Beloved

by Bertrice Small

  "Are you awake?" she whispered softly.

  "No," he answered. "I can't possibly be, for if I am then I am in paradise."

  "I love you," she answered him.

  "No," he said. "I love you!"

  Pushing herself up onto one elbow, she gazed down into his strongly chiseled face. "That first night," she said. "I remember thinking that you were the one I had waited for all my life, and I did not understand it. How could I love my Hawk, and yet so quickly love you? I still am not sure I understand."

  "Did not your father arrange the marriage?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you were expected to marry Odenathus, and there was an end to it as far as your family was concerned. Tell me if I am wrong. He was the first man ever to come into your life other than your father and your brothers. He was the first man to make love to you. He was intelligent, and sensitive, and gentle. He adored you above all women, even to putting aside his concubine for you. Is all of this not so?"

  "Yes."

  "Then how could a woman of sensitivity fail to respond to him? Did you know what love was, beloved? Do you know now?"

  "My love for my Hawk was a child's love," she said slowly. "Very much the same as I feel for my father and my brothers. He awakened my body, it is true; but never did I feel for him what I feel for you. Yet that, too, is confusing.

  "I remember that all my life until she died my mother always told me of how when she and my father met they fell instantly in love, and knew without reason that they were meant to be together. She did not hesitate to marry him, even though his life as a Bedawi chief was a great deal different from hers as a wealthy Alexandrian."

  Gently she brushed a tousled lock of his chestnut hair back from his forehead. Catching her hand in his, he kissed it, and then pressed it to his heart. "When we met it was hardly love at first sight," she continued. "Oh yes, Marcus, I remember it well, although I have not until now spoken of it! We met on the desert road at dawn, and I was insufferably rude to you; but oh my darling, the pain of my mother's death still lived close to me." Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered that terrible morning so long ago when her beautiful mother was savaged, raped, and murdered by Roman mercenaries.

  "Don't, beloved," he urged her, sitting up and gathering her into his embrace.

  "I have never really spoken of it to anyone since that day, Marcus. I told my father what had happened, and after that I tried to put it from my mind; but I have never forgotten. They used her body. Then they slit her throat. Perhaps they did her a kindness, for I do not think she could have lived with her shame Blue-eyed Romans. They were blue-eyed Romans. When I met you the hate still boiled in my heart."

  "Hate, beloved, is the opposite of love. From the very first moment I saw you I was lost." He chuckled. "You were such a little spitfire that I wanted to drag you from your horse and kiss that angry little mouth until it grew pliant and loving. I knew, however, that you were shortly to be married to the prince of the city. I wanted you then, and having possessed you now, I still want you!"

  Her beautiful gray eyes, filled with their tiny golden lights, looked deeply into his sapphire-blue ones. "You have loved me all these years, Marcus, and I never knew it. I have loved you but never did I dare face that love."

  "Yet the night of Odenathus's death you came willingly to me, beloved. It was as if your soul understood what your mind never dared to comprehend."

  "I ought to be ashamed," she said quietly, "and yet I am not. My husband lay dead and I gave myself to another man."

  "You were in shock, beloved; without the least thought or care for yourself you took immediate charge of the situation and thus saved Palmyra from a civil war."

  "I did not even remember! All those months while I carried Mavia I believed her to be Odenathus's child, and when I first saw her and remembered, I rejected her."

  "No, Zenobia, you didn't reject our child. At your first sight of her you were frightened and confused, as your memory had begun to return. What you were rejecting was the possibility of having behaved in a manner contrary to what you had always done."

  She moved so that he held her but lightly and she might gaze into his face. "I love you, Marcus Alexander Britainus, and for some reason I cannot fathom I am loved by you in return. Stay by my side, my darling. Be my rock; my fortress and refuge in this world. Be my love, and never leave me!"

  "I will never leave you, Zenobia," he promised. "You are my wife, my beloved one, and as long as you want me I shall stay by your side."

  "Then you must remain with me for eternity, Marcus. Eternity and beyond!"

  "You do not set me a very harsh task, beloved," he said and, bending his head, he brushed her lips with his own.

