Beloved (26 page)

With a gasp she cried out, opening her eyes to find his blue eyes blazing down on her. He saw her gray orbs glaze over as the first wave of pleasure washed over her. “No!” she sobbed. “It is too soon!”

But he soothed her. “It is just the beginning, beloved! I will give you more joy than you ever believed possible.” He kept his word, bringing her pleasure several times before he finally took his own, his powerful seed overflowing her womb.

They fell asleep, clutching each other, their strong, beautiful bodies intertwined. But afraid for her reputation, he slept lightly, waking fully before dawn. Looking down on her, he was filled with tenderness. He wanted to waken her and make love to her again, but she slept very, very deeply, her body healing itself from the shock of last night’s events. So he rose quietly and dressed himself. She would be all right when she awoke, and he had best leave lest some gossip see him.

A faint noise caused him to turn to the door where, to his surprise, Longinus stood, shocked. “How could you take advantage of her?” he whispered furiously. “She trusted you, Marcus!”

“I did not take advantage, Longinus. It happened.”

The simplicity of the explanation convinced Cassius Longinus
of its truth, although he found that he was still distressed. In his own way he loved Zenobia, too.

“Come with me,” he said coolly. “I will take you to my own quarters, for it will be necessary for you to be here this morning.”

“I would never hurt her, Longinus.”

Cassius Longinus turned to the Roman, a look of sadness in his brown eyes. “I know that,” he sighed. “How long is it that you have loved her, Marcus? I understand, but you must be cautious. Her position is so very precarious right now.”

“We will be careful, Longinus.”

“Love her if you will, Marcus, but be warned that Palmyra must come first. If Zenobia was given the choice between you and this city today, Palmyra would come before you. Never force her to that decision.”

The Roman was somewhat taken aback. “Surely you make mock of me, Longinus. Zenobia is a woman who needs to be loved. She cannot live without it.”

Cassius Longinus shook his head. “Because she melted into your arms last night in a moment of weakness, do not be fooled. Zenobia is not a weak-willed woman who can be content keeping her husband’s house, and wiping the runny noses and wet bottoms of her children. She was born for greatness! The signs were all there at her birth, and she has only just begun to fulfill her promise.”

“You behave like a girl having her first child instead of a woman who has already birthed two sons,” old Bab snapped to Zenobia.

Zenobia gritted her teeth as another pain rippled across her belly and back. “Vaba and Demi were easy births,” she groaned. “This child seems not to want to be born.”

“Poor little mite,” Bab murmured. “It will never know its father. It is almost as if the gods had gifted you after all these years—to give you this last child of King Odenathus but nine months after his death.” She shook her head again. “Poor little mite,” she repeated.

“It truly is a miracle,” said Julia, leaning over her old friend and wiping the perspiration from her forehead.

“At least the succession is well served,” said Zenobia, breathing easier as the pain receded. “Three sons is even better than two.”

Julia laughed. “It could be a daughter this time, Zenobia.”

“No,” came the certain reply. “Odenathus and I spawned only sons—strong sons for our Palmyran dynasty!”

“Well,” Julia said, “I, for one, am delighted to have a son and a daughter. Gaius was for Antonius, but Flavia is for me.”

“She certainly is,” Zenobia chuckled. “Not only is she your image, but even her mannerisms are yours.” A spasm crossed her face. “Ah, Mother Juno!” she cried out.

“Push, my baby, push!” Bab commanded.

Zenobia did as her old nurse commanded, but even though she worked hard at birthing this child, it would still be several hours before she gained her goal.

Outside, in the queen’s antechamber, Cassius Longinus and Marcus Britainus waited. The two men had become quite good friends over the last months. Indeed, Marcus did not know what he would have done without the wisdom and friendship of Zenobia’s trusted councillor. He might have gone mad without it, for
fate had dealt him one more blow, the gods having given him a glimpse of paradise had then as quickly snatched it away.

The morning following Odenathus’s death he had waited for Zenobia to summon him, but instead he had been summoned to a council meeting to receive his instructions. Her behavior toward him was as it had always been, polite and pleasant. Ah well, he had thought, she is the queen, and will wait until after the nine days of sorrow and the funeral are over. It is only right.

The king’s body had been washed and prepared. He had been dressed in a finely woven
tunica palmata
, which was a purple and gold embroidered ceremonial tunic reaching to the ankle, and worn with a beautifully spun light wool
toga picta
of Tyrian purple embroidered in gold-thread figures representing the gods. Upon his feet were gold sandals, and a victory wreath of beaten gold laurel leaves adorned his dark head.

He was placed on his funeral couch in the atrium of the palace, his feet toward the door, to lie in state until the time came for his funeral. About the couch were masses of flowers, and incense burned in silver braziers. At the head and the foot of the couch were gold lamps burning scented oil. Before the doors of the palace were set branches of pine and cypress, a warning that it was contaminated by death. When all was in readiness the doors of the palace were opened to the public in order that they might enter in and mourn their king. The people came in a steady stream for a full day and night and another morning before Odenathus’s body was carried to his tomb outside the city walls, for it was forbidden for a cemetery to be within the gates of a city.

The funeral procession from the palace was followed by every citizen in the city who could walk; men, women, and children alike. At the head of the procession was a band of musicians and singers who played and sang mournful dirges in praise of Odenathus Septimius and the greatness of his reign.

