Beloved (51 page)

“Yes, Majesty.” Adria smiled. “It will be a pleasure to deceive the Roman dogs!”

Zenobia looked with new eyes upon her young servant. Until recently she had not given the girl a great deal of attention, but of late Adria had shown intelligence and loyalty more worthy of a freed woman than a slave. “From this moment on, Adria, you are no longer a slave,” Zenobia said quietly. “Tomorrow I shall have the papers drawn up freeing you.”

“Majesty!” Adria’s usually plain, round face was suddenly pretty with her joy, and her brown eyes were filled with tears of happiness. Dropping to her knees, she caught at the hem of Zenobia’s gown. Raising it to her lips, she kissed it fervently and said, “I will
never
leave you, Majesty! I would not want to leave you, for you are goodness itself! Thank you! Thank you!”

Zenobia gently touched the girl’s strangely beautiful brown-gold hair, and said, “Get up, Adria. I must go.”

“I do not like you going alone,” Bab fretted.

Zenobia did not argue with her. She simply said, “I can move far quicker without you,” and Bab was forced to agree. Without another word she swaddled Zenobia in a long, totally enveloping, hooded black cape, and watched with worried old eyes as her mistress went swiftly through the bedchamber door, out into the darkness.

Zenobia picked her way through the blackness of her garden, for there was no moon this night. She could not be quite sure where the little hidden door lay, and so she carefully felt her way along the vined wall until her hands made contact with the smooth, ancient wood. Reaching up, she found the key upon its hook. She
unlocked the door, slipped through, and relocked it from the other side before returning the key to her robes. Turning, she stood very still and listened, her sharp ears attuned to the desert night. To her right she could hear faint breathing. Turning, she followed the small sound.

“Majesty?” came the voice in the darkness.

“Lead on,” she commanded softly, and then followed the two retreating shadows down the street. Together, the three moved swiftly through the back streets of the city, carefully avoiding the watchful Roman patrols. They did not speak until at last they stood before a garden wall. “We will have to scale it, Majesty,” one of the shadows whispered.

“Very well,” she agreed, and the first young man leapt upon the shoulders of the second, and reaching down slightly pulled Zenobia upward until she was even with him. Then he carefully placed her on the top of the wall, joined her, and leaning down again pulled the second man up. “I can get down myself,” the queen said, and leapt down into the garden of Cassius Longinus’s house, landing in, from the smell of it, a bed of tangy herbs. The two shadows upon the wall joined her quickly, then led her through the garden and into the darkened house.

Once inside the house, she was taken down a flight of stone steps into the catacombs beneath it. There, in a torchlit underground room, she found herself among a large group of young men, many of whom she recognized as coming from the city’s greatest patrician and commercial families. Seeing her, they instantly came to attention, their right arms raised in salute as they cried out, “Hail Zenobia! Hail, Queen of Palmyra!”

She graciously acknowledged them, and then the group parted, and Demetrius came forward to embrace his mother. She was amazed by the difference in his appearance from when she had left Palmyra several weeks back. His face was suddenly more mature, his stature positively regal. “Welcome, my Mother. Welcome to the Brotherhood of the Palm.”

Zenobia did not choose to mince words: “If you think to please me or the King by your futile rebellion, you do not.”

“What?” Demi demanded imperiously. “Have you become the Roman’s champion as well as his lover, my Queen?”

A hundred pairs of young eyes swung to look upon Zenobia.

“You are as impetuous as your brother, Demi,” Zenobia said in an amused tone, though she was feeling far from amused. She turned to allow her gaze to encompass them all. “Surely you do
not really believe you can force the Romans from Palmyra? What is it you hope to accomplish?”

“We want Vaba reinstated,” Demi said in a loud voice. “He may not be the best of kings, but he is a Palmyran king. We want no Roman governor, Mother.”

The young men in the room nodded, and murmured their agreement.

“I want Vaba reinstated, too, Demi, but the Romans cannot be forced from Palmyra, and the city is going to have to endure a military governor for the next several years. In time I will return Vaba to Palmyra as its king. It cannot be done overnight, but I will get it done! Trust me, all of you!” The queen held out her hands in appeal, and the young men in the torchiti room looked as if they might waver.

