Beloved (58 page)

They had quarreled that morning because he had wanted her small daughter, Mavia, to walk with her behind his chariot. She had screamed and railed at him for the suggestion, forbidding him to even come near the child; threatening mayhem if he so much as touched her little daughter. What kind of a monster was he, she had demanded, to attempt such brutality upon an innocent baby? The trauma could destroy Mavia, who had lived through the first siege of Palmyra, and still had bad dreams.

In the end the emperor had relented, and Mavia was taken on ahead to the villa in Tivoli that would be her new home. Aurelian, however, was furious, for Zenobia’s anger had come not in private, but before his officers. When she had appeared for his triumph dressed in her gold and silver garments, he had furiously torn them from her beautiful body in front of all of his officers, stating that it was his wish she walk in his triumph nude, wearing only her ruby necklace and her sandals. She had been shocked by his actions, but had looked him straight in the eye, and said in her mocking voice,
“As Caesar commands.”

He had looked as if he wanted to hit her then and there, but
instead he had replied as mockingly,
“Yes, goddess, as Caesar commands.
For you it will always be as Caesar commands, and should Caesar order you to couple with his entire Ninth Illyrian you would have to do so because Caesar would command.
Remember that!”

His triumph was the hardest thing she had ever done in her entire life; but he would never know it, for her face and carriage were proud and defiant. Gaius Cicero had been visibly embarrassed as he had fastened the golden manacles around her wrists. She had come close to giggling hysterically at him because he was in such a quandary as to where to look next, and his eyes kept coming, fascinated, back to her marvelous breasts with their dark, honey-colored nipples. When he had led her from the emperor’s tent, however, all mirth left her. Four entire legions had gaped at her beauty, and she saw many glances of lustful envy.

“It’s a wonder one of his men doesn’t assassinate him just to possess that woman,” one tribune muttered softly to another, but she heard.

For a moment she thought she might be sick, for her stomach churned violently, bile rising up to the base of her throat before she was able to gain control of herself and swallow it back down again. Despite the warm day, she was cold, a coldness only intensified by the gentle breeze that brushed against her body, faintly damp with a sheen of perspiration. Briefly her legs were weak and she was unable to move for the shame, and then she slowly lifted her head and saw him staring at her, his lips curled in a faint smile of triumph.

Zenobia took a deep breath. As the sweet air filled her lungs, strength filled her soul and her silvery eyes mocked him back. The queen closed her ears to everything about her and, looking straight ahead, took her place behind the emperor’s chariot. That was the trick, she realized with sudden clarity, to notice nothing, to hear nothing.

As she walked she sang songs in her head, and focused her eyes upon the chariot ahead of her, never looking either to the right or the left. She did not see the mob with its envious, lustful, pitying, vengeful, and cruel glances. She did not hear the ribald, even filthy comments hurled her way. She was Zenobia, the Queen of Palmyra, and could not be humbled by mere Romans.

Marcus Alexander stood amid the front rank of the crowd near the senate, and when he saw her his heart leapt within his chest. Then, realizing that she had been forced to walk naked before
plebes and patricians alike, his anger toward the emperor burned hot, almost consuming him where he stood.

Zenobia! Beloved!
Aching with her shame he called to her with his heart. There was much he owed Aurelian for what the emperor had done to their lives; and he intended to repay him in full, measure for measure. Marcus Alexander Britainus could no longer fool himself. He loved Zenobia. He would love her always. Once he had told her that he had loved her from the beginnings of time, and that he should love her until long after their memories had faded from the earth. In his disappointment and his anger he had believed that that had changed. But nothing had changed. He loved her. He wanted her for his wife still, and by the gods he would have her if he had to strangle Aurelian with his bare hands.

Turning, he pushed his way through the crowds and walked back to his chariot. Grimly he drove back along the Via Flaminia to Tivoli, and to his waiting mother.

“Did you see her?” were Dagian’s first words as he entered the villa garden.

“All of Rome saw her,” Marcus said furiously. “Aurelian made her walk nude, the bastard!”

Dagian’s usually pale skin lightened even more. “The poor thing,” she said.