Because Odenathus had been a great military leader memorials to his victories, especially those over the Persians, were carried in triumphal procession. Next came the body upon its funeral couch, the face uncovered. The couch was borne by the Council of Ten. The family followed the body, Zenobia garbed in deepest black, which strangely suited her golden skin and only made her look more beautiful; Al-Zena, proudly erect although the grief was etched openly in her face; the young king and his brother, vulnerable, but as their mother and grandmother, proud and straight.

At the end of the city’s main avenue, the procession exited
Palmyra, passing beneath the great Triumphal Arch through which Odenathus had so often entered when returning from his many victories. A half-mile beyond was the cemetery, and it was here at Odenathus’s family tomb, a great marble construction, that the procession came to a halt. All grew silent as the young king stood before them and eulogized his father.

The priest of Jupiter reconsecrated the tomb, and the marble sarcophagus into which Odenathus’s remains would be put. He then sprinkled purified waters three times over all the mourners, and they departed, leaving only the immediate family at the tomb. An animal was sacrificed to make the burial ground sacred, and upon its burial couch Odenathus’s body was finally lowered into the sarcophagus. They left Zenobia with him for a minute before the tomb was closed.

Zenobia looked down upon the face of the man who had been her husband and her friend for the last thirteen years. Although he yet seemed familiar, the life spark that had made him the man he was was long gone. There was a finality about the body shell which was all that remained of Odenathus Septimius. Reaching out, she touched his face, but it felt waxlike now, no longer like living skin.

“Oh, my Hawk,” she said sadly, “it should not have ended like this. That your life force has been snuffed out by two bitter and useless boys, your own seed, is not to be borne; and yet I must bear it.” She paused a moment, considering her words carefully, for a promise to the dead must not be given lightly. Finally she spoke again.

“I will try to raise our sons as you would want them raised; and I will govern Palmyra as you would—with justice and strength.” Bending, she placed a kiss upon his icy lips. “Farewell, my husband! May Charon guide you across the Styx to that place where all the great end!” Then, turning, she hurried from the tomb.

Al-Zena withdrew within herself, and even her faithful slave woman, Ala, could not reach her. She blamed her son’s death on herself. “If only,” she wept to Zenobia, “I had not sought to make mischief by using Linos and Vermis, Odenathus would be alive today. I have caused the death of my own son, and two of my grandsons! The gods have indeed punished me for my wicked meddling!” Not even Zenobia could reason with her. She mourned deeply, stopped eating, and within the month was dead, too. She was buried with suitable pomp in the same tomb as Odenathus.

Returning once again from the cemetery, Zenobia burst out,
“The gods! I am so sick of death!” And then she fainted. Her female weakness was put down to the great pressures she had been under. Within the next few weeks, however, the queen found her appetite not at all as it had always been. She grew queasy at the mere sight of her favorite foods, and developed longings for fruits out of season. Finally old Bab said to her tartly, “Is it not obvious to you what your trouble is?” The queen shook her head in the negative. “You are with child,” the old woman said. “The king has given you a final gift.”

The second the words were out Zenobia knew them to be true. She was pregnant! Strange, she pondered, I cannot remember being with Odenathus recently; but then she pushed the thought from her mind. Shock could do strange things to a person, and there was no other explanation. She was with child. She liked the idea. Another baby. Ah, how pleased he would have been with her. Three sons, for of course it would be a son. She had always been a mother of sons.

The next week made her certain. Her moon link had been broken for close to three phases now, and it was time to publicly announce her condition. She told Longinus first, and briefly wondered at the strange look that fleetingly passed over his sensitive face. Given his sexual preferences, he probably didn’t like pregnant women, she thought.

Cassius Longinus had his suspicions, and so he cornered old Bab one day. “I need information, lady,” he said quietly.

“What could I possibly tell the queen’s favorite councillor and private secretary, Cassius Longinus.”

“You must not misunderstand, lady. I have only the queen’s best interests at heart, but I must know when the queen’s last show of blood was.”

Bab looked scandalized. “What kind of question is that
for you
to ask?!” She had grown plump with age and good living. Her three chins bobbed indignantly, and her ample bosom heaved with righteous outrage beneath the rich fabric of her dark gown. “Well, Cassius Longinus?”

“Lady, I know that you love the queen; have been with her since birth. I also know that what I tell you will remain with you alone.” He moved next to the old woman, and lowered his voice. “The queen was with Marcus Britainus the night of Odenathus’s murder. I saw them. Yet never since that night has the queen acknowledged Marcus Britainus as more than an old friend. His
heart is breaking, for he loves her truly. Now the queen says she is to have a child.”

He had expected old Bab to fly at him in a rage, but instead she shook her head back and forth.
“Aiiiiieee,”
she intoned softly. “I knew something was wrong. I knew it!” Then she looked frightened. “Does anyone else know?”

“No,” he said. “No one else knows, and certainly, given the queen’s reputation for chastity, they do not suspect.” He looked closely at the woman. “This is not Odenathus’s child, is it, lady?”

“No,” Bab replied. “It cannot be, and yet I hoped.” She took Longinus’s arm, and slowly they began to walk through the queen’s garden. “When the king came home for the celebrations, she was unclean. Her link with the moon was in force. I am certain he did not go to her. They were quite strict about that. Then he was murdered. And yet when the signs became obvious I still hoped. Oh, Cassius Longinus, will anyone guess? Is she in danger?”