  Her arms wound about him, and she murmured against his marvelous mouth, "Then I shall have to think of something, my darling, and do not fear, I shall!"

  "You will not be easy to live with," he teased her, "will you?"

  "No," she said, and then a smile lit her features, "but then, I suspect, neither will you, my darling!"

  7

  The soldier emperor, Gallienus, considered the letter he had received from Antonius Porcius Blandus, hot upon the heels of the news of Odenathus's murder. He had thought about sending a military governor out to the East, but old Antonius Porcius, a loyal fellow as he remembered, assured him that the young queen, Zenobia, had all in hand; and had already appointed a former Praetorian prefect, one Marcus Alexander Britainus, to be commander of the Eastern legions.

  The Alexander family were well known here in Rome, and this was the eldest son. There were those who thought it amusing that the Alexanders kept to the old ways of loyalty, honest industry, and piety toward the gods, but Gallienus thanked Jupiter himself for such rare servants. The Eastern frontier would be safe with Marcus Alexander, and in a rare burst of goodwill even the senate confirmed his appointment.

  Feeling confident, Gallienus went off to subdue the Goths, who were once more overrunning Roman territory. Unfortunately his departure encouraged his general, Aureolus, who commanded the cavalry in Milan, to rebellion. Gallienus hurried to lay siege to Milan. Once there, he was murdered by a group of his dissatisfied generals, who then put forth one of their own as the new emperor. Claudius II quickly subdued Aureolus, put him to death, and then went on to conduct a successful campaign against the German tribes. The Eastern Empire was forgotten.

  It was some weeks after Gallienus's murder that word of it reached Zenobia in Palmyra. It was obvious that Claudius would pay no attention to their part of the world, and looking at Longinus, Zenobia said, "Odenathus told me that the right moment would come someday. The time is now!”

  "Just what is it you want, Majesty? Palmyra's freedom from Rome?"

  She laughed, and he could hear a triumphant note in the sound. "Once, Longinus, freedom for Palmyra was all I wanted, but I was young and I lacked experience. It is not enough that Palmyra be free. We need much territory about us to keep our near perimeters safe. I want all of Rome's Eastern Empire for Palmyra, for my son; and I shall have it!"

  She had said it, and it was as he had suspected. "You must move very carefully, Majesty," he said slowly. "In the beginning all must be done in the name of the Roman Empire. After all, you will be using the legion they left here in Palmyra."

  "A legion of mercenaries, Longinus; legionnaires from Numidia, Mauretania, and Cyrene! They can be bought."

  "It will take more than money, Majesty."

  "I know, Longinus. It will take victories, for these mercenaries love the taste of victory as well as the sound of gold. First I must win their confidence, and then I will buy them; first with the victories so dear to their hearts, and then with the gold they desire. You are correct. It will be done first for Rome, and only when I have Rome's legion in the palm of my hand will it be done for Palmyra."

  "And Marcus Britainus, Majesty? Will he desert Rome for Palmyra?"

  "I don't know," she said honestly.

  "And will you give up your o
wn happiness, Majesty, for Palmyra?"

  "Why should I have to, Longinus? While Rome's legion and my own army fight together for Rome, there is no conflict. Rome is not competent to rule in the East, for she is too far away to administer the governments properly. Marcus will be on our side. After all, it is not as if he were involved in the government of Rome. Like me, he springs from two peoples-from Britain, and from Rome. He has spent the last fifteen years here in Palmyra, and become more Palmyran each day."

  Longinus shook his head. Where Marcus Britainus was concerned Zenobia was blind in both eyes.

  "As always, Longinus, you worry too much," Zenobia teased him. "This is not the time to make a decision, and perhaps there never will come such a time for Marcus. We are friends as well as lovers. When Vaba is eighteen I will marry Marcus and let my son rule alone. I want children for Marcus."

  Again Longinus shook his head. She was a brilliant ruler, but where her lover was concerned she simply did not understand. Love was indeed blind in the case of Palmyra's queen.

  "Stop frowning, Longinus! You are beginning to resemble a thundercloud."

  "I think ahead, Majesty."

  "And you obviously do not like the conclusions you have reached," she replied. "Do not fear, Longinus. Everything is going to be all right. Tomorrow I begin to ready the army for Syria."

