Beloved

by Bertrice Small

  "Antonius Porcius has long been a resident of this city," Marius Gracchus said. "Although he was not bom here, he chose to remain upon his retirement. He has married into one of our most distinguished families. I can find no fault with the queen's choice. In the matter of Marcus Britainus, however, I am confused as to why the queen has chosen him over a Palmy ran officer."

  "The king trusted him," was the reply, "and so do I. He has had several years of military experience with the Praetorian, and it is precisely because he is a Roman that I have chosen him. Rome trusted my husband, and gave him great powers. With his death I do not want them sending someone from Rome to oversee our armies. Rome will not find any fault in my choice, and we shall be left alone."

  "Then it only waits for Marcus Britainus to accept your appointment," Marius Gracchus replied. He looked directly at the Roman, his glance searching and not entirely trusting.

  Marcus was totally surprised by Zenobia's decision, and he could see the hostility in many on the Council of Ten. He wasn't sure exactly what it was she was asking him to do. Vaba was far too young to take over his father's command, and Rome was eventually going to send someone out. Obviously she wanted a little time to organize the government. He could aid her without being disloyal to Rome; but more important, he would have constant access to her.

  "Marcus Britainus." Her voice was soft as she fixed her wonderful gray eyes on him. "Marcus Britainus, will you accept?"

  "Of course, Majesty. I am honored at the faith you have in me."

  "It is settled, then," she said, and only Longinus, who knew her best, heard the relief in her voice. "Now we must get to the succession. Those who were with us this evening heard my husband name our eldest son, Vaballathus Septimius, his heir, the next king. The Council of Ten must honor Odenathus's dying request."

  "What of the king's elder sons?"

  Zenobia froze, her eyes darkening with anger, and she looked at a council member named Quintus Urbicus. "Do you refer to the king's two bastards?" Her voice was icy. "They are both dead." The council gasped. "The eldest, Linos," Zenobia continued, "was responsible for his father's death; the younger was guilty also. They killed the king, Quintus Urbicus, and it was a miracle that they did not kill all of us! There were five women, and ten children here this night. Ten children including Palmyra's rightful heir!"

  "Prince Vaballathus is only twelve, my Queen."

  "It is true that King Vaballathus is yet young, but he is of the true line of Palmyra."

  "This is a dangerous situation," said Macro Cursor, another council member. "A child king is always vulnerable. He cannot be allowed to rule until he is of age. If the king's older sons are dead, and unavailable to us, then the Council of Ten must take over for our boy king." He looked around the table for support, but only Quintus Urbicus seemed in open agreement with him.

  Antonius Porcius cleared his throat. "We cannot have ten people ruling Palmyra. It would lead to chaos; and in the end Rome would send another governor. It only remains for us to choose a regent to rule in the king's place until he is of age. What more natural choice can we make than to appoint the queen regent of Palmyra. The king wanted it so."

  "The queen!?" The council looked to Zenobia.

  "Antonius Porcius is correct." The speaker was Marius Gracchus. "The queen is a perfect choice for regent. Rome will accept her, for she is a known quantity to them, and with a former Praetorian officer in charge of the legion…" He allowed them all to absorb the obvious. "When you think on it, my friends," he continued, "the queen is the only logical choice. She has an excellent grasp of government, and has ruled well in our late king's many absences. Does anyone else wish to put forward another candidate for this post?" His gaze swept the table. "Then I can assume there is no need for us to vote on this, and that the matter is settled. Queen Zenobia will rule in her son's stead until he is of age." Marius Gracchus looked again to the queen, and then sat down.

  Zenobia stood and faced them all. "I will rule alone for the next two years," she said bluntly. "My son needs more time to grow. He will attend council meetings only once a month, but of course will be present on all state occasions. My husband's body will lie in state tomorrow, and be buried the following day."

  "It will be as the queen has said," Marius Gracchus intoned.

  "I thank you all for coming," Zenobia said. "The council is now dismissed, Longinus and Marcus Britainus to remain for a moment. Good night."

