Beloved

by Bertrice Small

  There had been talk of allowing Prince Odenathus to govern for Rome when he, Antonius, retired in a few years. Although the prince still ran the city, with the exception of minor judicial matters it was all done under the governor's direction. The young Palmyran ruler had proved extremely friendly and trustworthy, and why not, thought Antonius Porcius. Roman legions kept the Persians at bay. Rome, however, was not apt to allow Odenathus totally free rein. There would be someone sent to watch, and the governor suspected that Marcus Alexander was that person. By the time Odenathus was given alleged control, Marcus Alexander would be a part of Palmyran life, and no one would suspect him at all. Never in all the history of Rome-either as republic or empire-had the Alexander family been implicated in any kind of disloyalty. They were Romans first and always.

  Marcus was an attractive man, thought the governor, although he had inherited his British mother's coloring and height. He was tall by any standards, measuring several inches over six feet. His hair was the warm, burnished color of a chestnut; his eyes a bright, almost startling blue, rimmed in outrageously thick lashes of the same color as his hair. He had a firm and well-muscled body, in proportion with his great height. He was obviously not a man who lolled about the banquet table, his only exercise the lifting of a wine goblet. Antonius Porcius could not help but notice Marcus Alexander's hands. They were large and square, yet the fingers were slender and tapering. The hands bespoke power, but at the same time gentleness.

  The governor had not a moment's doubt that the women of Palmyra would flock to the newcomer's bed, for the attractive body was topped by a handsome face of classic elegance. Marcus Alexander might have his British antecedents' size and coloring, but he had his father's features. The face was oval with a squared-off chin and jawline. The forehead was high, the nose pure Roman, long and aquiline; the piercing blue eyes were set well apart; the mouth was sensuously big and yet the lips were narrow, then-expression faintly mocking, faintly amused.

  Those lips now spoke. "You are staring, Antonius Porcius. Is there something amiss?"

  "What? No, no, Marcus Alexander! Nothing is wrong. I was simply thinking how like your father you are in features. I served with him for a time in Britain. Wretched climate, Britain! I could never get warm there."

  "And here in Palmyra I'll wager you can never get cool," came the teasing reply.

  The governor chuckled drily. "These old bones of mine prefer the heat of the East to the damp of Britain and Gaul."

  Marcus Alexander swished the Falernian wine about in his goblet. "Do you really think this marriage will be a dangerous thing for Rome?" He paused, then said quietly, "Perhaps the girl should be eliminated before the event even takes place."

  Antonius Porcius felt an icy chill sweep over him. He chose his words carefully. "Zenobia bat Zabaai does not like Rome, or Romans, it is true; but I suspect that you are correct. She is but a slip of a girl. What real harm can she do an empire? She will be kept busy in her husband's bed, and in the nursery for many years to come; and then she will be so busy with her grandchildren that her life will be gone before she has time to think of revenging against Rome for her mother's death. I am growing old, Marcus Alexander, and sometimes see shadows where none exist." And, thought the governor, I certainly do not want that girl's death on my conscience.

  "Better you are too cautious, than not cautious enough. Will you be going to the wedding?"

  "Oh, yes! The Palmyrans have long been Hellenized. It will be a traditional Confarreate ceremony celebrated in the atrium of Zabaai ben Selim's house, and after the banquet the bridal procession will wind back through the city to the bride's new home at the palace. It's really no different from Rome."

  "Perhaps I shall stand with the crowd outside the bride's house to see her when she leaves," was the reply.

  "She is very beautiful," the governor said.

  "Perhaps by Eastern standards," Marcus Alexander said. "I, myself, prefer blondes."

  "So did Odenathus," Antonius Porcius said, "until he saw Zenobia."

  "Indeed?" The governor's guest was thoughtful. "I shall most certainly then want to see the bride, although girls on their wedding day have a glow about them that gives beauty even to the most unattractive of females."

  "Then see her before her wedding day," the governor said mischievously. "She has returned to her father's house, and is in the habit of riding in the desert early each morning. Perhaps if you, too, ride early you will see her."

