Beloved (50 page)

Zenobia stood quietly, tears streaming down her beautiful face. Finally the room was empty, and Vaba came over to put a comforting arm about his mother. “I do not think I can bear it,” Zenobia said. “I cannot believe that Aurelian means to go through with this slaughter. It is so unfair!”

“When were the Romans ever fair?” he replied bitterly. “It is as Longinus said. Their honor can only be satisfied by a blood sacrifice.”

“Oh, Vaba,” she half-whispered, “I am responsible for this. It is my fault that the Council of Ten is to die. If I had not declared you Augustus, and myself Queen of the East, Aurelian would not have descended upon us.”

“In the short time I have known this emperor, Mother, I have reached the conclusion that he never does anything precipitously. Each move he makes is well thought out in advance. I believe that in his quest to reunite his Roman Empire he sought to regain full control of Palmyra again. He did not want Palmyra to be ruled by its own king. He would have found some excuse, however flimsy, to conquer us. You cannot—must not—hold yourself responsible for the fate of the council.”

His words were comforting, but Zenobia was not sure that she entirely believed them. After all, had not she—had not they all said that she
was
Palmyra? As queen, a queen who ruled for her son, they had all been her sole responsibility. She had failed in that trust.

Vaba escorted her litter back to her apartments and left her. Slowly Zenobia entered her rooms, her mind deep in thought. She suddenly felt very tired, and decided that she would rest until sunset. It would be necessary for her to attend the execution of her council members. They had always supported her, and she owed them this final courtesy no matter how painful it would be for her.

“Why did you not wear the flame-colored gown I wanted?” Aurelian’s voice cut into her concentration.

“Red is the color of joy,” she said dully. “I did not expect I should be joyful this day, and so I chose to be who I am, the Queen of Palmyra. Tyrian purple is a royal color.”

“You are no longer Queen of Palmyra, goddess.”

She turned to look directly at him, and then she said in a quiet voice, “I will always be the Queen of Palmyra, Aurelian. Your words, the edicts of your senate, they cannot alter who I am. Perhaps I shall never see my homeland again,
but I will always be the Queen of Palmyra.”

Seeing her standing there, he understood for the first time in his life the word “regal.” He knew that he should never possess such presence, such dignity. She almost made him feel ashamed, and it angered him. Why should this beautiful rebel make him feel guilty for doing his duty?

“May I go with Vaba and Flavia?” she asked. “May I take my other children with me?”

“You will come to Rome with me,” he said in a voice that suggested she not argue. “You have two sons, but I have only seen one. Where is the other?”

“I do not know where my son, Demetrius, is, Caesar. Perhaps he is with his grandfather.”

“And perhaps he is sneaking about the city like a jackal with a group of his angry young patrician friends causing trouble,” the emperor said, his eyes narrowing.

“What have you heard?” She tried to keep the fright from her voice.

“It is reliably reported that they have been inciting the people to riot and other such seditious acts. I would suggest that you find him, and warn him that any further such nonsense could incur my displeasure.”

She nodded, too tired to argue with him now. He looked at her and felt a surge of pure desire. Suppressing it, he realized she was not beaten, simply in shock over his harsh judgments. “Go and rest, goddess,” he said in a kinder tone of voice. “It will not be necessary for you to be at this evening’s sad event.”

“I will be there, Caesar,” she replied in a fierce voice. “Cassius Longinus said that you must have your blood sacrifice, but I shall never forgive you for the guilt you have placed upon me.”

“Never,” he replied, “is a long time, goddess. When you are in Rome with me you will forget.”

“I will never forget.”

“Go and rest,” he repeated.

Zenobia brushed past him and entered her bedchamber. There, Bab and Adria sat awaiting her return. They quickly rose to their
feet at her entry and, hurrying toward her, wordlessly began to remove her jewelry and clothes.

Although she did not believe that she could sleep, she did. Shock had taken its toll, and she could have easily slept for hours, but Bab gently shook her awake in the hour before sunset and helped her to dress, again in royal purple. Her numbed mind began to function again.