  "Will you go with them this time, Majesty?"

  "Yes," she answered. "This time I will go with them. You, old friend, will remain behind in Palmyra to guide the king in my absence. This will not be a long campaign, but the Syrians must be brought firmly under my control."

  "The Syrians are used to being conquered," Longinus said drily. "They will give you no trouble, Majesty."

  It was doubtful that Zenobia even heard him, for she was lost in thought at her map table. Her fingers wandered restlessly across the parchment, touching the main cities of Syria: Damascus, Antioch, Emesa, Beirut. And above Syria lay all of Asia Minor. There was Cilicia, Cappadocia, Bithynia, and Pontus; Galatia, Lycia, and Pamphylia; Lydia and Paphilagonia; Mysia, Phrygia, and Commagene. Her fingers moved downward, brushing across Palestine, Arabia, and finally into Egypt. A small smile played about the corners of her mouth. Yes, Egypt should be the outer boundary of her Palmyran Empire, and the far west of Asia Minor her other boundary. She gazed out the window toward the east. She would need eastern boundaries. Perhaps Armenia and Parthia; but right now her chief enemies lay to the west. Rome. In Persia, King Shapur was old and beaten, holding his hollow court and speaking of past victories; victories before Odenathus; victories before Zenobia.

  She could feel the power filling her soul, and she knew that she would be victorious in her endeavors. She did not understand how she knew it, but she knew. Marcus, of course, was not happy at the prospect of her going on campaign.

  "You have made me commander of the legions," he said. "Do you not trust me to lead them well?"

  "I am not questioning your competence, my darling, but I am the queen. This time I must go with the armies. When Odenathus was alive it was not necessary, for he as their king led them, and I remained here in Palmyra to rule in his name. Now, however, I am the power in Palmyra, and I must go with the legions. Vaba is still too young, and he is important to our people. Until he is married and has a son we cannot take the chance of losing him. Therefore I must go with Palmyra's troops." She moved provocatively into his arms and lightly kissed his lips. "Will it really be so terrible to have me with you on this campaign, my darling?"

  "It is indeed a burden for me, beloved," he said honestly. "I cannot lead my armies if I am worried every minute that you may be in danger. There are hardships on a military campaign you cannot possibly know, Zenobia. We simply cannot carry along all the fripperies and slave girls necessary to a woman's comfort."

  Cassius Longinus sat back in his chair, a wicked smile lighting up his aesthetic face. This was going to be quite enjoyable.

  Zenobia sighed a long patient sigh. Walking across the room, she stopped before a cabinet, reached in, and withdrew two broadswords. Turning about, she tossed one to the very startled Marcus. "Prepare to defend yourself, Roman!" she said, loosening her long stola and stepping out of it. Beneath it she wore only a thin white linen camise.

  Longinus muffled a deep chuckle. Reaching for his goblet, he quaffed down the sweet red wine, and then, his brown eyes darting between the queen and Marcus, he watched to see what would happen.

  "Zenobia! Have you gone mad?"

  "No, Marcus, I have not. I was born and bred to be a warrior. It is true that I have yet to taste battle, but I am capable, as any of my guard could tell you had you ever bothered to ask. You, however, doubt my capability. Since you do I must obviously prove myself to you. I am now prepared to do so, so you had best defend yourself, my darling, lest I slice off an ear!" She punctuated her speech by whirling her sword in ever-widening circles over her head.

  Marcus Britainus was momentarily surprised, but, realizing that she was serious, quickly stripped off his toga and his long tunic, keeping only his short tunica interior to cover him. He was somewhat annoyed by her actions. She was a woman! Why could she not behave like one, and remain home in Palmyra while he took her armies out and subdued the Eastern Empire? Too late he realized that it was he who had brought about this confrontation. If he had simply agreed to her accompanying them and let it go at that-but no! He had to behave like a great masculine brute. He knew her competence. He could not allow her a false victory, for she would know. Wondering how good she really was with the broadsword, he leapt forward, his blade on the attack.

