Beloved (45 page)

Before his marriage he had occasionally kept a mistress, and none had ever presented him with a bastard child. Since his marriage he had kept a steady stream of minor courtesans, and certainly none of them had borne him children. Only Carissa had ever claimed that he had fathered her child. He was dubious, but since he had never intended divorcing Ulpia to many his venal little niece, he did not argue with her. Possibly the child was his. He had to admit that he was curious.

Aurelian opened his blue eyes and watched Zenobia as a cat watches its prey. He certainly felt sorry for Marcus Alexander, but then to the victor belonged the spoils, and he, Aurelian, was the victor.

“Please, Carissa, please help yourself and let us be done with this birth.” Ulpia Severina, Empress of the Romans, leaned over her niece and tried to encourage the girl.

“It hurts,” Carissa whined petulantly.

“I know, dearest, but you must push the babe out.”

“How could you know? You are barren, aunt,” was the cruel reply. Carissa turned her head away from Ulpia, and groaned.

“Come, Ulpia,” said Dagian’s soothing voice, and her strong, kindly hands gently pulled the empress away from the bedside. “Come and have some wine with me. The midwife will care for Carissa quite well.”

Dumbly Ulpia nodded and allowed herself to be led from Carissa’s bedchamber and back into the sunny atrium. Two slaves hurried forward bearing comfortable chairs, which they placed by the pool. A third slave placed a tray with a decanter of wine and two chased silver goblets upon a low round table. Dagian waved her servants away, then poured out the sweet golden wine and handed Ulpia a gobletful.

“Marcus should be with her,” the empress murmured. “This is her first child.”

“Ulpia, you cannot keep up the pretense any longer. Theirs was not a love match. If you do not know the truth then I will tell it to you now. The emperor forced this marriage upon my son. He was contracted to a lady in Palmyra with whom he is deeply in love. I know that however much you may love Carissa you do not for a moment believe the baby she is about to birth is my son’s. They have been married four months, and he has been back in Rome just over that time.”

“She thinks her child is Aurelian’s,” the empress whispered low, and Dagian’s eyes widened slightly. “She does not know,” Ulpia continued softly, “that my husband is sterile. Never once in all the years we have been married have I conceived; nor have
any of his women.” Her faded brown eyes grew wet with tears. “I had a baby once, Dagian. He was a beautiful little boy. They took him away from me. That is why I was married to Aurelian. He knew my shame, and threatened to expose it if my father did not allow the marriage.”

She sighed and wiped the tears that had strayed to her cheeks. “You must not think badly of him. He has always been a good husband to me; respectful and kind. He is a weak man where women are concerned, though, and Carissa is ambitious. I doubt even she knows the child’s father.”

“Does the emperor know you know all this?” Dagian asked.

“Of course not. In the tradition of this family, I have all these years been the perfect Roman wife. I have ignored his women as beneath my notice.”

“But your own niece?” Dagian was somewhat taken aback.

“I am well into my middle years, Dagian. I did not want to lose my husband, and by keeping silent I have kept him all this time.”

Dagian smiled in spite of herself. There were those who thought Ulpia Severina stupid, but she was really quite clever. “But how can you love your niece when you know that she has betrayed you so disgracefully?”

“I cannot stand the little bitch,” was the reply. “But I will never give Carissa the pleasure of knowing she has hurt me.”

A terrible shriek rent the stillness of the house, and the two women rose and hurried back to Carissa’s bedchamber. They were joined by Marcus, who had come from the study where he now spent most of his time. Within the room was a sweet, unpleasant smell, and the two women wrinkled their noses slightly. Marcus strode to the windows and flung open the shutters, allowing in some fresh warm air.

Upon the bed Carissa writhed, moaning and praying for release. “Help me, Mother Juno! Help your daughter to birth an emperor!”

“The pretensions of the vixen,” Ulpia murmured.