Then Demi’s voice sounded, fierce and angry. “No! I will not have you prostitute yourself to the Romans, Mother! Vaba must be reinstated now. If he leaves Palmyra they will never let him back, and this city will not endure foreign rule!”

“What do you know of foreign rule?” Zenobia demanded furiously. “Since before your birth the city has been free, but before you and Vaba the Romans ruled here for over a hundred years and Palmyra survived; as did our family. Do you think this city suffered under Antonius Porcius, Demi? We will bide our time again, and in the end we will win again; but you cannot drive the Romans away!”

“They will go!
We will fight them in the streets unto the last man, but we shall not let them have the city!”

“Your actions will destroy Vaba’s chances, but perhaps that is your real motive. Perhaps you believe that if you cannot have the city then your brother will not, either. Is this how I have raised you? To be a betrayer of your family, of Palmyra?” The room was deathly silent now, and Zenobia looked upon the eager faces before her. “I appeal to you, my sons!” she said, her look sweeping them all. “Have patience, and Palmyra will be ours again.”

“They slaughtered the Council of Ten,” a voice said, and the crowd parted to reveal young Gaius Porcius. “My father lies dead this night, my Queen. My mother might as well be, for she has not spoken a word since sunset. She stares into space and there is no feeling or expression in her eyes. How can we simply sit back and accept this injustice?”

“Your father would have agreed with me, Gaius Porcius,” was Zenobia’s reply. “Though he was born a Roman, he was a loyal
Palmyran. He would want what is best for Palmyra, and he trusted me to make that decision. There is a time for quick action, and there is a time for patience. Now is the time for patience. Sending Vaba into exile, taking me to Rome, destroying our council—these were all planned by the emperor as object lessons to our people. He will do no more. There are to be no fines, no new taxes, nothing. It will be business as usual in Palmyra under a Roman governor. But in the end we will win!”

“How can you be so sure?” Demi persisted. “Has your Roman lover assured you of it?”

“You are a fool!” Zenobia snapped at her son. “I thought that you had more sense than Vaba, but you are just as bad. Aurelian forced me, but I realized quickly I might turn that experience into an advantage for Palmyra. You may scorn me for it if you choose, but what I do I do for Palmyra! When Vaba is restored how many of you will be here to help him? You will all be dead of your own foolishness! Do not rebel any further, I beg you! Palmyra needs her strong and intelligent young men!”

“Go back to your Roman lover, my Queen,” Demetrius said coldly to his mother. “If you are suddenly weary of defending our homeland, we are not. Palmyra will rise up against these tyrants!”

“Will you not be satisfied until you have destroyed the city, my son?” Zenobia demanded.

“Take her back,” Demi commanded the two young men who had accompanied Zenobia to the meeting, and before she might speak further they hustled her quickly up the stairs, through the quiet house, and back into the garden. Zenobia sighed sadly. Demetrius had become a fanatic. She silently prayed that Demi’s followers would fall away, and that he would come to his senses. She could only hope that he was not caught, for Aurelian would not be kind. He would want to make an example of Demi, and that would mean his death. She sighed again before she once more scaled the garden wall and dropped into the street below. There were times in her life when she felt terribly alone.

Slowly the tears began to slide down her face and Zenobia was glad for the darkness that allowed her her privacy. She was not one for weeping in public.

Then they were back at the royal palace, and Zenobia turned to thank her escorts, but they had quickly melted into the night. Slowly she opened her secret door and stepped back through into her private enclave. She blessed whomever it was that kept the hinges of the little door well oiled, for it made not a sound as it
swung wide. Relocking it, she hurried through the garden and back into her bedchamber. Old Bab nodded by a bed in which it appeared a sleeping woman lay. Zenobia tiptoed across the floor and gently shook the elderly servant awake.

“Wh-what?” Bab opened her eyes, and Zenobia saw the relief in them. “Praise the gods, you are back safe!” She slowly rose to her feet. “Will the prince cease his rebellion?”

“No,” Zenobia said. “He prefers to think of himself as a great patriot, and he has enough of a following to cause trouble. I do not doubt that when they do they will obtain additional followers. Perhaps, however, I have swayed some of those fiercely loyal young Palmyrans this night. If I have and they desert Demi with his ideas of violence, then maybe he will come to his senses.”

