Beloved (14 page)

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.

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.

Throughout the meal a mixture of water and wine had been served, but as the desserts were being offered rich red wine was poured and repoured into eager goblets. As the diners became more boisterous the entertainers appeared. There were wrestlers, jugglers, dancing dogs, and dancing girls who were very well
received indeed. The late morning had melted into afternoon, and now suddenly evening had come. The most important part of the wedding was about to take place. It was essential to the validity of a marriage that the bride be escorted publicly to her husband’s house with much ceremony and pomp.

All afternoon the crowds had been gathering outside of Zabaai ben Selim’s house, and along the route that would be taken by the couple on their way back to the prince’s palace. Now with the arrival of the torchbearers and the flute players the procession began to form. Bab had already gone on ahead to the palace, and Zenobia had earlier bid the rest of her father’s household a proper farewell. The marriage hymn was sung by all the guests, and Odenathus pretended to take Zenobia by force from Tamar’s protective embrace. The bride then took her place of honor in the procession, attended by her three youngest brothers, two of whom walked beside her, holding her hands. The eldest of the three lit the way ahead with the wedding torch of hawthorn.

Before the procession moved off into the street Zabaai ben Selim spoke low to his daughter: “Remember we are your family. If you need us, Zenobia, you have but to call.”

She smiled a radiant smile at him. “I will remember, and pray the gods I never have need of your offer, my father.”

“It is best to be prepared,” was his reply.

“Come, my flower.” Odenathus was by her side, smiling. She smiled back happily, and the procession was off. Across the street in the crowd of well-wishers Marcus Alexander watched as Zenobia moved away. She was as beautiful as he had remembered, and for the first time in his life he felt envy for another man, envy for the Prince of Palmyra who would soon untie the knot of Hercules on Zenobia’s wedding dress and then spend the rest of the night making love to that exquisite creature. Would he be gentle, or would he fall on the girl like a beast and frighten her? He sighed. He would be gentle. He would caress that softer-than-silk skin—somehow Marcus Alexander knew Zenobia’s skin would be soft—until a fire raged within that beautiful body. A fire to be possessed, and to possess.

Seeing the look of longing on Marcus Alexander’s face, Severus realized with shock that his master had fallen in love with the new Princess of Palmyra.

There was no time to ponder it, for the crowd was joining in the procession, already beginning to sing songs full of coarse jests and double entendres as they accompanied the bride through the
city to her new home. It was the same everywhere, Severus thought, not at all shocked. Princess, patrician, or commoner were all escorted with the same vulgar songs. At the first crossroads they came to, Zenobia dropped a coin in offering to the gods of that place. A second coin she presented to Odenathus as symbol of the dowry she brought him, and a third she kept to put upon the altar of her new home’s household gods. As they moved along, the crowds scrambled to obtain some of the sweetmeats, sesame cakes, and nuts that the prince scattered along his route, a traditional prayer for his wife’s fertility.

It seemed as if the entire city had joined in the procession by the time they reached the palace. At the main gate Zenobia stopped and wound the doorposts with wool, symbol of her duties as mistress of the house; and anointed the door with oil and fat, emblems of plenty. Odenathus then picked her up and carefully carried her across the threshold, gently setting her back on her feet within the great atrium of the palace. A final time Zenobia said, “When and where you are Gaius; I then and there am Gaia.” The doors were then closed.

Before the invited guests, Odenathus offered Zenobia fire and water in token of their new life together. Taking the marriage torch from him, Zenobia put it to the wood laid upon the atrium hearth, and then tossed the now dead torch among her guests, who scrambled eagerly for the lucky item. She then recited a prayer to the gods thanking them for her good fortune, and begging them that she be fruitful. Tamar, still in her role as pronuba, led Zenobia to the marriage couch, an ornamental piece of furniture that was always placed in the atrium on the night of the marriage and remained there afterward. This was the signal for all guests to leave, and shortly the bridal couple were alone.

For a few moments they stood in silence. Then the prince said, “Are you tired, my flower?”

“Yes.”

“Then we shall go to bed.”

“Here?”
He heard the panic in her voice as her gaze swept the large, open atrium, finally lighting on the large and gilded marriage couch.

“No, not here, Zenobia.” He kept his voice steady and even to reassure her. “You have your own house within the palace grounds. We will go there now, for it is there you and I shall live together.”

“Is Bab there?”

“Not tonight, my flower. Tonight we will be alone.”

“Oh.” Her voice was very small, and her hand very cold when he took it to lead her off.

“I hope you will be pleased with your house, my flower. It is not overly large, for I did not think you would want a large home. Every workman, craftsman, and artisan in the city has worked for the last two weeks to build you your house.”

“It is new? Oh, Hawk! I did not mean for you to go to so much trouble.”

“I wanted you to have a house that was your very own, my love. The structure is of sun-dried brick sheathed on the outside with white marble. It is a simple house, but it is two stories. There is an atrium in the front so you may receive guests, a library for me to work in, a dining room facing south that we will use in winter, and one facing north for the summer. We need no banquet hall, for the palace has several of those. There is also a kitchen on the main floor, and one good-sized room I thought you might enjoy using for yourself as well as a comfortable chamber for Bab. I thought she might enjoy being on the ground floor with not so many stairs to climb.