Beloved (61 page)

She looked at him, somewhat amused. “I did not rule Palmyra all those years by not being aware of what went on around me. Rome has ever been a hotbed of conspiracy. You change emperors with the regularity of a popular courtesan changing lovers.”

“Until now,” he said. “I am the new Rome, Zenobia. I am leading my people back to the old ways, the right ways. Thanks to me, the empire is strong again, and it will grow stronger with each passing day. My heirs will be the new Caesars.”

“Your heirs? You have no children, Roman. Of course there is your niece’s child, isn’t there?” Suddenly Zenobia wondered if it had been ambition that had caused Marcus to betray her.

“My niece’s child?”
For a brief moment he was puzzled, and then he realized that she had meant Carissa. By the gods she must not know that both Carissa and her infant had perished, and that Marcus Alexander Britainus was a free man! Suddenly Aurelian’s
old insecurities rose up to haunt him, and he quickly said, “Yes, there is that child, bpt perhaps, goddess,
we
might have a child. Because Ulpia has been barren all these years does not mean I might not have a son by you.” He leaned over and placed a kiss upon her wet shoulder.

Cleopatra had had children by her Roman lovers, Zenobia thought, and those children had all met unfortunate ends at the hands of the empire, for they stood in the way of those who wanted power.

Aurelian sank his strong white teeth into her golden shoulder, and muttered, “Think of it, goddess! What a child I could get from your loins! He would rule the world!” He was actually beginning to believe he might sire a child on this woman.

Suddenly irritated, Zenobia shook him off and climbed from the heated tub. “I do not know if I want any more children,” she said.

“It is not your decision to make, goddess,” he said, almost smugly. “When Ulpia dies I shall make you my empress. Until then I will continue to pump my seed into your belly, and I will make offerings to the gods praying for a son to come forth from your womb.”

Zenobia laughed, the sound a bitterly amused one that echoed about the tiled and frescoed walls of the bath. “The gods have deserted me and mine, Roman. Your prayers will be in vain.” Then she walked from the caldarium of the bath, and he heard her splashing in the frigidarium next door.

Aurelian now stood up and came from the hot tub himself. Looking down, he saw that his lance was hard, straight, and very ready. He longed to move quickly into the next room and take her then and there upon the cold tiles of the bath floor; but instead, he stood quietly, breathing deeply, willing his desire away. He wanted her as he had had her last night: warm, and willing, and pleading with him. He was tired of the virago she could be, and he preferred her sweetness. She was gone from the frigidarium when he entered it, and so he quickly plunged into the cool waters of the pool and refreshed himself.

Returning to their bedchamber, he found her still nude, but dry, creaming herself with a marvelously rich lotion that was scented with hyacinths. Wordlessly he took the pale-green glass bottle from her hand, poured some of the liquid into his own hands and rubbed them together, then began to massage her slowly. She was still stiff with her anger, and he said softly, persuasively,
“Would it be such a terrible thing to give me a child, goddess? I love you so very much.”

“But I do not love you, Roman. I am trying to please you, but I cannot will my emotions, and I will not lie to you.”

“The child will bring us closer together,” he said as if it was already a certainty. “When you hold our son in your arms; when you put him to your milk-filled breasts as did proper Roman matrons of old; then, Zenobia, will your heart be filled with love for me. I know it!” He turned her about and kissed her passionately, willing her to respond. And suddenly Zenobia was filled with compassion for him.

Pulling her head away, she looked up into his blue eyes, and said, “Oh, Aurelian! Even you have a weakness. I had not believed it until now.”

“Yes, Zenobia, I have a weakness. I crave immortality, and only through my descendants may I have that immortality. Give me a son, goddess!
Give me a son!”
He swept her up then, and laid her upon their bed, sprawling near her, pushing his way between her legs to moisten with his tongue that soft and most secret of places to prepare her for his entry.