  With a grin Zenobia moved backward but a step, and then, rather than taking an attitude of defense, which was what he had expected, she rushed forward, her sword cutting through the air with a loud whooshing noise, and it was he who was forced to retreat. He parried blow after blow, and quickly discovered that she was not only adept with her sword, but tireless. With a leap he got behind her, but she was equally quick, and instantly turned to defend herself.

  Metal clanged as weapon met weapon, and they were both soon dripping wet with their exertions. Longinus sat watching, totally fascinated by the spectacle before him. It did not even cross his mind that they might unwittingly hurt each other. Zenobia's concentration was grim as she parried his blow, staggering somewhat for he had put his entire weight behind it. Still she would not give him the victory for she was angry. How could he love her the way he did, and yet be so unaware of the warrior she was? It infuriated her!

  He was surprised at her skill and her stamina. She was one of the finest swordsmen he had ever encountered; but the battle was getting them nowhere. Eventually one of them was going to draw blood, and that thought frightened him. He could not bear to hurt her.

  "Zenobia! Give over, my darling. I was wrong, and I freely admit to it."

  "What?" She lowered her blade and looked at him. Her wonderful breasts were rising and falling with her exertion.

  "I was wrong," he repeated. "You are a warrior, a great warrior, but I am terrified that I might hurt you. Please let us stop this battle. If necessary I will concede you the victory."

  "You will concede me the victory? ! " Her voice was filled with righteous indignation. "I win my victories!"

  He saw it coming and, heedless of the danger, he leapt swiftly forward and wrenched the broadsword from her hand. "No!" he shouted. "No, you little savage, I won't allow you to hurt either yourself or me!" And he flung both weapons across the room.

  Furiously she launched herself at him, nails extended to rake his face, but he caught her wrists and squeezed until he saw the pain leap into her eyes. But she would not cry out. Instead her gray eyes darkened until they were almost black in her anger. He was just as angry. Yanking her into his arms, his mouth fiercely savaged hers, stoking the fires of her body until the nipples of her breasts were as hard and as sharp as her swordpoint had been. The desperate need to retaliate was deep within her, and furiously she bit his lips.

  "Bitch!"
he murmured against her mouth, and then his kisses grew soft, and filled with such intense passion that she could feel the anger flowing from both their bodies as another, sweeter need rose and took its place. The arms that had been locked tightly about her loosened, and she slipped her own arms up and around his neck, molding her lush soft curves to his hard body. How long they remained standing there kissing, she never knew; but suddenly he was drawing her camise off, his big hands caressing her back, cupping her buttocks, drawing her tightly against him, letting her feel his deep and hungry need.

  "Longinus," she managed to whisper, wanting very much to satisfy his need and the equally deep need within her.

  "Longinus is gone," was the answer, and quickly looking about the room, she saw that Marcus spoke the truth.

  "Not here, not now," she whispered again, somewhat shy that they might be discovered.

  "Here and now," he answered, drawing her down onto a couch.

  "Please, Marcus…" she pleaded.

  "I very much please," he answered her, and then she felt his hands beneath her bottom, lifting her slightly, felt the hot tip of his shaft rubbing against her womanhood, felt herself encouraging him onward, and knew that she was lost.

  There was no subtlety, for the need between them was too great. Again, again, and yet again he drove himself into her, and it was, he thought, like plunging into boiling honey. The sweetness flowed from her until he thought it could come no more; but yet again it flowed and in the end it was she who weakened him, and filled him with such delight that he cried out.

  Her hands reached down and raised his face from her shoulder. She loved gazing into his eyes when they lay locked in passion. Kissing him with gentle little kisses, she said once more the words he never tired of hearing from her lips. "I love you, Marcus! I love you! Never leave me! Never!"

  His sapphire-blue eyes bore into her, and told her all that his lips could not say at this tender and yet fiery moment. The deep and desperate loving began again, and she felt him growing and filling her with such pleasure that she believed for a long moment that death was but an instant away. Nothing, she reasoned, could be quite that wonderful, but he certainly was. Again, and yet once more he led her down passion's path until the rapture burst over her in a shower of tiny golden lights. Then she tumbled into a velvet abyss of warm, loving darkness that enfolded her, rocked her, protected her.