Beloved (22 page)

She was restless that night. Each time she drifted off she would see his face with its high cheekbones, strong jaw, long nose, and those blue eyes that caressed and blazed down at her until she awoke, drenched in her own sweat, her heart pounding. I have been too long without my Hawk, she thought with strangely clear logic. I seem to be a woman who cannot get along without a man.

It would have disturbed Zenobia even more had she known that Marcus also lay awake that night. His passion for her had not abated, but rather grown over the years. Often he questioned
himself as to whether it was simply because he could not possess her, but the answer was always the same. He loved her.

He had chided himself even as he had said the provocative words that risked his entire relationship with her. It had been a rash thing to do, but for once he had longed for Zenobia to look at him like a man, and not a teacher. When his eyes had held hers in thrall that morning he had yearned to sweep her into his arms, to kiss her marvelous ripe mouth, to caress her beautiful body until she swooned with rapture. Then he had seen her frightened eyes, and he had released his hold upon her. Why had she feared him? Was it possible that she was finally realizing that there was more to him than just history lessons?

Marcus stretched his long body as he sought to find a more comfortable position. He smiled ruefully. How unlike the bold and licentious women of Rome Zenobia was. She was still an innocent, and it was his misfortune to have fallen in love with her. A man of less character might have attempted to seduce her, but it was not in his nature to entrap or force a woman. The men he knew in Rome, men who practiced their new morality with lustful gusto, would have laughed at him for a fool.

Zenobia did not see Marcus for several days, and then she was only momentarily uncomfortable. He, however, seemed not to notice as he intently described Roman Britain to her. She would never know the effort it took him to appear so totally impersonal.

Odenathus returned home victorious over the Persians, who had fled back across their borders to lick their wounds. It was autumn, and the Bedawi again left the oasis city to wander the desert while the great caravans traveled in and out of Palmyra with their varied goods. The king confirmed his wife’s temporary appointment of Cassius Longinus as a member of the council. The government ran smoothly.

“I have long wanted to get rid of Publius Cato, but there was simply no reason for me to dismiss him.” He chuckled. “The gossip tells me that Publius Cato had bragged that I would reappoint him when I returned to Palmyra.”

“He will not thank you for making him a laughingstock, my Hawk. It might be wise to offer him some harmless, but seemingly important post.”

He hugged her lovingly. “I shall take your suggestion, Zenobia. The man who collects the taxes upon the silk from Cathay has
recently died. We shall offer Publius Cato this post, although I doubt that those who import the silk thread to dye will thank us.”

“I have a feeling that they will cope a great deal more easily with Publius Cato than the government has been able to do,” Zenobia replied.

“You have done so well while I was gone,” he complimented her. “Marius Gracchus himself told me—and compliments from that old fox do not come easily or often. Although the council was fearful of my departure, now they feel that I may meet my obligations as Rome’s commander of the eastern legions without endangering Palmyra.” He grimaced. “I am not sure that I should not be worried, Zenobia, for if you prove a more adept ruler than I they could depose me.”

“I could do nothing if I did not know you were coming home to me, my Hawk!” she answered fervently.

“There might come a time when you have to, my flower. Oh, I do not mean to frighten you, but no man, even a king, is impervious to an opponent’s spear, an enemy’s arrow. If I should die before Vaballathus is old enough to rule in his own right, you would be regent of this city, its ruler.”

“You will not die in battle. It is not your fate, I know it!”

He kissed her slowly. “Sorceress,” he murmured against her mouth. “What spells do you weave to keep me safe?” His hands slipped beneath her robes to caress her silky skin.

“No Hawk!” she protested. “I yet have something to discuss with you.”

“Is it more important than our love?” he said, fondling a ripe breast.

She squirmed away reluctantly. “It concerns our love, my Hawk. I love you with all my heart, and you, I know, love me. Still, Deliciae remains your concubine although you have not favored her in several years. Have you any idea how unhappy she is?”

He looked curiously at her. “Are you suggesting that I return to her bed?”

