Beloved

by Bertrice Small

  ***

  The following evening after a busy day of packing-for the royal Palmyran couple were to be allowed to take all their furniture and personal possessions with them to Cyrene-Zenobia found herself bidding most of her family farewell. In the main courtyard of the palace, where only a short few weeks ago the council had been executed, a fair-sized caravan prepared to leave. There were over two hundred laden camels, each with one of the king's slaves walking by its side. All the royal slaves and free servants would walk with the caravan, as would the legionnaires of Rome. Only the young king, Gaius Porcius, and the military officers would be mounted. Julia and young Queen Flavia would ride in their own litters, each big enough for sleeping.

  "We will write you, Mother, as often as possible," promised Vaba.

  "Wait until you have reached Cyrene to send me your message," Zenobia replied. "The emperor is leaving to return to Rome in another day or two, Vaba. There will be no place you can send the message to me until I reach their capital."

  "Will you too be hastened from the city under cover of darkness, I wonder, Mother?"

  "No. Aurelian sends you from Palmyra this way in order to keep his Roman peace. He will march me from the city in plain view of all our people, a captive queen, a lesson to any foolish enough to reconsider rebellion."

  "Mother…" The worry showed plain upon his face, and she was touched by his caring.

  "Vaba, my son," and she put a hand on his shoulder, "do not be afraid for me. Save your caring for Flavia and your unborn child. Aurelian is nothing more to me than a lustful man with whom I can contend quite successfully." She laughed softly at the shock in his eyes. He knew of her relationship with the emperor, of course, but he did not like to admit to a truth that embarrassed him. "It is never easy to be a woman, Vaba," Zenobia said soothingly, "even a woman who is a reigning queen as I have been. What the gods give with one hand, they take back with the other. Remember that always, my son."

  "I am a king, and yet I was unable to aid you, Mother. I will never forget that, and it will haunt me always," Vaba declared.

  "No, no, dear one!" Zenobia protested. "The Roman had more power, that is all, and that is what I tried to gain for you, my son-power. That and wealth will always protect you."

  "When will I see you again?" he demanded.

  "When the emperor tires of me, enough to allow me to travel to Cyrene from Rome. Not until then, my son." She took his face in her hands and kissed him on both cheeks, then quickly upon the lips. "Farewell, my son. Farewell, son of Odenathus. Farewell, rightful King of Palmyra. Until we meet again may the gods watch over you and care for your safety."

  Quick tears sprang into his eyes, but he forced them away. "Farewell, my Mother," he said in a tremulous voice. Then his voice grew stronger. "No man has ever had a mother as wonderful as you, Zenobia of Palmyra. May the gods watch over you until we meet again! I love you, Mother!" He quickly returned her kiss and then as quickly turned away, leaving her to say her good-byes to Flavia and Julia.

  "I will look after him as if he were my own," Julia quickly said, seeing her old friend's face begin to quiver. She lowered her voice. "For goodness' sake, Zenobia, do not give way to tears now! The children have all they can do not to cry themselves."

  Zenobia breathed deeply, and replied, "I'm all right now, Julia, it's just that I cannot remember the last time that Vaba told me that he loved me."

  Julia laughed. "You are a sentimental woman for all you deny it, Zenobia. I will write to you, and I shall tell you all."

  Zenobia nodded. "Thank you, Julia. I know I may rely upon you. You are so fortunate. You shall see the baby long before I do. Be sure that he knows of his great heritage, and of me."

  "I will, Zenobia! I most asuredly will." Julia hugged her friend and then gave way to her daughter.

  "Oh, Majesty," Flavia said, openly teary, and clung to the queen.

  "Flavia," Zenobia admonished her daughter-in-law gently, "I am relying upon you to watch over Vaba and see that he does nothing foolish. Dear girl, what a joy you are to my son, and I am so grateful to you for that! Take good care of yourself, and of the child." Zenobia kissed the girl then stepped away from her. "The gods protect you, and my grandchild." The queen turned and walked from the courtyard and back into the palace. She would not stand mere painfully watching until me vast caravan was out of sight. Instead, she returned to her gardens and walked amid the torchlit paths. Beyond the high garden walls she could hear the soft plod of the camels' hooves, and me tinkle of their harness bells as they wended their way down me back streets toward the gate to the western road.