When he entered her she enfolded him within her arms, and was tender. She was tired of hurting, of being hurt, and afterward he fell asleep upon her breasts for another few hours. Zenobia, however, lay awake. Emperor of the Romans, she thought, you have made me feel sorry for you, but I will still be revenged. Revenged for Palmyra, for my sons, for myself. You have taken almost everything that is dear from me, but I will have mine again! Her eyes strayed to the small piece of white marble set so carefully upon a nearby table. It was the piece she had taken from amid the ruins of the great Palmyran Temple of Jupiter. It was all she had left of her city, except for her memories, which would never die. She felt the tears sliding down her face, but there was no sound. “I
will
be revenged,” she whispered softly, and he stirred restlessly upon her breasts. She murmured soothingly as she might have to an infant, and he quieted.

In the weeks that followed Zenobia visited the city of Rome many times, for there were enough wealthy patricians anxious to entertain her that she need never worry about returning the miles to Tivoli come night. Never, however, would she stay at the emperor’s residence on the Palatine Hill.

“I will not flaunt our relationship before your unfortunate, dying wife,” she told Aurelian.

The Queen of Palmyra was impressed with Rome, but her discerning eye saw the difference between what it had been and what it was now. She saw the great marble public buildings and temples free of graffiti, and the parks cleared of garbage. She was shocked, however, by the thousands of healthy people who loitered and lingered about the streets, unemployed though able to work, for they were provided with food and entertainment. In fact Zenobia suspected that Rome’s famous bread and circuses would be the eventual death of the empire. Whatever Aurelian said, the people, used to their slothful ways for several generations now, would not tolerate being returned to the old ways of hard work and honest industry.

Patricians, she found, were a great bore on the whole. There was one exception, however, and that was the elderly Senator Tacitus whom she had met at Aurelian’s games following the triumph. He was a witty old gentleman, and for some reason she felt comfortable with him. There was also her next-door neighbor, the lady Dagian. Here, too, was someone with whom she felt at ease, and daily she walked with her in the garden, Mavia running ahead of them, around them, lingering behind to watch a butterfly.

Zenobia was touched by the way the lady Dagian had taken to her small daughter; and Mavia now adored Dagian with a singular devotion. It was Dagian who now sewed little tunic dresses for Mavia, and sat in the grass with her weaving daisy chains and listening to her many confidences.

As they sat thus one late summer’s afternoon with the sunlight upon their bowed heads, Zenobia suddenly looked at Dagian and her daughter, and a cry escaped her lips. The older woman looked up and, seeing Zenobia’s obvious distress, rose quickly and hurried over to her.

“Zenobia, my dear, what is it?” she asked.

Zenobia looked into unexpectedly familiar blue eyes, deep-blue eyes, and cried,
“Who are you?”

“I am Dagian,” was the gentle answer. “I am your friend.”

“Dagian who?”

It was then that Dagian understood what had happened, and closing her eyes a moment, she sighed softly before saying, “I am Dagian, wife to the late Lucius Alexander.”

“You are the mother of Marcus Alexander Britainus?” Zenobia’s voice was accusing.

“I am,” came the quiet reply.

“How could you practice such a deception on me?” Zenobia demanded, and then, turning to her daughter, said, “Mavia, my darling, run and find Charmian.” The child looked up to protest, but, seeing the angry look upon her mother’s face, she rose and ran off. The Queen of Palmyra turned back to the older woman. “Is not your son’s child enough for you? Must you steal my daughter away too?”

“Marcus has had no children here in Rome,” Dagian replied.

“No children? The emperor says differently! Tell me, Dagian, did your traitorous offspring spawn a son or a daughter upon Aurelian’s niece?”

“Carissa died in childbirth, and her infant with her.”

“Surely the emperor has other nieces,” Zenobia said sarcastically.

“If I did not know how badly my fool of a son had hurt you, Zenobia, I should slap you!” Dagian said vehemently. “Sit down now, and I will tell you the truth of the matter—unless, of course, you prefer to clutch your outrage to your bosom for the rest of your life!” Dagian gestured impatiently toward a marble bench in a small, secluded grotto in the garden and, suddenly wordless, Zenobia sat. Her companion settled herself next to her.

“When Marcus arrived home his father was dying. Now knowing that Marcus had already betrothed himself to you, Lucius had arranged with the emperor that our eldest son marry Carissa. My husband very much wanted to see his heir safely married before he died.

