looking directly into his blue ones.

He laughed, but she could see the anger hidden deep in his eyes. “One day you will regret your defiance, goddess. One day I will grow bored with it, and find a more comfortable mistress.”

“I did not choose to be your mistress, Caesar.”

“It is not up to you to choose,” he said cruelly. “Remember that when I grow tired of you I may pass you on to anyone it pleases me to, goddess. Perhaps I shall give you to some Gaulish or Germanic chieftain. I wonder how long you would last in the
wet, cold, dark forests of the North?” He bent once more and plundered her lips savagely, bruising them this time, forcing his tongue into her mouth where it darted about, first stroking the sensitive roof of her mouth then sensuously caressing the sides of her tongue.

How I hate him! Zenobia thought. But by Venus and Cupid he can rouse my senses! She shivered as she felt a large, warm hand upon her breast, and struggled to get away from him, but Aurelian lifted his head, saying, “I desire you now, goddess, and I shall have you!” Then he swiftly kicked her legs out from beneath her, and together they fell to the thick rugs strewn upon the floor. She gasped for breath as his greater weight knocked the wind from her.

Maddened by his own passion now, Aurelian hurriedly pushed her gown up and yanked it over her head, flinging it across the room. His hands caressed her possessively, slipping over her smooth, cool body, setting her to quivering as the strings of a lyre might vibrate with a sensitive touch. Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed the sensations to sweep over her.
She hated him!
She absolutely hated him, but the gods! He knew how to pleasure a woman!

Seated upon her hips, Aurelian watched the passion creep slowly into Zenobia’s expression. A cynical look swept into his eyes and etched smile lines at the corners of his mouth. She was using him, and he was tempted to get up and walk away. Unfortunately he desired her far too much at this moment to salvage his pride. Why could he not make her love him? He was kind and thoughtful of her and her family and close friends. He was even willing to forgive her rebellious younger son, yet she still scorned him. His one satisfaction was that she did not scorn his body as much as she might want to.

Angry now, he pulled her thighs none too gently apart; then drove immediately into her body, which was already honeyed and awaiting him. She gasped and her eyes flew open with surprise, for of late he had been gentle with her. In and out, in and out, in and out, he moved with increasing rapidity; and Zenobia cried a soft protest. “I only use you as you use me, goddess,” he said, mocking her.

“I can’t love you,” she whispered brokenly.

“Then at least give me some kindness, Zenobia,” he said softly, his anger draining away at the tone in her voice. “I have tried to be kind to you. At least give me that.” Bending now, he began
to murmur softly into her ear, “You are like a wild rose, my sweet and vulnerable goddess. You are the first star of evening, glittering and alone in the night sky. You are as elusive as the south wind, as beautiful as Palmyra itself, and I am forced to admit that I adore you totally;
but
, I will not be ruled by you, Zenobia.” Gently he began to move within her again, and she moaned softly with open pleasure. “Tell me,” he whispered to her. “Tell me what you feel, beloved.”

She shook her head in the negative, but he persisted, and at last she was forced to speak. “I feel possessed, and I do not like it. I feel consumed, and it frightens me. Why can you not satisfy yourself with a woman who wants you?”

“You have never given yourself totally to any man, goddess, and if you are afraid it is because you are closer than you have ever been in your entire life to complete and sweet surrender. Give me that surrender, goddess!
Give it to me!”

“No!”

Unable to wait any longer, the emperor poured his loving libation into her resisting womb, and Zenobia shuddered beneath him, suddenly lost in her own passion. They lay together upon the rugs for several long minutes, neither willing to be first to break the silence. Then Zenobia said in a shaky voice, “Someone may come,” and struggled to her feet. Picking up her kalasiris from where it lay, she put it back on, careful to keep her head averted from his gaze.

“Perhaps you will never love me, goddess,” he said quiedy, “but I do desire you. You, too, desire me, although you will not admit to it. Let us at least be kind to each other. I am not ready to let you go, and perhaps I never shall be.” He rose and pulled down his tunic, then moved across to where she stood and put gentle hands on her shoulders. “Be kind to me, goddess, and let me be kind to you.”

“I will try,” she promised, “but it is all I can do. Try.”

He sighed, knowing that for the moment it was the best he might expect from her. “We will eat together from now on, Zenobia. I dislike eating alone almost as much as I dislike sleeping alone.”

“Is there anything that you particularly like?” she asked him in an effort to be amenable.

“I will leave the choices to you,” he said, and then he turned and left the room.

She sat down and, staring at the shadows in the rug where they
had but recently lain, shivered. There was something unwholesome about making love without love; and yet though it repelled her, it also fascinated her. Aurelian, she thought, was a strange man. He had a peasant’s shrewdness and he was harsh, but he could also be kind.

She suspected that he fancied himself a latter-day Julius Caesar, and she was to be his Cleopatra. Well, Zenobia considered somewhat wryly, Cleopatra had survived her Caesar, and she supposed that she might survive Aurelian. He wanted her to be kind to him. Interesting, she mused. Would a pleasant and even relationship keep him content? Perhaps it would. He was a man who liked his personal life smooth and calm, in contrast to his turbulent military and political careers. It was possible he would not be bored with her if she became more domesticated a creature. After all, even if Demi would not come to his senses she had her little Mavia to consider.