  The sound beat itself into her consciousness until suddenly she was aware that it was gone, and the night was silent. Only then did Zenobia sit down on a little marble bench in the most secluded part of me garden and weep bitterly, unaware that Aure-lian, hidden in the shadows, observed her. When she returned to her apartments he awaited her, greeting her as if nothing unusual had happened, making passionate love to her in the deepest part of the night, holding her until she slept, exhausted with the emotion of her son's departure.

  The next day was a busy one, for Bab and Adria had begun to pack all me queen's belongings for the trip to Rome. Zenobia was anxious to leave now. Palmyra was no longer hers, and the pain of that knowledge was too great.

  She was granted permission by Aurelian to leave the palace and visit her father. She was carried through the streets in a closed litter so that the people might not see her. Aurelian had no fear that she would try to escape. Where would she go? Besides, he had Zenobia's daughter with him at the palace.

  Zenobia was conducted to her father's bedchamber by Tamar. Zabaai ben Selim was close to eighty now, and seeing him propped up in his bed, Zenobia realized that her father did not have much more time to live. Yet he was sharp and fierce in mind even if his body now failed him. In his time he had fathered forty sons and a daughter. He had one hundred fifty-two grandsons, and forty-three granddaughters, over three hundred great-grandchildren, and ten great-great grandchildren. His own people often likened him to the Hebrew patriarch, Father Abraham.

  "It is Zenobia, Zabaai," his elderly wife said. Tamar was seventy-five.

  "I can see her!" the old man snapped. "Come closer, my daughter. Come closer so I may feast my tired eyes upon your fresh beauty."

  Zenobia bent to kiss her father. "As always, you spoil me with flattery, Father."

  "I hear stories about the Roman, about you. Are they true?"

  "Would you have me plunge a dagger into my breast in remorse, Father?"

  The old man cackled. "By the gods, my daughter, you are a survivor! Good for you! Follow your own instincts, and do not be led by the opinions of others. Do you love him?"

  "I detest him, but if I can outlast him then perhaps I may get Vaba restored to his rightful place, Father."

  "Hmm," the old man said. "You are wise, Zenobia. When do you leave for Rome?"

  "Tomorrow, Father. Mavia goes with me, but Demetrius will not come. Instead, he skulks through the alleys of the city with a group of young men who call themselves the Brotherhood of the Palm. They claim to work for Vaba's restoration, and the total annihilation of the Romans."

  "He is a foolish boy," Zabaai remarked, "but then at his age you were as stubborn. If Odenathus had not been your husband, who knows what mischief you would have gotten into, my daughter. Well, do not fear. The Bedawi will keep an eye upon the boy. We will try to save him from himself."

  "Thank you, Father."

  The old man looked closely at his only daughter. "I am near death," he said bluntly.

  "I know," she answered.

  He nodded. "Soon I shall be reunited with my beloved Iris. Do you think she will have forgiven me for the manner of her death, Zenobia?"

  The memories rushed back in as they had not in so many years. They rose up to batter and assail her, and she felt the tears starting. Reaching out, she put a reassuring hand on his gnarled old one. "You were never responsible, Father
. If anyone was, it was I." Her voice shook with remembrance. "When you again meet with my mother, tell her it is I who need her forgiveness. I have never forgotten, and I do not believe that I ever will."

  "I grow tired," the old man said. "Kneel, my daughter. Kneel, and let me give you my blessing."

  She knelt, and felt his hand, heavy upon her head, as he intoned the ancient words of blessing of their tribe. When he had finished Zenobia rose and, bending, kissed her father a final time. He smiled up at her reassuringly. "Another door closing, my daughter," he said with complete understanding, "but another door will open. Go through it! Do not be afraid! Always go forward and never look back! Those words are your heritage from me! Farewell, child of my heart."

  Zenobia looked the old man full in the face, and said, "I love you, Father. Farewell!" Then she turned and, never looking back, went from the room.

