Beloved (64 page)

Aurelian arrived home victorious from Gaul, and a small triumph was held, this time with the unfortunate Tetricus walking behind the emperor’s chariot. In that chariot, Zenobia the captive Queen of Palmyra rode, again with her golden chains fastened to Aurelian’s massive iron belt. This time, however, she was garbed in royal purple and gold garments, the Palmyran crown upon her head. Rome’s emperor was making a strong point with the people; a point that they did not for all their grumbling miss.
He was Caesar!
His generals were not as easily impressed, for Aurelian had become more imperious as each day passed, and was beginning to believe his own legend.

The queen had been summoned from Tivoli to take part in this latest triumph, and afterward she was escorted to Aurelian’s residence on the Palatine Hill. There had been little opportunity for them to speak even though they had shared the same chariot in the procession. She had faintly protested being sent to his palace, but he had quickly overruled her with a wave of his hand. “You will obey me, goddess! Must I again teach you the folly of disobedience?”

“As you will, Roman,” she said scornfully, and he laughed.

“I see you have lost none of your spice, goddess. Good! I shall look forward to a long night of playful bedsport with you!”

Zenobia quickly turned away lest he see her repulsion. The moment of truth had finally come for her. She would have to enter into his games with gusto, for when he had left to go to Gaul she had been his willing mistress; now he would expect her to eagerly welcome his advances, having been bereft of him these last months. If she suffered she knew that Marcus suffered too, and whatever happened she would for his sake play the role of the emperor’s whore. Just a little while longer, she reassured herself, and I will be free. I will have won!

She was escorted to the royal residence by some half-dozen
Praetorian guards, and upon entering it she demanded of the haughty majordomo to be taken to the empress. Ulpia Severina yet lived, and for that small blessing Zenobia thanked the gods. Aurelian would never divorce his wife, and so as long as she lived Palmyra’s queen was safe.

The empress lay upon her couch obviously quite ill, but when she saw Zenobia she attempted to rouse herself, smiling a sweet smile. “My dear,” her weak voice was warm with welcome, “how kind of you to come visit me. I understand that you keep to your villa at Tivoli.”

“I do, Majesty. Rome is too busy to suit me. Nevertheless I must beg your hospitality this night.”

“But of course you may stay here,” Ulpia Severina said, and Zenobia gratefully acknowledged the empress’s consent.

Zenobia was then taken to a suite of rooms where a group of busy slaves awaited her. The chief of these women immediately pressed upon her a goblet of dark red wine, insisting that she drink it down. “It will give you strength, Majesty,” the woman wheedled, “and it is the emperor’s orders.”

Zenobia took the goblet, ready to protest; but the wine, though heavy in appearance, was strangely light and fruity; and the queen was thirsty after the triumph. She quickly drained the goblet, and the slave woman smiled broadly with approval. “Now, Majesty, the bath awaits you,” she said, and hurried Zenobia through tall double doors into the baths. There she was scraped, steamed, soaped, rinsed, and scraped again. A final rinse, and she was led to the massage table and made comfortable. A second goblet of wine was offered her. She was hot from the bath, and suddenly thirsty again, and so she again drained the container, the cool liquid slipping easily down her throat.

She stretched out upon the cool marble slab, and at once the slaves about her began to massage her body with a faintly scented pale-green lotion. They worked gently for some minutes as Zenobia grew sleepy with the wine and their ministrations. Then they were turning her over onto her back, massaging her breasts and her belly. She protested faintly, but suddenly all strength was gone from her limbs. She slipped into a half-conscious state, dimly realizing that she had been drugged and wondering why.

Everything became shadowy even though she was quite sure her eyes were open. She was being carried, and yet her body felt weightless, as if she were floating. The dimness began to ease, and once more she could see quite clearly. Zenobia was shocked
to find she was in some sort of a temple, and bound by delicate golden chains to a marble altar atop a flight of steps. At each corner of the altar was set a huge standing lamp in die shape of a gold phallus, burning a heavily musk-scented oil, the red-gold flames leaping gently in the coolish night air, swirling about in their carved golden pans. From some hidden place the music of drum and reeds echoed forth.

Zenobia turned her head slightly, and was horrified to see that the altar was set in the very center of a small circular arena, and upon the steps of that arena were men and women, all nude. They were chatting amiably, quite oblivious to their nudity, not the least bit concerned, at least for the moment, with Zenobia. Their lack of interest gave her a chance to inspect her surroundings further. The temple was very simple in design, and obviously within the palace. The only decoration of any kind was a huge sun of pure beaten gold, its giant rays streaked with diamonds and rubies, that hung suspended over the altar.

Aurelian!
His name rocketed through her brain with the memory of something he had once said to her. This had to be his doing, and his temple. A temple to the Unconquerable Sun! She was in a temple dedicated to the Unconquerable Sun, Aurelian’s pet cult. He had on several occasions spoken to her of his cult, but she had ignored it, not being particularly interested. She still did not understand what it was he was up to, but she imagined she would soon know.

A short but clear trumpet note cut the air, and a deep, stentorian voice called, “Children of the Sun! The time draws near when the incarnation of the great and Unconquerable Sun god upon the earth will come among you to mate with she who is love. Harken, for the sacrifices are about to begin!”

At the instant the voice ceased, powerful and sultry drums began to beat with a sensuous rhythm and a dozen dancers, six males and six females, ran out upon the floor below the altar. The blond women—they were all really girls no more than thirteen or fourteen, Zenobia guessed—were exquisitely and perfectly formed. The men—probably about eighteen—were equally beautiful, also fair-haired, and light-eyed. They were all—both male and female—gilded with beaten gold except for a single stripe of bare skin running up their spines; and they danced the most sensual and wanton dance Zenobia had ever seen; pantomiming the sex act in graphic abandon.