  No sooner had they gone than Zenobia's face crumbled, and she began to cry. Longinus dismissed the guard and, turning back to her, was not surprised to see his queen held firmly in Marcus Britainus's strong arms. For some minutes she sobbed her grief, and Longinus could hear the Roman's voice softly comforting the woman. What a remarkable creature she was, he thought. Never once in the few hours since Odenathus's death had she allowed herself one moment of weakness. She had been firm and resolute, even ruthless, taking charge of the very dangerous situation. She was amazing!

  As her pain abated Zenobia was suddenly aware of the fact that warm arms encircled her; beneath her cheek a hard chest cloaked a heart that beat steadily. To her confused and numbed mind it felt right, and she snuggled deeper into the embrace. She was so tired, so suddenly and terribly tired. Her legs gave way, and as they did she felt herself being lifted up. Marcus Britainus looked to Longinus for aid.

  "Follow me," was the reply. "There is a guest bedroom nearby. If we go to the queen's apartments old Bab and all the queen's maidens will flutter and fuss."

  "I will stay with her," the Roman said. "If she awakens in a strange place it could frighten her."

  Longinus almost laughed aloud at this weakness being attributed to Zenobia. Ah, well, let the Roman have his dream, he thought. "Yes, that would be best, Marcus Britainus," he answered, ushering the man and his burden into a pleasant room reserved for state visitors.

  "I will leave you," Longinus said. "I want to see to the young king and his brother." He hurried out.

  Marcus carefully laid Zenobia on the bed, drew up a chair, and sat down. For a long time he stared at Zenobia. She was so incredibly beautiful. Her skin! By the gods, it was flawless, perfect! Venus herself could not have had more beautiful skin. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched it, finding it as he had suspected, smooth and soft. Growing bolder, he let his fingers trail down her face, her neck, her shoulder. Reverently, he fondled the rounded shoulder, admiring how marvelously proportioned she was. His hand seemed to move of itself, slipping lower and lower until it moved past the neckline of her violet stola and he cupped a warm, full breast. He almost cried aloud with the pleasurable pain of the act, and then he snatched his hand away as if her skin had been a hot coal.

  He looked at the hand with revulsion. What kind of a man was he to take advantage of an unconscious woman? A woman who had just lost the husband she loved. Had his own love rendered him mad? Burying his face in his hands he groaned with shame. Then her voice touched him.

  "Marcus Britainus, what is it?"

  Slowly he raised his head, and then his deep blue eyes met her gold-flecked gray ones. For the longest time they stared, each transfixed by the other's eyes, and then he lowered his head and his mouth found hers in a deep and burning kiss, a kiss he had waited so long to give her.

  Into Zenobia's mind came the single and simple thought: This is how it was meant to be. And as his hungry lips moved over her own, as her own lips returned the fire, it came to her with startling clarity that this was the man she had been waiting for all of her life. How could that be? she thought wonderingly. How? The question brushed through her mind briefly, and then she gave herself up to the wonder of his embrace. The kiss deepened, and she could feel him trembling with the depth of his emotion. Putting her arms up, she drew him closer to her, her graceful, strong hands caressing the sensitive back of his neck, her fingers entwining themselves in his thick, chestnut-colored hair. She could sense the natural wave of it as her fingers slipped through its soft silkiness.

  Sh
e could feel his tongue against her lips, gently encouraging her to allow him that first, most intimate embrace; and without hesitation she acquiesced. Velvet fire filled her mouth, probing, exploring, caressing with infinite tenderness. A first flush of heat poured over her body, and she shuddered with delight. Finished with his exploration, he kissed the comers of her mouth, moving to the soft spot beneath her ear, down her slim neck to the hollow between shoulder and neck. There he buried his face for a moment, inhaling the natural fragrance of her that mixed with the hyacinth scent of her perfume.

  Finally he sighed, raised his head from its sanctuary, and looked deeply into her eyes. "I want more," he said simply, leaving the decision to her.

  Zenobia said not a word; but she swung her legs over the edge of the sleeping couch and stood up. Her eyes never left his as she loosened her stola and let it slip to the cool marble floor. Her camisa, finely spun white linen that gave a glimpse of the glories to come, followed. Reaching up, she drew the jeweled pins from her midnight hair, and it tumbled free. Her piercing look spoke as clearly as words would have.