“Poor?”
he laughed harshly. “Praise the gods that Zenobia is prouder than Venus herself! She walked like the queen she is, her head held high, her eyes straight ahead. If Aurelian meant to humble her he only forced her to build her defenses higher. She won’t forgive him the insult, Mother.”

“And you, Marcus? Do you
forgive
her?”

He had to laugh. “Yes, Mother, but I beg you in the name of all the gods I know, and those that I don’t, never to tell her that. You were right. There is nothing to forgive, and I’ve been a fool. Whatever Aurelian thinks, Zenobia is not his.”

“She is not yours either, my son.”

“I know that, Mother. I am the one who must ask the forgiveness of Zenobia.”

Dagian smiled. “At last you grow wise, Marcus!” she said.

“Do you think I have a chance to regain her, Mother?”

“Who can predict a woman’s heart, Marcus,” Dagian said wisely. “We must remember all the suffering that she has undergone at Rome’s hands. I sense that Zenobia will not forgive that easily.”

Had Dagian, however, seen Zenobia at the very moment she spoke she would have been astonished. Having reached the senate
buildings, and the end of Aurelian’s formal triumph, Palmyra’s queen was wrapped in a cloak by the emperor himself, and led inside to hear the senate’s judgment on her. The senate, recognizing their captive’s bravery, applauded her wildly as she entered their chamber, and with a soft smile upon her lips Zenobia accepted their tribute with all the graciousness she possessed. It had been a far better show than if they had pitted her in the arena against the beasts, and they were all now quite pleased with their decision to grant her life and pension her off. She would be an interesting addition to their jaded social life. Now after she thanked them for their mercy, a faint smile of amusement upon her lips, the emperor bundled her off, then returned to escort the senate to the public games that he was sponsoring this day to honor his triumph in the East.

Taking Senator Tacitus by the arm, the emperor led them forth from the senate. Since the distance between the Forum and the Colosseum was not great, they walked, and the populace gave way to them as they came forward, cheering Aurelian, who had given them this day off, and free food and entertainment.

Zenobia awaited Aurelian at the Colosseum, and together they entered the imperial box. Seeing them, all Rome rose to its feet and cheered the handsome emperor in his purple and gold robes; his beautiful captive queen, an exquisite vision now in a simple white silk kalasiris, a jeweled collar of silver set with rich turquoise-blue Persian lapis resting upon her chest. She had dressed to please the Roman crowds, with carved silver snake bracelets on her arms and chunks of Persian lapis hanging from her ears. They would never forget her nude beauty of this morning, but her magnificent attire equally pleased them. Her fantastic cloth-of-silver cape blew in the afternoon breeze, and once she and Aurelian had finished acknowledging the crowds, she removed it.

Suddenly at the back of the box a small commotion arose, and Zenobia turned to see a woman being helped into the box by Senator Tacitus. She was of medium height, and had a faded prettiness about her. “Who is that woman?” she asked the emperor.

He turned, and swore softly beneath his breath. Then he rose and assisted the woman forward to seat her at the front of the box.

“Majesty,” he said to Zenobia, “may I present my wife, the Empress Ulpia Severina.”

Before Zenobia could speak Ulpia said, “Welcome to Rome, Queen of Palmyra.”

“Thank you,” Zenobia replied.

“You should not have come, my dear,” Aurelian scolded gently. “She has not been well,” he said then to Zenobia.

“I saw your triumph,” Ulpia said, ignoring Aurelian’s concern. “I requested that the Buteo family, who have a large home along the triumphal way, allow me access to see the procession. I was shocked, my lord, at the way in which you displayed this captive queen. All decent people were. Had not Queen Zenobia the dignity she has it would have been far worse.”

Zenobia instantly felt a liking for the empress and, reaching out, she put a hand upon the woman’s arm. “It is over now, Ulpia Severina, and I would not have you distressed on my account.”

Ulpia’s sad brown eyes met those of Zenobia, and instantly the two women understood one another. Poor soul, Zenobia thought. She loves Aurelian, and although he may respect her, and be kind to her, he does not care for her one way or the other. How hard it is to live without love!

Zenobia found the games boring, and the blood lust of the Roman population quite disgusting. She had never been afraid in battle, but watching the Colosseum audience leaning forward in their seats so as not to miss any of the gore was revolting. There they were, for the most part a useless, lazy bunch living off the dole, almost salivating with delight as they condemned the losers in the games to death. Turning from the games, she spoke for some time with the elderly Tacitus, until finally she demanded of Aurelian:

“Must I remain through this whole thing?”