  Zabaai ben Selim died late that afternoon as the blazing sun slid below the horizon. Zenobia's oldest brother, Akbar, was formally and quickly proclaimed patriarch of the tribe, and all came to pay him tribute even as old Zabaai ben Selim was placed upon his funeral pyre, a pyre that burned all night while his children held vigil around the flames. At dawn's first light the old man's ashes were carefully gathered and formally placed in the family's tomb along the eastern caravan road. For the Bedawi a new era had begun.

  Zenobia bid her brothers farewell, then entered her litter to be carried back to her palace for a final time.

  Aurelian awaited her, a little angry. "You have delayed our departure," he said.

  "But give me time to bathe a last time, and I will be ready," she promised.

  "No," he said. "You are exhausted. You have been up all night. You need rest as well as a bath. We will leave tomorrow." Before she might protest further he picked her up and carried her into her bath where he personally undressed her and helped to bathe her. Then he carried her back into her bedchamber and tucked her into her bed. "I am glad you have had the good sense not to argue with me," he noted as he bent and kissed her goodnight.

  "I am somewhat stunned by your behavior," Zenobia said weakly.

  "I just want you full of fight when I parade you through the streets tomorrow as we leave Palmyra," he said, a slightly wicked grin on his face.

  She threw the thing nearest to hand at him, a small statue of the little love god, Cupid. With a harsh laugh Aurelian turned and left the room. Feeling somewhat satisfied even if she had missed him, Zenobia lay back upon the soft pillows and fell asleep. She slept almost around the clock, awakening in the gray light of early dawn the following day. Slowly she stretched out, feeling a delicious sense of contentment. Beside her, the emperor appeared to slumber still. He had obviously joined her in the night. He was, she considered, becoming positively doting.

  Then Aurelian destroyed her fantasy, reaching out and pulling her close, running his hands across her breasts. To her fury, she felt her body respond, her breasts tightening, the nipples rising up to push against the soft cotton of her chamber robe. "Good morning, goddess," he breathed against her ear, running his tongue around the curve of it.

  She kept very still, and said in a detached voice, "Should we not be rising, Roman, and preparing to leave? Surely we do not have much time."

  He chuckled indulgently. "There is time, and besides, I have an unquenchable yen for you this morning. When I came to bed last night you were sleeping as peacefully as a babe, your pretty bottom a most tempting sight. I want you, goddess, and I don't have to beg. What I want, I take!" Then he buried his face between her breasts, and breathed deeply of her. The faint scent of hyacinth still clung to her warm body, making her all the more enticing to him. Impatiently, he ripped her sleeping garment away and, dipping his head, took a nipple in his eager mouth.

  "That is the second piece of my clothing you have torn," she protested, trying not to admit to the excitement he was stirring up in her body. Damn the man! She could feel the heat beginning, knew that her heartbeat was quickening.

  "Then stop wearing these silly gowns to bed," he said, lifting his head but a moment from the sweet fruit.

  "Oh, the gods, how I hate you!" she protested, feeling her control beginning to go.

  "But you want me," he countered.

  "Yes," she whispered. "I want you!"

  "Take me in your hand, goddess," he ordered her. "See how much I want you! How ready I am for you!"

  She never even hesitated, reaching out to grasp his mighty weapon in her hand. He was warm and throbbing, and so very eager for her.

  "It is yours, goddess," he said softly. "When you are ready for it, it is yours!" Then he began a sweet assault, kissing her lips, her breasts, her belly, all the while aching with his want for her as she caressed him.

  Finally Zenobia could no longer bear the passion that was building within her. She actually hurt with her desire. "Please, Roman, please now!" And she took his bigness in her two hands again, and guided him home. The pleasure, the relief, was incredible! Her body exploded with starburst after starburst of passion as he thrust again and again and again into her eager body. Finally the release came, and with a sigh she clung to him.

  "You are magnificent," he breathed with pleasure.

  "Don't you care?" she said. "Don't you care that I don't love you?"

  He hesitated long enough to tell her he was lying when he said, "No, I don't care, goddess. I enjoy your lovely body. It is enough."