Mavia.
Mavia, her daughter who was half-Roman, and now, it appeared, was to be raised in Rome. Would they see Marcus? Could she bear it if they did? Marcus had recognized his child at her birth, and even if it had been done in secret she and Bab lived to testify to it. Would he still accept Mavia as his own? Will he provide for her should anything happen to me? Zenobia wondered.
Mavia!
The little girl’s name rang again and again in her head. She must see that Mavia was safe whatever happened!

On reflection, she decided that the child would not go to her father. In fact, no one should ever know that Mavia was not the posthumous daughter of Odenathus Septimius. Zenobia decided to make her will and testament before she left Palmyra, and she would ask Durantis to write it for her. She would leave her daughter, Princess Mavia of Palmyra, in the keeping of her elder brother should anything happen to her. Her personal wealth would all belong to Mavia, thereby assuring her of a respectable marriage. It was the best that the queen could do. Why should Marcus have her? Had he not deserted them? He did not deserve Mavia.

Preparations for the departure of Palmyra’s king and young queen moved quickly forward. Aurelian was determined to stop Prince Demetrius and his Brotherhood of the Palm by removing Vaballathus and Flavia as swiftly as possible. As long as the young monarch and his wife remained in the city there lived the possibility of rebellion. Gone, they offered no hope. The people of Palmyra were not going to rise up and retrieve their ruler from distant Cyrene.

Zenobia knew that the journey for her eldest son and his family would begin at night, for Aurelian wanted no one to see their departure lest someone try to take them from Roman custody. He dreaded that a popular demonstration would be started by the sight of the young couple, the lovely girlish queen pregnant with Palmyra’s heir. At dawn their departure would be a cold, hard fact.

The queen sent Adria for Demetrius. The servant girl slipped through the secret gate in the wall and hurried through the busy streets to the house of the late Cassius Longinus. The haughty servant who opened the door sought to shoo her away, hardly giving her time to state her business.

“Fool!” Adria hissed. “I am the queen’s messenger.”

“You?”
The man looked down his long nose, then again attempted to shut the door in her face.

“Very well,” Adria said. “I shall return to Queen Zenobia and tell her that I was sent from the house of Oppian Longinus without even being allowed to state my business to the master. My mistress does not suffer fools at all, and you are a fool!”

“Oh come in, come in!” the major-domo sniffed, “but if I find you’ve lied to gain entry to this noble house, I shall beat you through the streets myself.”

“What is all this noise? How can I compose my poetry when a constant cacophony reigns within my own house.” Oppian Longinus came forth from his garden, his long pale-peach silk robes swaying.

“Greetings, Oppian, adopted son of Cassius Longinus,” Adria said politely. “I am Adria, second waiting woman to Queen Zenobia. I have a message for Prince Demetrius.”

Instantly a wary look came into Oppian’s eyes. “I cannot imagine why you have come here then,” he said nervously. “I have no idea where Prince Demetrius is. I am sorry.” He turned to go, but Adria’s voice stopped him.

“No one accuses you of anything, Oppian Longinus. The queen, having met here with her younger son several weeks ago, believes that you might be able to pass along a message. It is very urgent.”

“Well,” Oppian Longinus reconsidered, “there is a faint possibility that I might see the prince tonight. Give me the message.”

Adria smiled. “The queen wishes Prince Demetrius to know that his brother Vaballathus and his wife will shortly be leaving for Cyrene. If Prince Demetrius wishes to bid the king and the young queen farewell he is to come to the secret gate in the queen’s garden at midnight tonight. They and the queen will be waiting
for him. He must not be late, for the emperor will be returning from a dinner shortly after midnight, and expects Queen Zenobia’s company when he does. Please tell the prince, Oppian Longinus.”

“I will tell him,” Oppian Longinus said, and then with a rather incautious curiosity he asked, “Is it true that the queen sleeps with Rome’s emperor?”

Adria laughed scornfully. “For a man with the instinct for survival that you possess, Oppian Longinus, you are bold to question the queen’s actions. I shall tell my mistress that you will pass her message on to the prince,” and with a swish of her skirts Adria left the house of Oppian Longinus.

They could not be sure that he would come, but a few minutes before midnight Zenobia, Vaba, and Flavia all waited in the darkness by the queen’s secret gate. It was Flavia who first heard the soft scratching, and unlocked the little door to admit Prince Demetrius.

“Brother,” she said softly, kissing him on the cheek. “Flavia, you bloom,” was his answer.

In the faint light from the garden torches they looked at each other, and then Demi said, “Mother, Vaba. How are you both?”

“We are all well, my brother, but we fear for your safety. I feel fortunate that we are all still alive.”

“I wonder if you will feel glad to be alive after a year in Cyrene,” Demi said.

“As long as I am alive, as long as Flavia lives, and our children beginning with this baby, there is hope, Demi. Mother is right. Why can you not be patient, my brother? Go with Mother and Mavia to Rome. I need you there to look after them.”

“Look after Mother?”
His voice was bitter. “Mother does not need looking after. She does quite well by herself, and as long as she does Mavia is safe.”

“I will need someone in Rome who can travel back and forth between Mother and me,” Vaballathus entreated. “Who better can I trust but you, Demi?”

“I remain in Palmyra. At least there will be one of King Odenathus’s sons here.”

“If the Romans capture you, Demi, you will be killed,” Zenobia said. “Aurelian will allow you your life if you come with us.”

“There is no one in Palmyra who will betray me,” was the proud reply.

“There is always someone who will betray you, you young fool!” said Zenobia impatiently. “If it is not for gold, then it will
be for Roman favor; but mark my words, Demi, someone will betray you, and it will be he whom you least expect.”