“This Roman emperor will kill him without a thought if he continues,” Bab noted.

Zenobia nodded her agreement, and then said, “We had best get some rest, Bab. Help me to undress, and then you and Adria go to bed.”

Bab quickly helped Zenobia undress, then offered her a melon-colored sheer cotton chamber robe.

Slowly Zenobia put the garment on, and then, walking to a table, she poured herself a goblet of pale rose-colored wine and sat down in a carved wooden chair. “Go along, old woman. It has been a long night.” She heard the door close behind her, and knew that she was alone again. She was worried. Why could Demi not see reason? Then she laughed softly at herself. He was exactly like she had been at his age, but she had had Odenathus’s loving and kindly influence to temper her rashness. The difference was that she had listened to her husband. Why would their son not listen to her? Because you are a woman, said the little voice in her head. It matters not that you are the greatest queen upon the earth in many centuries, you are still a woman, and your son, barely a man, thinks that his sex gives him greater knowledge of what is right and what is wrong.

I am failing you, Hawk, she thought sadly. I have failed both our sons. I simply could not do it all alone. I needed you. I needed Marcus. Ah, if only Marcus and I had been married, things would have been different. The wine was beginning to make her maudlin. Why did I not marry him when he first asked me instead of insisting we wait?

She drained her goblet, but did not refill it. Instead, she rose up, walked over to her bed, and lay down. Getting drunk was not
going to help her, and she did not need a headache. She was needed. Her sons needed her even if they might not admit it. Flavia would need her, for she would be terribly grieved by her father’s death. With Antonius gone, and young Gaius behaving like a fool, Julia—Flavia’s mother and Zenobia’s oldest friend—would need her doubly.

She was awakened at midmorning by Adria, who brought her a large goblet of fresh fruit juice. Between sips Zenobia gave her orders. “I am supposed to be in mourning, but I want you to fetch the lady Julia and her son, Gaius Porcius, here to me as soon as they can come. Also, I will need a scribe so that your papers may be drawn up. Go to the emperor’s secretary, Durantis, and say that I have need of his services.”

“At once, Majesty,” Adria said.

“Where is Bab?”

“With the lady Flavia. She is most distraught, and begged that Bab come to her.”

Zenobia nodded. “Run along, Adria.”

“But who will dress you, Majesty?”

“It should not detract from my dignity as Queen of Palmyra if I dress myself,” Zenobia said with a smile.

A small smile turned Adria’s lips up, and bowing to the queen she hurried off on her errands. Zenobia sat in bed sipping at the juice for a few moments; then rose to bathe and dress. She did not dally in the bath, for she had much to do, but the steam, the scraping, the perfumed water and soap, and lastly the massage with the fragrant oil made her feel a new woman. Re-entering her bedroom, she was somewhat surprised to find Aurelian awaiting her.

His eyes widened with appreciation at her nudity, but, choosing to ignore it, Zenobia asked, “What do you here, Roman? You granted me the nine days of mourning. Surely you do not mean to break your word?”

“Why do you want the use of my secretary?” he asked, ignoring her questions.

“Because I am setting my slave girl, Adria, free. My own scribe will draw up the papers of manumission, but I wish your good Durantis to read them, and be certain that everything is correct according to Roman law.”

“Why are you freeing a valuable slave?” he persisted.

“Because she is loyal to me; because she is far too intelligent to be a slave; and because she deserves it. Fear not, Roman, I do
not plan to do away with myself. I am not setting my house in order prior to my death. There are too many people who need me. My ancestress, Cleopatra, took a coward’s way out. I shall not. I will oudive you, I suspect,” she finished mockingly, and her eyes caught his and held them. He wanted her! She almost laughed aloud. There was simply no subtlety in the man.

He took a step toward her, and her look challenged him. “I am in mourning, Roman,” she said softly. “You promised.”

Aurelian visibly gritted his teeth, and said in a tight voice, “You may have the use of Durantis.”

“Caesar is gracious,” was the reply.

He flushed a dull red and, turning, almost ran from the room. He had recognized the scorn in her voice, and somehow he felt powerless in light of his desire for her to reciprocate in kind. He was falling in love with her, the gods forbid. Better his old friend, pure lust!