  She squirmed from his embrace and rose. "I must have another bath, Roman. It will be a long time before we reach Rome, and I have traveled enough with the army to know there will be few amenities."

  "No mourning today, Zenobia. I want you to wear the golden garments."

  "I will not wear mourning, Roman, but I prefer to choose my own clothing. I shall not disappoint you. Remember, it is the last time my people shall see me, and I would have them remember Zenobia the Queen with pride."

  "I will trust you, goddess," he answered.

  At the hour appointed for their departure Zenobia walked slowly through her apartments a final time. Although the military governor was to live in the palace, he was a bachelor, and there would be few rooms open. In fact, she suspected that he would take up actual residence in the small house that Odenathus had built for her rather than in the main buildings. The closed rooms would lie in lonely waiting for the return of Odenathus's dynasty.

  Aurelian found her in the garden, just leaving a room whose entry was overgrown with a flowering vine. "What is this room?" he asked her, pushing past her to look inside it. His blue eyes widened at the magnificent, but very graphic paintings he saw upon the walls.

  "Why have I never seen this room, goddess?" he demanded. "It is a room for lovemaking."

  "I had it walled up last year," she replied in a stony voice. "In the palace corridor its door lies beneath the fine fresco of fruits upon the wall. I do not know why I did not have this entry walled over, too."

  "Perhaps you wanted to remember after all, goddess," he said with unusual insight.

  Zenobia stepped out into the sunlight of the garden once more. "Do you approve of my costume, Roman?" she demanded, quite obviously changing the subject.

  Following her, he eyed her approvingly. "You are every inch the queen, goddess."

  "You do not mind that I wear the Palmyran crown?"

  "I do not mind," was his answer.

  "Then let us go, Roman," she said impatiently. "I no longer belong in Palmyra, and I certainly do not belong in your Rome. I am anxious to find out where I do belong."

  "You belong with me, goddess," he said, and taking her arm he led her off to the main courtyard where the procession was forming.

  She was to walk behind Aurelian's chariot, and this time the streets of Palmyra would be full to overflowing with its citizens bidding their beloved queen farewell. She had been dressed in a cloth-of-silver kalasiris with its round neck and very short sleeves. The kalasiris was smooth and molded her body, making it appear as if she had been dipped in si
lver. She wore a magnificent necklace of deep-purple topazes with equally gorgeous earrings, both set in bright yellow gold. A cape, lined in cloth of gold, its outer layer done in alternating strips of gold and silver, was fastened to each shoulder of her gown by a carved purple scarab beetle set in gold. Her sandals were a mix of silver and gold.

  With a polite apology Gaius Cicero fastened a pair of gold manacles about her delicate wrists. The manacles were fastened together by a length of gold chain between them, and in the chain's center another length of chain stretched forth a final link attached to a special ring on the emperor's own belt. "The emperor has promised to release you when we are clear of the city," Gaius Cicero said.

  "Caesar is too kind," Zenobia said sarcastically. "Where is my daughter?"

  "She is already outside the city with your servants, awaiting us. The emperor did not want her involved in this procession."

  Zenobia nodded but remarked bitterly, "He also did not want my daughter's people to see her a final time. The king, he sent from the city like a thief in the night, and now my little girl."

  "You have another son," Gaius Cicero reminded, "and he, it appears, will remain behind to remind Palmyra of Odenathus's dynasty."

  "Demetrius is impetuous."

  "His impetuosity will cost the boy his life."

  "You have not caught him yet, Gaius Cicero."

  Zenobia turned her head away from the emperor's aide, and said nothing further. The procession began, and there was no more time to think. If she did not keep up with the pace of Aurelian's horses she was in danger of being injured.

  She looked back at her palace only once as they passed through its main gates, and she remembered the first time she had entered into its courtyard. It had been almost twenty years ago, and she was barely more than a child. She remembered Al-Zena's frosty welcome, and the lovely Deliciae of whom she had been so fearful and jealous. Poor Deliciae, now widowed with her six children to care for, although between Odenathus and Rufus Curius, she would certainly have no financial problems.