“If you do I shall scratch both your eyes out!” Zenobia said with mock anger. “No, my Hawk, that is not the answer. While you were away, Deliciae and I were much together, and one night she confided to me how unhappy she is. She is grateful to you, of course, but she longs for what we have. She wants a husband, and she wants other children. She has been loyal many years, and she deserves to be rewarded.”

“Deliciae really wants this?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And have you chosen a candidate for her hand?”

“Rufus Curius, the commander of Qasr-al-Hêr.”

“How did you arrive at that choice?” His voice was somewhat strained.

“It was Longinus’s suggestion. He tells me that Rufus Curius is the first Palmyran-born centurion to command our border fortress. He says that Rufus Curius is a good man who will be a model husband for Deliciae and a fine foster father for Linos and Vermis.”

“How can you ask me to relinquish my sons?” he demanded of her, and Zenobia was truly shocked by the anguish in his voice.

“I know how you love Linos and Vermis,” she answered him, “but you do them no kindness by keeping them here in Palmyra at the palace. They have already begun asking why their half-brother, Vaballathus, is your heir instead of one of them. Your mother does not help, either, for she encourages this attitude in them. Reason cannot aid us, for logic will not prevail over emotion.”

“I want no other man raising my sons,” Odenathus said stubbornly.

Zenobia lost her temper. “And what of
my
sons!?” she demanded furiously. “If you were killed in battle what is to stop a dissident group from pressing a claim on Linos’s part? No bastard has ever sat on Palmyra’s throne, but by keeping your sons by Deliciae here in the palace you appear to favor them. There are those who might even assume that you favor them over your legitimate sons! You cannot control the situation if you are not here, my lord King.”

Now it was he who was shocked. Never had he heard her voice drip so with scorn and venom. She had always been truthful, even to the point of bluntness, but never had he heard her so fierce. Had her time as ruler of Palmyra given her a taste of power that she was reluctant to relinquish now that he had returned?

The truth of the matter was that Deliciae’s presence had become something of a burden. Still, he had never thought of sending his older sons away. “I must think on it, my flower,” he said.

“Think well, and do not think overlong,” she replied, getting up and moving away from him.

“Do you threaten me, my flower?” His voice held a dangerous note.

She was neither afraid nor impressed, for although she loved him she was suddenly seeing him through different eyes. “I merely
ask that you not delay in your decision, my lord,” she replied coldly, and walked from the room.

He felt strangely bereft, for in their six years of marriage they had never had a serious quarrel. Odenathus sensed that things between himself and Zenobia would never be the same. He had somehow failed her, failed her in an unforgivable way. Was she correct? Was it possible that his open affection for his two older sons might lead people to think that he favored his illegitimate children over his legitimate ones? He loved all his boys. Still, should he fall in battle before his sons were grown … He shuddered at the thought of the civil war that could follow, for Zenobia would not sit quietly by and allow her own sons’ inheritance to be usurped. And if Rome involved itself? His whole line could be wiped out.

He shouted for his secretary, and was dictating almost before the unfortunate scribe could ink his pen and put it to parchment. He ordered Rufus Acilius Curius to report to him immediately, no matter the time of day or night.
Immediately!
He realized now that Zenobia was right, and he would brook no delay. If Rufus Curius was not contracted, or in love, he was going to find himself married before week’s end.

It was a confused commander of Qasr-al-Hêr who arrived at the palace several hours later. Rufus Curius could not imagine why he had been summoned. Had he somehow offended the king? Was there to be a war? He was justifiably nervous as he was hurriedly escorted before his lord, and Odenathus’s piercing appraisal of his person did nothing to put him at his ease. The king noted that Rufus Curius had his Roman father’s height, and a reddish cast to his curly hair; but his eyes were brown, and his features very much Palmyran. He stood properly at attention before his ruler.

Odenathus grinned, and the man before him relaxed somewhat.

“Rufus Curius,” said the king, his black eyes sparkling with amusement, “you are to be married. I think tomorrow would be a good day.”

Rufus Curius’s mouth gaped.
“Married?”

“Married,” his king replied. “Your bride is to be the lady Deliciae, who has for many years been in my favor. She is a good and beautiful woman, Rufus Curius. She will bring to your house my two sons, Linos and Vermis. I entrust you with their care and upbringing, for I am told that you are a loyal and virtuous man. These children cannot remain in my house lest others believe I
favor them over my heir, Prince Vaballathus. I know that you will be a good foster father to my natural sons.”