  Marcus Alexander was curious, and so the next morning he rose before dawn and followed the caravan road a small distance into the desert. Waiting behind a dune, he watched as the sun began to color the sky and reflect onto the vast sands. His patience was finally rewarded, and his ears pricked at the sound of drumming hoofbeats. Into sight came a magnificent white Arabian, galloping flat-out, along the track; and on the horse's back, low and almost at one with it, was a rider who slowly drew the sweating animal to a halt, then straightened.

  Marcus Alexander caught his breath. It was a girl, but what a girl! Long, bare legs; full breasts; and a face that could only be described as the most beautiful he had ever seen. He had never imagined that a woman could be that lovely. When he moved his horse out into view from behind the dune, she turned slowly to gaze at him haughtily. "Good morning," he said.

  Zenobia nodded silently to the giant of a man who had so suddenly materialized before her.

  "I am Marcus Alexander Britainus, lateiy come to Palmyra."

  "I am Zenobia bat Zabaai."

  "Do you always ride alone, Zenobia bat Zabaai?"

  "Don't you, Marcus Alexander?" was the disconcerting reply.

  "I am a man."

  "So I have noted. Good morning, Marcus Alexander." She urged her horse forward.

  "Wait!" he caught at the white mare's bridle, but Zenobia was faster, and yanked the horse's head away, causing the animal to rear up.

  Bringing her mount under control, Zenobia turned her full attention on the man before her. Her gray eyes were almost black in their fury, and her voice, though controlled, was filled with anger. "Never touch an animal I'm riding again, Marcus Alexander! Never! You greeted me, and the laws of hospitality demanded that I do so in return; but I do not like Romans. I especially do not like blue-eyed Romans. Blue-eyed Romans murdered my mother four years ago after they had broken into our home and used her for their pleasure. I ride alone through choice. Now, get out of my way! I wish to ride on."

  "Your pardon, Zenobia bat Zabaai. I regret that my personal appearance brings back painful memories for you. I meant no offense, but I am new to Palmyra and, although I enjoy riding, I am not certain I would not get lost in your desert. I merely sought the privilege of riding with you so I might grow familiar with the track."

  She felt guilty for her outburst, but she had no intention of either backing down from her stand, or of letting the Roman know that her conscience had been pricked. "It is best that you not ride in the desert without an escort, Marcus Alexander. There are always marauding Persians, or a renegade Bedawi or two looking for a foolish traveler to rob and murder. They do not distinguish between Romans and other peoples, for it makes no difference to them whose throat they slit or whose purse they cut." As she sat stiffly, proudly staring at him, the thought flitted through her mind that he was a very attractive man, perhaps the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Instantly she felt contrite. It was her Hawk who was the most handsome man in the world.

  Marcus Alexander had the most incredible urge to lift Zenobia from her horse and kiss that scornful mouth until it softened, but he did not. He could not jeopardize his position in Palmyra, and making love to the prince's bride-to-be would certainly do that. Instead he nodded, and said, "You are probably correct, Zenobia bat Zabaai. I would do well to return to the city immediately." And then, because he could not resist it, he said, "For all I know you are one of those women used to lure the unsuspecting traveler to his doom." It gave him great satisfaction to hear the furious gasp of outrage behind
him as he rode off.

  A beautiful girl, he thought; a bitter girl-but who could blame her? Antonius Porcius had simply said that Zenobia's mother had been killed by Roman legionnaires. He had said nothing of rape. Poor girl. This was certainly not the time to explain the differences to her between renegade Gauls and Romanized Britons like himself.

  He rode a short distance, then turned his head to look back. She had whipped her horse into a gallop, and was tearing across the desert at an incredible speed. Marcus Alexander chuckled to himself. He liked a woman with real spirit.

  He worked hard during the next few days, driven by the ex-slave who was to be his right-hand man. Severus had been his tutor as a boy, but when his father offered to free the man, Severus had asked to remain in the service of the Alexander family. It was a request they could not deny, and from that day on, Severus had learned from Lucius Alexander the ways of business. He had arrived in Palmyra two months before Marcus Alexander to purchase a villa and warehouse.