The midwife took the three aside for a moment while her assistant aided the straining woman. “There is something wrong, noble master and ladies. The child was not positioned properly, but I turned it. Still, it did not feel right, and the mother will not help herself. The longer the birth takes, the harder on both her and the baby. She has lost too much blood already, and I am truly worried.”

“Can I be of help?” Marcus asked.

“Sit by your wife, and encourage her.” The midwife looked apologetic. “She is not an easy patient, sir,” she explained.

“I don’t imagine she is,” he answered. “Carissa likes things easy, and instantly. It must have come as quite a shock to her that the child has not leapt fully clothed from her womb.”

“Marcus!” Dagian was scandalized, but Ulpia put a gentle hand upon Marcus’s arm.

“We have all suffered by Carissa’s actions, Marcus,” she said.

He looked long at her, and then with a sigh he sat down next to his wife. “You are going to have to push, Carissa,” he said quietly. “The longer you delay doing your part the harder it is on your child.”

She turned her face to him, but seeing concern in place of his usual mockery, she relaxed. “Will you stay with me?”

“Yes, I will stay until the child is born.”

“And you will accept the child as your own?”

“No,” he said. “I will not.”

“You must!”

“No one in Rome believes for an instant that I fathered your child, Carissa. I will support you both, but that is all!”

“My uncle will punish you,” she whined, and then she cried out again with her labor.

“Push!” he commanded her, and she obeyed him, for the child was precious to her. It would guarantee her wealth and power for her lifetime. It was the beginning of a new line of imperial Roman Caesars. Gritting her teeth, she bore down. She would be the mother of a race of kings! Rome would be at her feet, and even this proud patrician who was her husband would eventually desire her; but when he finally did she would scorn him.

Soon! Soon she would hold her baby in her arms. Another pain clawed at her, and she bore down, elated to hear the midwife’s cry, “I can see the child’s head!” Carissa was greatly encouraged now, and from that moment on she strove to deliver her baby. Through the mists of pain she could hear them all driving her onward to her ultimate victory. The pain was becoming worse as the child pushed itself forth with her help. Finally with a mighty effort she expelled the infant with a shriek, and then she panted eagerly, “Give me my son! Give him to me now!”

They were silent. Why were they so silent? Despite her devastating weakness she struggled into a sitting position. “Give me my baby!” she demanded.

Why wasn’t her son crying?

Marcus Alexander sighed, and there was a look of pity upon his handsome face. “The baby is dead, Carissa,” he said quietly. “I am sorry.”

“No!” They were lying to her. The baby couldn’t be dead! “Give me my son!” she screamed.

Marcus nodded to the midwife’s assistant, and the woman handed a swaddled bundle to Carissa. Eagerly she unwrapped the white linen stained brown with birthing blood to reveal—her watery blue eyes bugged in horror. “This isn’t my baby!” she whispered in a tight, little voice, a voice that quickly rose to an hysterical scream. “What have you done with my child?!”

“You are holding your child,” he said tonelessly.

Carissa looked down for several long moments at the thing in her lap. It had a head, a head with a flattish top, and a face with a grotesquely twisted mouth. At the base of the neck the thing’s body divided itself into two sets of shoulders, which sprouted between them three arms, three legs, and two sets of fully developed genitals. The umbilical cord was wrapped tightly about the unfortunate infant’s neck, and its whole body had a bluish cast. With a horrified shriek Carissa flung the thing from her lap, and screamed at Marcus, “It is your fault! You cursed me! You cursed me!” Then she gasped twice, and suddenly a stream of rich, red blood began to pour from her mouth while at the same time she began to bleed heavily from between her legs.

It was over so quickly that the spectators hardly had time to realize what was happening. Carissa fell back. She was quite obviously dead; and with an oath Marcus rushed from the room. Ulpia Severina stepped forward and closed her niece’s eyes before turning to the midwife and her assistant to say, “You must disregard my poor niece’s ravings. She was not herself in these last days of her pregnancy. Marcus Alexander was a fine husband to her, and she was fortunate to have him.”

