Beloved

by Bertrice Small

  Zenobia moved over to the wall, and smiled at the woman. "I thank you, Lady Dagian. The villa is a bit small, but it will be most comfortable, I am sure. I do, however, wish to remove the slaves there, and replace them with my own people."

  "I am sure," Dagian said, "that all you need do is inform the emperor of your wishes, and he will give his permission."

  Zenobia looked closely at the woman to see if her remark was merely a statement, or a sly innuendo; but Dagian's face was as smooth as a mill pond. "Will you join us, Lady Dagian, in a cup of wine?" the queen asked politely.

  "I should like that," the older woman replied, and walking to a small gate that was set within the wall, she opened it and came through.

  "Bab, Adria. See to the wine, and have a table brought. I have an urge to sit in the garden."

  The two servants hurried off to do their mistress's bidding. Zenobia indicated with her hand a nearby marble bench, and invited Dagian to sit. "Are you also an imperial captive?" she asked.

  "Of sorts," was the reply. "I come from a land to the west, and for many years I was married quite happily to a wealthy Roman. When my husband died almost two years ago, the emperor forced me to remain here in Rome in order to blackmail my eldest son into doing something he did not want to do."

  "That's Aurelian," Zenobia replied bitterly.

  "You do not like the emperor?"

  "I despise him," she said. "Oh, I know, Lady Dagian. You have heard that I am the emperor's mistress, and it is true; but like you, I have been blackmailed. My eldest son and his family live now in Cyrene under imperial protection, my little daughter and I have been brought here under the emperor's personal care. Like you, I have no choice. Mothers are vulnerable creatures."

  Dagian nodded, fully understanding Zenobia's position, but wondering how well Marcus would for all his assurances to her. Obviously Palmyra's lovely queen did not realize that she was the mother of Marcus Alexander Britainus, and Dagian thought that perhaps that fact was better left unknown for the present. Then she caught her breath as a small child emerged from the villa, followed by a nursemaid. The little girl ran across the garden and up to Zenobia.

  With a smile the queen caught the child to her and kissed her, and the affection between the two caught at Dagian's heart. It was as she had suspected. Zenobia was a good and loving mother. If Marcus wanted his daughter back he would have to win her mother over first. Zenobia looked up, and said, "This is my daughter, the Princess Mavia. Mavia, this is the Lady Dagian."

  The little girl looked up, and Dagian felt her heart contract. The look was Marcus's! Could not Zenobia see that look was that of her new acquaintance also? "How do you do, Princess Mavia," Dagian said softly.

  "Lady Dagian," the little girl replied. "I am pleased to meet you. You have blue eyes, as I do. I have met few people with eyes the color of mine. Marcus had blue eyes like mine, but he went away."

  "Mavia!" Zenobia sharply reproved her daughter. "It is not polite to mention people's personal appearances."

  Dagian longed to take the precious child upon her lap and kiss her. Not only did she have Marcus's deep-blue eyes, but she had his chestnut-colored hair as well. It was a wonder that Aurelian hadn't made the connection, but perhaps he had. She shivered.

  The slaves arrived with a small table, which they placed in front of the marble bench, and Bab came carrying the wine and Adria, behind her, the goblets. The old woman's mouth was set in disapproval as she set down the wine.

  "In Palmyra," she said, "we would not have given our slaves wine like this."

  "I do not understand," Dagian said, distressed. "I gave orders that the finest Falernian be bought for you. I ordered it myself in the town at the wine merchant's shop."

  Bab held out a goblet into which she had already poured some of the beverage. 'Taste, my Lady Dagian. Is this what you purchased?"

  Dagian sipped the wine, and her face was a study in quick anger. Her mouth made a little moue, and she spat the wine she had taken onto the grass. "This is awful!" she said furiously. "Either the wine merchant tried to cheat me, or the slaves have stolen what I bought and replaced it with inferior wine, hoping you would not notice."

  Across the garden hurried the majordomo, full of importance, as puffed up as a frog. "The emperor comes!" he announced.