  He obeyed, standing to disrobe quickly, all the while filling his blue eyes with her golden beauty. If Venus came down to the world of mortals, he thought, she must surely look like this. He was enchanted by her body, which was the most beautiful he could ever remember seeing. She was tall for a woman, yet despite wide shoulders, her bone structure was really quite delicate. And the shoulders served to enhance the large breasts.

  Naked now, he reached out to place a hand about her small waist. Because of his height most women were always too tiny against him, but Zenobia was just right, her dark head almost to his shoulder. He drew her nearer, feeling the small round of her belly as it pressed against him. Reaching out, she caressed his cheek. There was neither shame nor shyness between them.

  He tipped her face upward so he might look at her. "I love you," he said quietly. "I have always loved you. I have loved you from the beginnings of time, and I shall love you long after our memories have faded from this earth." Then, picking her up in his arms, he returned her to the sleeping couch and lay down next to her.

  For some minutes they lay together holding hands, and then her voice, soft with confusion, said, "I do not understand this, Marcus, and yet I desire you. I want you to make love to me. Why?"

  "You must find your own answers, my beloved, but I shall never force you to anything you do not want. I will rise now, and go if that be your wish."

  "No!“

  At that he drew her into his strong arms again, and kissed her with such passion that she could not restrain herself from responding. She matched him kiss for kiss, tasting him, scorching him with her own fire until a flame began to leap upward within him; a flame born from the ever-burning embers of his love for her. It burned and twisted within him, and he grew warmer and warmer with his own desire to possess her.

  Straddling her, he sat back upon his heels. His big hand reached out to cup and admire her breasts. They overflowed his hands again and again as he attempted to contain their beauty. Her eyes had closed, and as he gazed down upon her purple-shadowed eyelids, he wondered if she was even aware of him. "Zenobia," he said, and her eyes opened and she smiled up at him.

  "I am here."

  Drawing him down, she brushed her lips over his, and once more they kissed with steadily building passion. Now he allowed his hands the freedom they had so longed for, the freedom to caress her marvelous body. He stroked her back, revealing in its long line, the curve of her buttocks. Turning her over so that she lay face down, he began a worshipful adoration of her body, and kissed slowly and hungrily along the same path that his hand had taken, not stopping at her buttocks, however, but continuing down her legs to her slender feet.

  Zenobia sighed luxuriously, for Odenathus had never made love to her like this. Marcus was a tender lover, considerate and passionate, preparing her carefully. Why she did not feel guilt she did not understand. Perhaps it was because she had not sought this wonder, this delight, and to find it now on this night of great tragedy was a miracle, a gift from the gods. She would not question further.

  Turning her onto her back again, he pressed feathery kisses up her legs to the soft insides of her thighs, but going no farther for that was a special pleasure to reserve for another time. His tongue teased her navel, and she wriggled with pleasure as once more he found her breasts. This time he sucked her honey-colored nipples until they were tight crests of pure sensation.

  Now his large body covered her, their mouths warred together again, and she felt him pressing against her. With a sigh she opened her legs to him, murmuring against his mouth, "Oh, yes, my darling! Yes!" Tenderly and with infinite care, he entered her. Zenobia quickly realized that his lance must be enormous, and she winced slightly. He stopped, giving her body time to stretch for him. Once more he thrust, and to her amazement she began to feel the magic beginning. It was too soon, she thought frantically, but she could not stop it.

  With a gasp she cried out, opening her eyes to find his blue eyes blazing down on her. He saw her gray orbs glaze over as the first wave of pleasure washed over her. "No!" she sobbed. "It is too soon!"

  But he soothed her. "It is just the beginning, beloved! I will give you more joy than you ever believed possible." He kept his word, bringing her pleasure several times before he finally took his own, his powerful seed overflowing her womb.