  Now Marcus Alexander had to take the reins. Though he strove to concentrate, his mind was constantly being interrupted by visions of a long-legged girl as spirited as the white mare she rode. It came as something of a shock to him to realize that he wanted her, because he could not have her. Marcus Alexander, son of Lucius, wealthy, handsome, and since birth denied nothing within reason, had fallen in love seriously for the first time in his twenty-five years.

  ***

  As the appointed day for the wedding grew closer, the excitement within the house of Zabaai ben Selim rose to a fever pitch. Though none of Zabaai's women except Tamar had ever paid the slightest attention to Zenobia, all now wanted to help, wanted to take the place of the bride's mother. Each advised her as many times daily as they could get near her; each attempted to choose her manner of dress; and each bitterly resented the interference of the others. Zenobia became as a choice piece of meat to be haggled over by the women in the market. She was finally forced to beg her father to tell his women that she wanted only Tamar to help her. Tamar, who was her friend, would be the bride's mother, and no other. Zenobia was finally left in peace.

  On the evening before the marriage Zenobia took the small locket that her mother had given her when she was born, and laid it on the altar of the household gods. These gods had watched over her childhood, but tomorrow that childhood would be gone, never to return, and so she laid upon the altar in solemn sacrifice the last vestige of her early years. Had she been younger she would also have brought her toys, but those had long since been discarded. As she stood quietly in the little family garden that enclosed the altar she prayed for her mother, and wished that by some miracle known only to the gods themselves that Iris would be by her side tomorrow.

  Tamar and Bab were both so good to her that she almost felt guilty, but for the first time in many months she missed her mother terribly. It was not so much Iris's golden beauty she recalled, but rather the sweet smell of her perfume; the gentle touch of her hand; the swish of her long skirts when she left Zenobia's room at night. She remembered the beautiful woman who always had time to explain, who hugged easily and without the least hint of embarrassment, who laughed happily to see her daughter and her husband together playing. A tear slipped down Zenobia's cheek, and then another, until her face was wet with sorrow.

  Across the garden Bab saw the girl's shoulders shaking with her grief, and made to go to her; but Tamar held her back. "No," said Zabaai ben Selim's surviving wife. "She has never really cried since Iris's death, and she needs to weep. Let her leave her sorrow behind with the rest of her childhood things."

  Bab nodded. "You are right, of course, but how I hate to see her hurt. If I could I would shield her from all the evil in life."

  "You would do her no favor then, Bab. Zenobia must face everything that comes her way by herself. If she does not know evil when she encounters it, how will she deal with it?"

  "I know, I know. Besides, I babble foolishness. Who has ever been able to shield Zenobia from anything?" Bab replied.

  "Let us go inside," Tamar replied. "Soon our child will come to try on her wedding garment for luck. She must not know that we have observed her in a private moment."

  The two women returned to their quarters and awaited the girl whom they both loved, so they might share this traditional time with her that her own mother could not. Both believed, however, that Iris watched from the paradise within the underworld to which the just are confined.

  Sleep was elusive for Zenobia that night. Like any young bride-to-be, she was both fearful and excited about the morrow's events. The tantalizing moments that she had had with the prince those two weeks back had only increased her curiosity. When she finally dozed it was only to awaken with a start, remembering a confused jumble of a dream in which a Roman had gazed upon her with mocking blue eyes. Zenobia sat up trembling, wondering if the shade of her mother's murderer had come to haunt her on this the night before her marriage. Then she remembered the Roman, Marcus Alexander Britainus, whom she had met in the desert a few days earlier. He had been the man in her dream. Puzzled, she wondered why she had dreamed of him. With a confused little shake of her head she lay back down to rest, and fell into a light sleep.

  In the hour before dawn the public augur arrived, and a young ewe was sacrificed. The omens were considered most favorable. The house of Zabaai ben Selim was decorated with a multitude of flowers; the boughs of palm trees; colorful bands of wool that had been entwined about the pillars; and exquisite tapestries hung all about the atrium, where the ceremony would take place. Before first light, the guests began arriving.