  "Crispus," Dagian said severely, "this is not the wine that I bought from the shop of Veritus Pomponio. I suspect that you and your cohorts have stolen that wine! Now the emperor comes, and how can the queen serve him such swill?"

  The majordomo blanched and fell to his knees. "Help us, Lady Dagian! We can return the wine you bought, but not now!"

  "You deserve to be flayed alive, but the queen must not be embarrassed." She rose and, smiling at Zenobia, murmured, "I shall send one of my slaves over with some good vintage for Aurelian, and I will see you tomorrow if it pleases you."

  "Yes," Zenobia said, "it will please me if you come-and thank you." She, too, rose, and escorted her new friend to the garden gate that separated their villas.

  "Good-bye, Lady Dagian," little Mavia piped up.

  Dagian turned and, bending, kissed the child on the top of her head. "Good-bye, little Princess," she said before hurrying through the gate into her own garden.

  When she turned back, Zenobia and Mavia were already hurrying hand in hand across the garden toward the villa. Dagian paused beneath a tall shade tree and breathed deeply. She had not dreamed that she should see her granddaughter so soon. She remembered Marcus! That was good. Perhaps the child would be the bridge that joined her two proud and stubborn parents.

  How beautiful Palmyra's queen was, Dagian thought. She was quite different from both Roman and British women, yet the golden skin, the blue-black hair, and the storm-gray eyes combined with her marvelously aristocratic features to make her fairer than any female Dagian could ever remember seeing. She was intelligent, Dagian realized, and that would have attracted Marcus as well.

  Zenobia, before re-entering her own villa, had looked back across the gardens. Dagian seemed a pleasant woman, the queen mused, but was she someone whom she might trust? I need a friend, Zenobia said to herself. She was so alone here.

  "Hail, Caesar!" Mavia lisped, and Zenobia turned to see Aure-lian standing within the entry of the house.

  "Go to Charmian, child," Zenobia ordered.

  "Yes, Mama," was the obedient reply, and Mavia was gone.

  "You never give me a chance to really know her, goddess. Are you afraid I will corrupt her?"

  "I never know what you will do, Roman," Zenobia said coldly.

  "You are angry about the triumph," he said.

  "I was paraded the length of Rome, naked for all to see!"

  "Yet I have not humbled you, have I, proud bitch?" He reached out for her, but Zenobia skillfully evaded him and, brushing past him, gained the inner garden.

  "Do not touch me, Roman! Not now! Not ever!" Jupiter, she wanted to get away from him, but she didn't know where to go! It was an infuriating situation.

  "Oh, goddess, are we to fight again? I thought we had done with fighting." His voice was very patient.

  "Hear me, Roman! I will be your whore because there is no other choice for me; but I will never forget your actions toward me today."

  "So you will be my whore," he said softly, but his narrowed glittering eyes belied the gentleness of his voice. "You will be my whore because you have no other choice? If it is choice you desire, my beautiful goddess, let me assure you that every patrician with a pair of balls between his legs would like me to pass you on to him when I am tired of you. I am not tired of you, but if it would please you, I can do as the Emperor Caligula once did, and indeed make a whore of you. How would you like to spend your nights servicing every rich and randy cock in Rome?"

  She looked into his eyes, and was suddenly afraid because she saw in them a terrible determination. He would make her whore with every man in Rome if in the end she returned to him pliant and obedient; his woman, and his woman alone.
"No," she said low. "No, I should not like it, Roman." Oh, how she hated him for making her feel so helpless; she who had ruled an empire. He delighted in it, the bastard!

  "Where is your room?" he demanded.

  Zenobia looked at him, and then began to laugh. "I do not know," she said, the tears rolling down her cheeks at the absurdity of the situation. He was ready to assert his rights, in reality to rape her, and she had absolutely no idea of where her bed was.

  "Haven't you inspected the house yet?" He was looking outraged.

  "There was no time," she said. "I arrived, and there was difficulty with the slaves. I want to replace them tomorrow, Roman. Then I went to see the gardens, and the woman in the next villa, a friend of the empress's, came from next door." Zenobia shrugged helplessly. "I have not seen the house at all. I did not realize that you would arrive so quickly."