“Sire, I am not unmindful of the honor you would do me,” Rufus Curius said, “but I would have children of my own.”

“The lady Deliciae is a good breeder and an excellent mother,” Odenathus said.

“Yet she has only given you two children in all the years she has been with you.”

“It takes two people to breed, Rufus Curius,” was the reply.

Immediate understanding flooded the centurion’s face. “I am grateful for this opportunity to serve you further, my lord.”

Clapping his hands, the king commanded the summoned slave to fetch Deliciae.

She arrived wearing a pale blue stola, and her lovely milk-white bosom rose rather provocatively above the low neckline. Her beautiful blond hair was braided and looped gracefully on either side of her head. Her only jewelry was a thin gold chain about her neck. The whole effect was of purity and innocence. Rufus Curius looked once, his eyes glazing over, and Deliciae smiled sweetly. The centurion was lost.

The wedding was set for two days later. It was agreed that Deliciae’s sons would not go immediately with their mother, but follow her a month later so she might have some private time with her new husband.

The day following their wedding, Deliciae and her new husband left for Qasr-al-Hêr; but in the royal palace of Palmyra Deliciae’s sons found themselves in great trouble. With typical eight- and nine-year-old logic, Linos and Vernus had decided that if their younger half-brothers were not around, their father would not send
them
away. They had taken their four- and five-year-old half-brothers to the slave market, and attempted to sell them to a merchant whose caravan was shortly traveling to Cathay. The merchant was enchanted by the two golden-skinned, gray-eyed little boys who spoke so well, and were obviously quite intelligent; but he was equally suspicious of Linos and Vernus. They were a trifle young to be selling slaves. It was fortunate that he was an honest man. Taking the two younger boys aside, he asked them their names. He didn’t doubt the answers he received. “I am Prince Vaballathus,” lisped the older of the two. “My papa is the king. This is my brother, Demi. He is a prince, too.”

“And who are the other boys?” asked the merchant.

“They are Linos and Vernus. Their mama—her name is Deliciae—was
married yesterday and we were given sugared almonds.” Vaba smiled up at the merchant. “I like sugared almonds, don’t you?”

“Yes,” the merchant replied. “I like sugared almonds, too. I will give you some to eat while I take you and your brother back to the palace.”

No one in the palace had ever seen Zenobia angry, but that day her rage consumed everything in her path. She had to be physically restrained from attacking Linos and Vermis. “Get them out of my sight!” she shrieked. “If I ever see them again I will strangle them with my bare hands!” She ordered her sons’ nurses beheaded, an order countermanded by Odenathus.

“You cannot blame them,” he attempted to reason with her. “The children have always played together. How could the nurses know what Linos and Vermis planned?”

Weeping, she heaped rewards upon the merchant, invoking the gods’ blessings upon him. Odenathus absolved the stunned merchant of all future taxes for himself and his heirs unto the tenth generation.

Zenobia’s rage would not abate. “This is all your mother’s doing!” she accused. “You would not listen to me when I warned you that she was filling their heads”—she could not bear even to say their names—“with ideas above their station! My sons, my beautiful babies, could have been lost to us forever, and it would have been
your
fault!” The shock and fear had made her unreasonable. “You would not have cared, though, would you?! If my sons had been lost to you then you could have simply done what that bitch from Hades, your mother, has always wanted! You could have made Deliciae’s brats your heirs! I will never forgive you!
Never!”
There was no reasoning with her for several days, although she did forgive the nurses for the sake of her children.

Linos and Vernus were confined to their apartment in deep disgrace. They were not malicious children, but the sudden change in their lives had made them unsure of their own future. They very much needed to know who they were and where they belonged in this frightening world. Their father told them in no uncertain terms that although they were his sons, he had not been married to their mother. This meant that in the eyes of the law they could inherit nothing of his. That privilege belonged to his wife’s sons, their half-brothers. Whatever ideas their grandmother had given them, they must forget, for she was nothing but a foolish old woman.