  In her bedchamber, aided by Tamar and Bab, Zenobia completed the final preparations. She had already bathed and washed her lovely black hair, which was now divided into six locks with a spear-shaped comb. This was an ancient custom dating from the time when marriage by capture was the rule rather than the exception. These locks were carefully coiled, and held in place with ribbons of silver lamé.

  The wedding gown was a white tunic of gossamer silk, woven by Tamar and Bab. The straight garment was made from a single piece of cloth, and fell to Zenobia's feet which were shod in silver sandals. The tunic was fastened around the waist with a band of wool tied in the knot of Hercules, for Hercules was the guardian of wedded life. When he became Zenobia's husband only Odenathus would be privileged to untie this knot. Over her tunic the bride wore a flame-colored veil; atop her head was a wreath of sweet, white freesia.

  Downstairs, the groom had arrived with his mother and friends. He wore a silver-bordered white toga, and was given a wreath of white freesia, matching his bride's, for his head. The augur formally pronounced the omens as favorable, the wedding was ready to begin.

  Zenobia was brought forward by Tamar, who had been chosen as pronuba for the ceremony. Zabaai's wife then joined the bride and groom's hands before the guests, and Zenobia spoke the words of her consent to this marriage. She spoke them three times, once in Latin, once in Greek, and once in the Aramaic dialect of her tribe, so that everyone in the room might understand:

  "When and where you are Gaius; I then and there am Gaia."

  Now the high priest from the Temple of Jupiter led the couple to the left of the household altar and, facing it, they were seated on stools covered with the skin of the sheep sacrificed earlier. Then a bloodless offering of a wheat cake was made to Jupiter by the high priest. A second cake was eaten by the bride and groom. Next the high priest recited prayers to Juno, goddess of marriage, and to the gods of the countryside and its fruits. The utensils necessary for the offering were carried in a covered basket by a boy called a camillus, whose parents were both living. Zenobia had chosen for this important role her young nephew, Zabaai ben Akbar.

  As the ceremony concluded the guests cried "Feliciter!” meaning good luck and happiness. Odenathus turned Zenobia to face him. Seeing him for the first time since she had left the palace almost two weeks ago, she felt shy and blushed. There was a hum of approval by those close enough to see.
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  Gently he kissed her on the forehead. "I have missed you, my flower," he said so only she might hear.

  "I have missed you, Hawk."

  It was the only private moment they would get for many hours to come. A lavish wedding feast had been planned, and it would last until evening. Knowing what was expected of her, Zenobia took her new husband's hand, and together they led the guests into Zabaai's magnificent outdoor dining room in the back garden of the villa. Here, dining couches and tables had been set up around a tiled court with a center fountain that shot a spray of water from the mouth of a marvelous golden sea dragon who writhed in the center of the fountain. The bride and groom shared a couch at the center table while the other guests were seated according to the order of their importance.

  The meal was divided into three parts. The appetizers consisted of asparagus in oil and vinegar, tuna and sliced egg on beds of lettuce, oysters that had been brought overland packed in snow, and thrushes, roasted a golden brown and set upon beds of cress, all on silver platters decorated with apricots and ripe olives. The second course offered loin of goat, legs of baby lamb, roasted chickens, ducks both domestic and wild, hare, great bowls of vegetables such as green beans, young cabbage sprouts, cauliflower imported from Europe, lettuce and onions, radishes and cucumbers, olives both green and ripe. There were loaves of bread, round and hot from the ovens.

  When the main part of the meal had been cleared away crystal bowls of almonds and pistachios were set upon all the tables along with platters of green and golden pears, red and purple plums, peaches, apricots, cherries, pomegranates, grapes black, purple, and green. There were sticky honey cakes shaped like butterflies and wrapped about chopped nuts and poppy seeds. A wedding cake filled with raisins and currants was served, and pieces of this cake were distributed to all the guests to take home for luck.