Suddenly one of the maidens broke from the others and fled
partway up the steps. At once a young man, his sex rampant, leapt after her. For a moment they sparred upon the marble stairs, and then the man threw the girl down, flung himself atop her, and drove himself into her. There was a pitiful shriek, and the crowd moaned as one as the man withdrew from his victim, turning to face them, his penis bloody with the girl’s virginity. “Ahh!” the spectators murmured, leaning forward, eyes glazed with their own lust, mouths open with pleasure, tongues quickly licking lips in undisguised pleasure. The male dancer turned back to the helpless girl, and pushing back into her continued to take his own pleasure as one by one the other gilded men caught and attacked the lovely gilded girls. Cries rent the air as each maiden parted publicly with her innocence to the frantic beat of the drums, while slightly above them the worshipers of the Unconquerable Sun avidly watched, the men now beginning to fondle themselves, nearby women, and in some cases even other men.

Zenobia was horrified by it all, terrified by the thought of whatever might be planned for her, and yet strangely inflamed within her own body. It was madness of the worst sort. Then as suddenly as the dancers had appeared they were gone, the men carrying the weeping women all in their arms. The stentorian voice again spoke.

“What greater sacrifice can a woman make than to offer herself and her innocence to the god? Now he who is the Sun incarnate on earth will mate with she who is love incarnate on earth. This night it is foretold that together they will create a son, a son who will rule the world in the name of the Unconquerable Sun!”

She was to be taken publicly!
Zenobia struggled against the seemingly delicate golden chains, but they held firm. Then into her view came Aurelian. She recognized him by a scar upon his thigh, for he wore a carved golden mask. He stood tall, acknowledging the cries of homage that came from the frenzied worshipers. Several women broke from among the spectators and, running down the seat-steps, flung themselves at his feet. They unbound their hair and, writhing about Aurelian, began to rise up, some standing to caress and kiss him, one kneeling and taking his sex into her mouth to stimulate him, others remaining at his feet, licking and stroking at his legs. It was the worst kind of hysteria, Zenobia thought, and yet, to her own disgust she was aroused by it all. While the women worshiped him, Aurelian remained perfectly still until finally their attentions had the desired effect. Gently kicking them aside and pushing them away, he stood before
Zenobia. With a swift motion he removed the golden mask, and she finally saw his face, mocking, the eyes glazed with lust and drugs.

The altar upon which she was bound was shaped like an M, and her body had been placed so that her long legs were fastened on either side of the altar’s top, a space between them. Now Aurelian stepped into that space and, kneeling, leaned forward to touch her with his tongue. Dear Venus! He couldn’t do
that
to her here! Not in front of all of those leering people!

“See!” the disembodied voice cried. “See how he worships at the very shrine of love!”

The emperor’s tongue stroked her flesh, sending small shivers of fire through her.
No!
she shrieked silently, for she could not seem to say it aloud. All she was able to do was moan with helpless desire as he probed her delicately, moving slowly, never hurrying her up the path of pleasure but prolonging the torture until finally a long wail escaped her straining throat, and the crowd began to chant: “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Aurelian lifted his head from between her legs and, looking at her, smiled a triumphant smile. Without a word he mounted her, and slowly, very slowly, pushed himself into her; withdrawing as slowly; entering again, withdrawing again, in an unbearable rhythm that would shortly drive her to madness if he didn’t satisfy her. “Please!” she managed to moan through now dry lips, hating herself even as she whimpered the word.

“Please what, goddess?”

“Please!”
Her eyes pleaded with him.

“Say the word, goddess. Say it, and I will make it good!”

“No!”

He laughed at her defiance, withdrew his lance from her and laid it, wet and throbbing, upon the sweet mound of her belly. “I am filled with special drugs and aphrodisiacs, goddess. When I have finished with you I will take a dozen women before I am satisfied this night. I can wait. Can you?” He punctuated his question by rubbing his organ against her in a provocative manner.

All around her, to the right, to the left, and above, the other worshipers chanted as Aurelian leaned forward to lick at her breasts, which strained to be touched by his talented tongue. “Please!” she whispered again.
“Please!”

“Tell me what you want me to do to you, goddess. Tell me, and I will do it!”

“No!” She struggled to defy him.

The worshipers began to grow restless above them, and their chanting took on a harsh sound. He would lose them if he could not force her, and so, leaning forward, Aurelian took one of her nipples in his mouth and brutally bit it. She screamed with the pain, and the crowd’s attention was once more engaged, they groaned together. “Say it, goddess!” he commanded her through gritted teeth.

For a moment incredible hatred blazed from her drugged eyes, and then she whimpered at him, “Fuck me, Roman! Fuck me before I die!”

He rammed himself deep into her, making her cry out again, moving in and out of her with incredible swiftness as around them the other worshipers fell upon each other, men with women, women with women, men with men, in a frenzied orgy of sensual abandon. Mercifully Zenobia fainted, blotting the rest of the horror from her consciousness.

When she once more came to her senses she was surprised to find herself in her bedroom back in Tivoli. Next to her old Bab nodded, and Zenobia struggled to call to her through cracked lips,
“Bab!”
Instantly the faithful servant was awake.

“My baby!” she cried. “You are awake at last!”

“How long has it been?” Zenobia demanded. Her head was pounding.

“The emperor brought you back four days ago. He said you grew ill in Rome, but you have had no fever or other signs of illness. You have been unconscious all that time, and we could not rouse you. What happened?”

“I cannot discuss it, Bab. Do not ask! Where is the emperor?”

“I will fetch him. He asked to be called when you awoke.” She hurried off, to return a few minutes later with Aurelian, who looked as cool, elegant, and calm as always.