She was alive. Her children were alive, and they would remain so unless Demi did something foolish. As long as they lived there was hope; hope of returning one day to Palmyra. How long would Aurelian last? Emperors came and went in these days with remarkable rapidity. In a few years what had transpired between Rome and Palmyra would be forgotten; and if she was in favor with a future emperor in Rome, she could possibly regain Vaba’s inheritance.

“You are ready,” said Bab, who recognized her mistress’s mood and had been silent all during the dressing.

“Come with me, old woman,” Zenobia said.

“Did you think I would not?” came the quick reply. “You are strong, my baby, but no one is strong enough to bear alone what you must now face. I will always be with you; as long as these tired old legs can move.”

“I would come too, Majesty,” quiet Adria said, and Zenobia turned in surprise to see the firm, resolute look in the slave girl’s brown eyes.

“Yes, Adria,” she answered her. “You may come.”

Together, the three women left the queen’s rooms, and walked slowly along the corridor leading to the main courtyard of the palace. Zenobia silently noted that her own personal guard had been replaced by Roman legionnaires. Though she felt sure that her men had not been harmed, she resolved to inquire of Aurelian what had happened to them.

The Roman legionnaires guarding the entry to the central courtyard snapped smartly to attention as Zenobia passed through with her women. The sight greeting her outside almost made her falter, but old Bab hissed softly, “Courage, Queen of Palmyra!” Zenobia moved regally forward to mount with her women the raised platform that had been erected at one end of the courtyard. Aurelian already sat sprawled in a chair.

“I told you that you did not have to come,” he said.

“I told you,” she replied half angrily, “that these men you slaughter have served me faithfully, and I would come!”

Aurelian signaled to one of his men. “Bring a chair for the queen,” he said.

“I will stand in respect,” she quickly replied.

He ignored her. “Whether you stand or sit, goddess, is your choice, but the chair is there should you need it.”

Zenobia looked out over the courtyard. The day had been a hot one, but now with sunset fast approaching the courtyard was in shadow.

Zenobia turned to Rome’s emperor. “Will it be quick?”

“Yes,” was the short reply.

She wanted to cry, but she forced the tears back and swallowed down the lump in her throat. There were ten baskets lined neatly up in a long row at the center of the open courtyard. Realizing their significance, she shuddered with revulsion, then froze as the condemned men came from a side door of the palace. Each was flanked by two Roman guards, one of whom would act as headsman in the execution. The council members had chosen to wear pure white tunics that came to their ankles and somber black togae pullae, mourning garments. They walked proudly, their heads held high. As they turned to face the raised dais where Zenobia stood rooted, they raised their right arms in salute and cried out loudly, “Hail, Zenobia! Hail, Queen of Palmyra!”

She drew herself up proudly then, and said in a voice for all to hear, “The gods speed your journey, my friends, for you are surely Palmyra’s greatest patriots! All hail to you, Council of Ten!”

“Enough,” Aurelian snapped, and he signaled with his hand.

Each member of the council was forced to kneel before a hateful reed basket, his bare neck bowed, easily accessible to his executioner. Each headsman raised his sword, and as they did Zenobia called out, “Longinus, farewell, my friend.”

“Farewell, Majesty,” came his dear voice, and then the executioners struck with well-drilled precision, and the ten severed heads fell with a distinct
thump
into their waiting containers.

She swayed, and Aurelian stood up and reached out to put a strong arm about her. “I do not need your help, Roman!” she snarled at him.

“Death to the Roman tyrants!”
The cry suddenly echoed about the courtyard, and in a hail of arrows the legionnaires in the open courtyard fell, some dead instantly, some mortally wounded by the poison-tipped arrows unleashed at them by the kneeling archers upon the palace roof.

A tall young man stood up and looked scornfully down upon
the stunned dignitaries on the platform. “Hail, Caesar,” he said mockingly, “and welcome to Palmyra! Were the queen not in your grasp at this moment, you and the other Roman dogs with you would now be as dead as your execution squad. The people of Palmyra do not like what you have done. It was our craven king who opened the city’s gates to you, not the people. Nevertheless we prefer King Vaballathus to a Roman governor. Reinstate him, or this will be just the beginning of our war with you!” Then without waiting for an answer, he and his archers disappeared from the rooftops.