The midwife and her assistant nodded. “We have seen it happen before, lady. The sweetest-natured girls become totally deranged when told a child is dead. Poor girl. But, ’twas the will of the gods.” She began gathering up her instruments. “We will leave you to prepare her for burial, lady.”

The empress smiled graciously. “You will, of course, be paid double your fee for your trouble; and we may rely upon your discretion with regard to the matter of my niece’s unfortunate infant.”

“Of course, lady,” was the smooth reply. The midwife bowed respectfully, and then departed the room with her assistant.

“Lady,” Ulpia said quietly, “call your slaves and let us prepare my niece’s body as quickly as possible. With your permission I should like to put her in our family’s tomb rather than yours.”

Dagian nodded gratefully. “It would be better,” she said, “and I thank you, Ulpia.”

“Call the slaves,” the empress repeated, “and then go to Marcus. Now, perhaps, he may marry his true love. Aurelian will soon have Palmyra safely back within the fold. He is totally dedicated to reuniting the empire. Once Palmyra is subdued, your son may travel east and wed with his lady.”

“I do not know if that will now be possible,” Dagian said. “The woman to whom my son was betrothed is Zenobia, the Queen of Palmyra.”

“Oh dear,” Ulpia murmured. “That does put a different complexion upon the matter, doesn’t it? Aurelian would be very angry with me if under those circumstances I allowed Marcus to leave Italy.” She sighed, perplexed, and then her face brightened. “Well, Marcus will simply have to wait for his queen to come to him. I know that Aurelian plans to march her in his triumph when he returns to Rome. The queen will, of course, be an imperial captive, but I shall see that my husband gives her to Marcus. Aurelian is always very generous with me, for I ask little of him and I have always been discreet.” She smiled at Dagian. “Go to your son, and tell him that everything will be settled soon. I will help to prepare Carissa for her last journey.”

Dagian left Carissa’s bedchamber. She wondered if Zenobia would survive her war with Rome. Was she already defeated, or had she surprised imperial Rome once again by defeating them? News took so long to get to Italy from Syria. Marcus’s mother said a quick prayer to the gods that they protect Zenobia of Palmyra.

The gods, however, had chosen to be fickle toward the mortal who until recently had always been their favorite. She had spent another night of unrelenting combat in Aurelian’s bed, and she wondered why Venus had left him so long upon the earth. The man was insatiable and apparently inexhaustible; but then, Zenobia thought with the barest hint of a smile, even the goddess had to rest. It was a pity she could not. The dawn had barely broken when they were engaged in battle of another kind.

“You will walk behind my chariot,” he had announced to her as they rose from the bed.

Shocked, she had taken a moment to comprehend him, and then she had spun about, shouting,
“Never!”

“Or I can drag you behind my chariot,” was the choice offered next.

“Then you will drag me,” she declared dramatically. “I will never enter
my
city in defeat! You have not defeated me, Aurelian!”

“Yes, I have,” he mocked her, his sky-blue eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. “What a stubborn goddess you are, Zenobia. I have defeated you honestly, both in the field and in my bed. If you do not play your part today in my triumph then I shall not allow you ever again to set foot within your city. How will you then spin your webs, my adorable spider? More important, how will you guide your son?”

Her teeth bared at him and her fists clenched angrily, she realized how securely she was entrapped. She knew that he would not relent once his decision was made.

“You will come meekly?” he demanded.

“I will come.”

He chuckled at the fine disjunction between his question and her answer.

A slave brought them breakfast, and he noted with some amusement that her irritation had not affected her appetite. She neatly peeled and sectioned a small orange, which she then placed in a little bowl and covered with yogurt. A thick slice of freshly baked bread was lavishly spread with honey and set upon the red Arren-tine pottery plate with two hard-boiled eggs and a handful of plump, ripe black olives. Totally ignoring him, she proceeded to consume this bounty, washing it down with a goblet of pomegranate juice. Then, without so much as a word to him, she rose up and left the tent. He wanted to laugh, but Zenobia’s dignity was already worn thin and the emperor needed her cooperation.