  "I left the games shortly after you did, goddess. Without you they were boring. I had to see the empress safely to the Palatine palace."

  "You should have stayed with her, Roman. She is ill. Even I can see she does not have a great deal of time left to live; and she loves you. How can you leave her?"

  "Ulpia is a soldier's wife. She is used to being without me."

  "Because she is a soldier's wife makes it no easier to be without the man she loves. She has accepted her lot, but how it must hurt her, Roman. How cruel you are!"

  He moved close to her, and his hands gripped her upper arms. "I would not be cruel to you, goddess. All I want to do is love you. Why will you not love me, beloved?"

  Beloved! She turned her head to hide the quick tears that damped her eyes. "I have told you before, Roman, that I shall never put myself into the keeping of any man again. Be satisfied that you have my body. It is all I can ever give you."

  "But you never give, Zenobia," Aurelian said. "I must always take. Even now you steel yourself for the assault you assume is about to come." He pulled her chin about so that she was forced to look at him. "Just once, goddess, I would like your kiss to be a willing one, not sparked by lust, but rather, caring."

  "Never." It was said quietly.

  "Then I must take what I can get from you, goddess," he said, and his mouth covered hers in a fierce, possessive kiss.

  She shuddered wildly, and then, to the amazement of them both, Zenobia began to cry great wracking sobs of pure anguish. Every agony of the last months shook her slender frame. The terrible destruction of Palmyra, her separation from Vaba and Flavia, Longinus's death, the loss of Demetrius; all of it welled up within her and poured forth, and she was unable to stop it. She was tired of fighting, tired of responsibility, plain bone tired. For the first time in Zenobia's life she wanted to be free of it all; she wanted to be taken care of.

  He saw it in her face, in her eyes, and knew that now if he were clever he might have her as he had always wanted her. She was more vulnerable than he had ever seen her, than she had ever been in her entire life, he suspected. Aurelian held her gently, and stroked her shining, dark hair. "There, beloved," he soothed her, "there, my beautiful goddess. Do not weep, my love; do not weep." He caught her face between his hands and, bending, kissed her mouth again, but with tenderness this time. He kissed her shut eyelids, her cheeks, her nose, and her chin, before returning to her mouth once more; but this time his lips were more demanding, and, to his pleasure, she returned his kiss not from lust, but from need.

  He gathered her up into his arms, and she nestled against his shoulder, still sobbing. With firm steps he walked through the interior garden and into the atrium of the house. Seeing them, Bab threw up her hands in distress, but the emperor's stern look warned her to be silent as he made his way up the stairs to the second floor and into her bedroom at the end of the hall.

  Gently he laid her upon the bed, then sat down next to her. "I cannot bear to see you weep," he said low. "Tell me what you want of me, Zenobia. I will do anything to make you happy." But she only wept on, softer now, yet still she wept. Reaching out, he ran his hand down her trembling body, and she murmured with an almost shy pleasure that intrigued him. He carefully removed her jeweled collar, the snake bracelets, and her earrings. Next he slowly undid and drew off her sandals, massaging her feet until she almost purred. With a smooth, almost lingering movement he pushed the white silk kalasiris upward, revealing long golden legs, smooth thighs, sweetly rounded belly, tempting breasts. The kalasiris slipped easily over Zenobia's head and arms, and the emperor then dropped it carelessly by the bedside.

  He bent and kissed each breast, causing her nipples to stand tall. As he raised his head he found that she was looking at him, her eyes wide and wet, the lashes stuck together. Her mouth quivered, and then she said so low that he had to bend to hear her, "Love me, Roman. Please love me, and make it all better. I can no longer bear the pain."

  "And will you love me, goddess, or will you simply take from me?" he demanded softly of her.

  "I will give," she replied. "Only take the pain away."