“You are part of the spectacle, goddess,” he said, forgetting about Ulpia, who sat listening.

“I would have thought that I had provided enough of a spectacle for your Romans today,” she snapped at him. “I find your games tedious and appalling, Roman. Let me go to wherever it is you are sending me. I far prefer the quiet of the country to this pesthole of a city.”

Aurelian looked annoyed, but he realized that Zenobia had taken as much as she was going to this day. To further impress his will upon her was going to result in a scene, and when Zenobia chose to make a scene he invariably ended up looking the fool. This morning burned yet in his memory. He turned to the empress. “You prepared a pleasant villa in Tivoli for the queen, my dear?”

“I have seen to it, my lord,” Ulpia replied smoothly. “Although I could not oversee the preparation personally.” She turned to Zenobia. “I trust you will be happy there, Majesty.”

“It is not Palmyra,” Zenobia said softly, “but I shall never go home, so I suppose that I will be happy in your Tivoli. I thank you for all your kindness, Ulpia Severina.”

Ulpia smiled at Zenobia, and the queen rose, discreetly saying to the emperor, “There is no need for you to leave your games, Roman. Gaius Cicero can easily escort me, can you not, Gaius?”

“With pleasure, Majesty,” the emperor’s aide said.

“I bid you good day, Marcus Claudius Tacitus. I have enjoyed your company greatly, and if I am permitted visitors I hope that you will visit me often at my villa in Tivoli.”

The elderly senator rose and bowed in a courtly fashion to Zenobia. “My time with you has been far too short today, Majesty. I will come and visit you whether you are allowed visitors or not. I have a villa in Tivoli myself, and the heat in Rome will soon be too much to bear. I will see you soon, I promise you.”

When Zenobia had left the emperor’s box the senator turned to Aurelian, and said, “You are right, Caesar. She is too lovely and too intelligent to die. What a waste had we followed Valerian Hostilius’s obscene suggestion.”

Ulpia turned to Tacitus. “And just what did Senator Hostilius suggest?” she asked.

“His suggestion was that we dress Queen Zenobia in animal skins, give her a spear, and have her fight a pack of wild beasts in the arena.”

“Hostilius was ever a fool!” the empress snapped in a rare show of irritation.

“Then you are glad that the senate spared the queen’s life, my dear?” Aurelian asked.

Ulpia looked directly at her husband, and said, “Yes, my lord. I am glad that they spared her life.” Her level gaze told the emperor what he wanted to know; that she was giving him permission to amuse himself with Zenobia. Dearest Ulpia! Aurelian mused in a generous burst of fondness. She was so thoughtful! So discreet! He regretted that she was dying, but then perhaps he would take Zenobia for his second wife. He was certainly not going to let anyone else have her. He saw the envy in the eyes of the men who looked upon her. He knew that they hoped he would toss her aside, as he had done with so many others; and when he did, then they would vie for her until she chose another protector. It would not happen, though. He
would
marry Zenobia when Ulpia died. There was no need to divorce his wife, for she would be dead
soon enough and Zenobia was going nowhere. She was his imperial captive, and would be safe in Tivoli.

The imperial captive could hardly wait to leave the city. She found Rome overwhelmingly dirty and noisy. She would be happy to live in a quieter setting, one much better suited to raising Mavia.

“How long will it take us to reach Tivoli?” she asked Gaius Cicero.

“It will take several hours, Majesty,” he answered her. “It is almost twenty miles from the city, and the litter bearers can only go so quickly.”

“What about a chariot, Gaius Cicero?”

“A chariot, Majesty?”

“Yes, a chariot. I drove my own war chariot in Palmyra, and if I might have a chariot now we could get there in half the time or less, couldn’t we?”

He thought a moment, and then said, “Indeed we could, Majesty. The emperor only ordered that I escort you. He did not say what sort of vehicle we should use.”

Gaius Cicero drove as they left the city, but once they were safely on the Via Flaminia, he let Zenobia have the reins. The horses, however, almost drove themselves, as the road was straight and well paved.