  They fell asleep, clutching each other, their strong, beautiful bodies intertwined. But afraid for her reputation, he slept lightly, waking fully before dawn. Looking down on her, he was filled with tenderness. He wanted to waken her and make love to her again, but she slept very, very deeply, her body healing itself from the shock of last night's events. So he rose quietly and dressed himself. She would be all right when she awoke, and he had best leave lest some gossip see him.

  A faint noise caused him to turn to the door where, to his surprise, Longinus stood, shocked. "How could you take advantage of her?" he whispered furiously. "She trusted you, Marcus!"

  "I did not take advantage, Longinus. It happened."

  The simplicity of the explanation convinced Cassius Longinus of its truth, although he found that he was still distressed. In his own way he loved Zenobia, too.

  "Come with me," he said coolly. "I will take you to my own quarters, for it will be necessary for you to be here this morning."

  "I would never hurt her, Longinus."

  Cassius Longinus turned to the Roman, a look of sadness in his brown eyes. "I know that," he sighed. "How long is it that you have loved her, Marcus? I understand, but you must be cautious. Her position is so very precarious right now."

  "We will be careful, Longinus."

  "Love her if you will, Marcus, but be warned that Palmyra must come first. If Zenobia was given the choice between you and this city today, Palmyra would come before you. Never force her to that decision."

  The Roman was somewhat taken aback. "Surely you make mock of me, Longinus. Zenobia is a woman who needs to be loved. She cannot live without it."

  Cassius Longinus shook his head. "Because she melted into your arms last night in a moment of weakness, do not be fooled. Zenobia is not a weak-willed woman who can be content keeping her husband's house, and wiping the runny noses and wet bottoms of her children. She was born for greatness! The signs were all there at her birth, and she has only just begun to fulfill her promise."

  Part Two

  The Warrior Queen

  6

  "You behave like a girl having her first child instead of a woman who has already birthed two sons," old Bab snapped to Zenobia.

  Zenobia gritted her teeth as another pain rippled across her belly and back. "Vaba and Demi were easy births," she groaned. "This child seems not to want to be born."

  "Poor little mite," Bab murmured. "It will never know its father. It is almost as if the gods had gifted you after all these years-to give you this last child of King Odenathus but nine months after his death." She shook her
head again. "Poor little mite," she repeated.

  "It truly is a miracle," said Julia, leaning over her old friend and wiping the perspiration from her forehead.

  "At least the succession is well served," said Zenobia, breathing easier as the pain receded. "Three sons is even better than two."

  Julia laughed. "It could be a daughter this time, Zenobia."

  "No," came the certain reply. "Odenathus and I spawned only sons-strong sons for our Palmyran dynasty!"

  "Well," Julia said, "I, for one, am delighted to have a son and a daughter. Gaius was for Antonius, but Flavia is for me."

  "She certainly is," Zenobia chuckled. "Not only is she your image, but even her mannerisms are yours." A spasm crossed her face. "Ah, Mother Juno!" she cried out.

  "Push, my baby, push!" Bab commanded.

  Zenobia did as her old nurse commanded, but even though she worked hard at birthing this child, it would still be several hours before she gained her goal.

  Outside, in the queen's antechamber, Cassius Longinus and Marcus Britainus waited. The two men had become quite good friends over the last months. Indeed, Marcus did not know what he would have done without the wisdom and friendship of Zenobia's trusted councillor. He might have gone mad without it, for fate had dealt him one more blow, the gods having given him a glimpse of paradise had then as quickly snatched it away.

  The morning following Odenathus's death he had waited for Zenobia to summon him, but instead he had been summoned to a council meeting to receive his instructions. Her behavior toward him was as it had always been, polite and pleasant. Ah well, he had thought, she is the queen, and will wait until after the nine days of sorrow and the funeral are over. It is only right.

  The king's body had been washed and prepared. He had been dressed in a finely woven tunica palmata, which was a purple and gold embroidered ceremonial tunic reaching to the ankle, and worn with a beautifully spun light wool toga picta of Tyrian purple embroidered in gold-thread figures representing the gods. Upon his feet were gold sandals, and a victory wreath of beaten gold laurel leaves adorned his dark head.