“Marcus, of course, told me that he could not marry the emperor’s niece; that he was betrothed to you, that he loved you. He went immediately to Aurelian; but Aurelian refused to allow Marcus to break the contract made by my husband. He insisted that my son marry his niece. He threatened terrible things against our family if Marcus refused to marry Carissa. Marcus had no choice at that point. He had to wed Carissa.

“Immediately after they were married she told him she was pregnant with the emperor’s child. She mocked him with the knowledge. Carissa was a terrible creature, Zenobia! My son despised her, for she was evil incarnate.”

Zenobia was stone-faced. “Could he not have written to me, Dagian? When he left Palmyra I sent with him an escort of my personal guard, who were to bring back messages from Marcus at each port. The last of those messengers never returned.”

“Because he was murdered, Zenobia! After the wedding my husband died. Marcus had planned that I should go back to Britain with my younger son, Aulus, and then he planned to leave Carissa and return to you in Palmyra. The emperor, however, knew every move we tried to make, and stopped us at the gates of Rome. Aurelian wanted a hostage to insure Marcus’s good behavior, and what better hostage than a man’s mother? As a last resort Marcus decided to send the final messenger back to Palmyra. He should have done it earlier, I agree, but he was afraid of compromising the family. When he sent for your man, our majordomo found him dead in his quarters, his throat slit while he slept. My son was trapped, unable to communicate with you.”

A sob escaped Dagian’s lips, and she brushed away the tears of remembrance that were beginning to fall. Instinctively Zenobia reached out and patted Dagian’s arm. Dagian caught the younger woman’s hand and clutched it. “My son was so terribly unhappy,” she continued. “Then before Aurelian left for the East he told Marcus that he might have had Carissa marry any one of a number of eligible patrician men; but that he had chosen Marcus deliberately because he was your betrothed. He knew of your hatred for Rome because of your mother’s murder years back, and he sought to rekindle that hatred so that you would rebel. The emperor wanted Palmyra back, not as a client kingdom, but as a province.”

As the enormity of the betrayal slammed into her, Zenobia asked in a low, tight voice, “Are you telling me that Aurelian deliberately separated me from Marcus in order to take Palmyra from me?”

Dagian nodded.

“Then he is a bigger fool than I anticipated,” Zenobia said coldly. “I fully intended declaring my son Augustus of the East long before Marcus left me. I did not, however, plan to do it until after Marcus and I were married. The news of your son’s marriage to the emperor’s niece left me with no reason for delay, and so I made my declaration in Alexandria.” She laughed bitterly. “No, Dagian, I must accept full responsibility for my actions; but I will have my revenge upon Aurelian. Already because I am his mistress he grows to trust me. He will find in the end that that was a mistake.”

“Marcus has never stopped loving you, Zenobia,” Dagian said quietly.

“I am no longer the woman that Marcus loved,” Zenobia said somewhat sadly. “Marcus loved a queen, a woman with pride and
spirit. I am no longer a queen, and I have eaten the ashes of my pride in order to survive, in order to save my children. I can never forget that, nor can I forget the things that I must do in order to continue to survive. As long as Aurelian lives there is no hope for Marcus and me. I have not yet the friends nor the power to destroy him, but eventually I will.”

Dagian looked upon Zenobia with wondering eyes. “My child, you will destroy yourself,” she said.

“If I can destroy Aurelian in the process then it will be worth it,” Zenobia replied.

“What of Mavia?”

“She has you,” Zenobia said, “and she has her brother in Cyrene.”

“She has her father too,” was Dagian’s answer, “but she needs
both
her mother and her father, my dear.”

“It is impossible,” was the adamant reply.

“No, it is not!” Dagian declared. “See Marcus! See my son!”

“Are you mad, Dagian? Where? Where will we not be seen and spied upon? Aurelian lives in terror that Marcus will reclaim me. When I first came to the villa he even lied to me about his niece’s child, pretending that it was alive and well. He is beginning to trust me. He has even offered me marriage upon poor Ulpia Severina’s death.”

“You would not marry him?” Dagian was shocked.

“I will do what I must to be revenged!” Zenobia cried passionately, and Dagian closed her eyes in agony.

“Once,” she said, “my son’s failure to act quickly caused a separation that has brought you both great pain. You have been given a second chance, Zenobia. Do not let your lust for revenge wantonly destroy what the gods have so generously given you both!”