  He stood and slowly removed his own clothing, his passionate eyes never leaving hers. He might have fallen on her like a beast upon a helpless lamb, for his own desire was great and he feared that she might suddenly come to her senses. Instead, he exerted his great willpower, and moved slowly and quietly. Returning to the bed, he lay next to her and held her hand. "I have adored you from the moment I first saw you, Zenobia. I love you, my fair goddess, and never have I made that statement to any woman. When Ulpia has left this world for the next you will marry me, and I shall make you Queen of the mighty Roman Empire; not just a small piece of it, but all of it, stretching from Persia to the farthest outposts of wild Britain. You are a rare and perfect jewel, my beloved, and now you are mine alone! I will make you happy, Zenobia, I swear by all the gods. If you will but let me, I shall make you the happiest woman alive!"

  He raised himself up on one elbow and looked down upon her. Her eyes were shut, but he knew that she heard him. "I want you to make love to me, goddess," he said quietly, and then he lay back waiting.

  For a few very long minutes they lay side by side, then she raised herself up and bent to touch his mouth with a sweet kiss. He reached out and lifted her up so that she found herself sitting upon his loins. Zenobia blushed, the blood rushing up to stain her pale-gold cheeks a soft apricot pink. She was long past girlhood, and yet she felt untutored and shy. She wasn't quite sure what he expected of her.

  Aurelian chuckled with amusement at her obvious chagrin. "What, goddess? You never made love to your husband or your lover? Touch me, Zenobia. Don't you like it when I touch you?"

  Hesitantly she reached out and put her hand upon his chest. He held his breath. Slowly she explored the muscles beneath her fingertips, the softness of his skin. She sighed.

  Her touch inflamed him wildly, yet he held himself in check, w atching her through slitted eyes. She was not yet roused herself, but she was curious, and perhaps a little frightened. Reaching out, he caressed one of her marvelous breasts, taking a finger and running it sensuously around the nipple to encourage her. "You are so beautiful," he crooned. "So very, very beautiful, Zenobia."

  He felt her relax a bit more, and she shifted her weight, leaning forward to brush her breasts against his chest, matching her hardening nipples with his and rubbing against him in a provocative movement. Stretching his arms out, he gently seized the cheeks of her bottom and drew her closer, fondling her, caressing her, beginning to stir the embers of her desire. "Oh yes, goddess," he murmured against her ear, and she shivered as his warm breath touched her.

  He was being so gentle, she thought, so kind. All he wanted was to love her, for her to love him in return. It didn't mean that she had to trust him. She could never really trust any man again; but he was willing to take the pain away in exchange for her devotion. She didn't really love him, but she could pretend. All she had to do was stop fighting him, to relax and enjoy making love to him, to make him believe that she cared. Her stubborn pride had brought her to this, she mused, and she wa
s tired of hurting.

  She felt his staff, hard and pushing against her, as if it had a separate life of its own. Zenobia moved back and, raising herself carefully, caught him in her hand and guided him into her softness. Surprised by her sudden action, he could only gasp with delight as she gently rode him. Then he put his arms about her, rolled her over, and rode her. Slowly he pushed himself into her sheath, slowly he withdrew himself; repeating the movement until her relaxed body began to shudder with the splendor of her orgasm. Each movement of his weapon seemed to drive deeper, and she moaned with undiluted pleasure, straining to reach greater heights, finally falling away in a shower of stars while his body joined hers in fulfillment.

  The terrible tension and ache gone from her frame, Zenobia fell into a peaceful sleep. At her side, the emperor considered the events of the last few minutes. She had been so sweet! So totally and incredibly sweet in her surrender. This was how he had always dreamed she would be with him, and at last the gods had answered his prayers. She was not broken, he knew, but he believed that she was at last his. He need have no fear of any man, even Marcus Alexander Britainus. Aurelian slept, secure for the first time since he had taken Zenobia for his own.

  They slept for several long hours, and Zenobia awoke first. She lay quietly, remembering her mood of several hours ago, remembering what had passed between herself and Aurelian. She had not really promised him anything, and yet she had. But could she love him? No. The word slammed into her brain. She could not. He had taken from her almost everything that she held dear and sacred. Still she must survive to be revenged, and Mavia must be protected. If she suddenly scorned Rome's emperor after he opened himself to her he would surely kill her.

  "What are you thinking of, Zenobia?" he asked her, his voice tearing at the silence.

  "Of how kind you were to me last night," she replied.

  "I love you," he said simply.