Gaius Cicero leapt from the platform, but Aurelian’s voice was knife-sharp. “Don’t bother, Gaius! They are long gone back into their rodent holes, and we will never find them.” He turned to Zenobia. “The youth who spoke was your younger son, I presume?”

She pushed his offending arm from her waist then, giving him a long look, smiled. With her women trailing behind her, she walked from the platform and disappeared into the palace. Once safe within her rooms, she said furiously, “Find Demi, Bab! There must be someone who knows where he is hiding.”

The doors to her bedchamber opened, and Vaba rushed in, his face dark with anger. “He is your son, Mother!
Your son!”

“He is also your brother,” she snapped back at him. “I have ordered Bab to seek Demi out, for I do not agree with his methods any more than you do, Vaba. You might know where he is. Who are his special friends now? We
must
find him!”

“Why?” countered Vaba. “So you may save his miserable life? I hope to the gods that the Romans catch him and kill him!”

Zenobia’s hand shot out and made firm contact with the cheek of her older son. “Don’t ever say such a thing again. I want Demi found because I do not want him to throw away his life needlessly. I want Demi found so that he does not ruin your future, and that of your children.”

“What future?” he demanded scornfully. “There is no future for me in Cyrene. There is no future for my descendants. Best Flavia miscarry of the unfortunate babe she now carries. Better we never have any children at all!”

“You fool!” Zenobia almost shouted. “You only see what is in front of you! Why can you never see ahead?” Almost absently she reached out, and rubbed at the red imprint of her hand on his cheek. “Vaba, listen to me. Aurelian will fall like all of Rome’s emperors in these past years; and the emperor to follow him will
fall. I will be in Rome making friends, building my connections, always supporting the right faction. In five years, ten at the most, you will return to Palmyra as its rightful king. I promise you this, my son! I swear it! Have I ever broken a promise to you, Vaba?”

He looked at her wonderingly, and shook his head. Then he said, “Do you never stop scheming, Mother?”

“Will you trust me, Vaba?”

“I have always trusted you, Mother.”

“Good! Now, think! Where can Demi be hiding?”

“It has to be at Cassius Longinus’s house in the city. Longinus’s little friend, Oppian, has been giving Demi and his friends occasional shelter, although I doubt that Longinus was aware of it. He left the boy alone as he did not want him here at the palace, and Oppian was lonely for the company of other young men. I am sure that Longinus willed the house to him, and equally sure you will find Demi there. Or at least Oppian will know where he is.”

Zenobia turned to speak to Bab, but the old woman forestalled her, raising up her hand, and said, “I am already gone. I shall bring him back when I find him.”

Zenobia sent a message to Aurelian asking that she be allowed the traditional mourning period. To her surprise, he sent back an immediate reply by his personal secretary, Durantis, agreeing to her request, but stipulating that she keep to her own apartments and own garden. She assented. She knew that he acquiesced because it suited
him
, not her. He probably needed the time to consolidate his victory. With Vaballathus deposed, the Council of Ten dead, and the queen out of sight, Palmyra would naturally turn to Roman authority.

It was late that night when old Bab returned, and she was alone. “He is there,” she said, “but he will not come to the palace. He fears a trap.”

“He said
that?”
Zenobia was furious.

“He does not distrust you,” Bab quickly assured her, “but he fears a Roman trap. There is no one left you may rely upon, he says, now that the council is dead.”

“Did you use the secret gate in the garden?” Zenobia asked Bab.

“I did, and I was seen by no one. I am not so old that my eyes and ears cannot see or hear properly.”

“Then if you can get out, so can I,” Zenobia said.

“That is just what Prince Demetrius said!” Bab replied. “He said that you must come tonight, however, for after tonight the
Roman is sure to put a watch on you. Tonight he will assume you too devastated to take any kind of action. We will have to walk, my baby, but at this very minute two of Prince Demi’s men are waiting for us outside the palace to escort us in safety.”

“Adria!” Zenobia called, and the young slave girl came instantly.

“Majesty?”

“You heard?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“I want you and Bab to remain here. You will sit outside my bedchamber door as if keeping watch. Bab will sit inside my chamber by my bed; a bed that will appear to have a sleeping woman in it. Should the emperor come you will do your best to prevent his entering my room, but should he ignore you, then Bab will handle it. Do you understand?”