Beloved (59 page)

Zenobia was fascinated by the landscape around her. It was so very, very different from what she had known all her life. The desert was endless; but here the land was broken up by hills and rivers. The desert landscape was golden and blue; but here the land was lushly green with summer as well as gold and blue. Here and there were patches of bright-red roof tiles, or black earth in newly tilled fields where second crops were already being planted. Even the air was different. The desert air was dry, but this had a soft moistness to it that felt good on her skin.

They drove in silence for what seemed a very short time, and then Gaius Cicero was taking the reins from her. “We will soon be entering Tivoli,” he said loudly over the wind diat rushed past their ears with the speed they were making.

She nodded. The road now wound up into the mountains, the Sabines, he told her, and below them stretched the Campagna di Roma: a vast and undulating plain filled with many jewel-like little lakes, most within the craters; of extinct volcanoes. Zenobia caught her breath at the beauty of it all. Then they were entering the town of Tivoli, perched on a slope of the Sabines with a magnificent view of the Campagna and, beyond it, Rome itself.

Zenobia was delighted, for Tivoli was exquisite, a white-marble town surrounded by olive groves. Tivoli, Gaius Cicero told her, was famous for its vast deposits of Travertine marble. The quarries were located in the mountains just behind the town, and although the marble was exported to the rest of Italy, the entire town had been built of it. Zenobia was pleased to see that it was a busy place with several attractive open-air markets, an arena, and a theater located along the River Anio, which edged one side of the town.

“Your villa is located just outside the town, Majesty,” Gaius Cicero told her. “It is on the river itself. All the imperial villas are.”

They were shortly there. As Zenobia was dismounting the chariot, Bab and Adria appeared, and Mavia, who came running with her arms outstretched to her mother. “Oh, Mama, it is so beautiful here!” the little girl exclaimed. Mavia was now six. “It is not at all like Palmyra.”

“Can you be happy here, my pigeon?” Zenobia asked, hugging her daughter.

“Oh, yes, Mama!”

“Then we will have to stay,” Zenobia teased, taking the child’s hand and entering into the house. “Gaius Cicero, you will take some refreshment with us, and if I may I will offer you hospitality for the night.”

“The wine I will accept, Majesty,” Gaius Cicero said, “but your hospitality I must decline. The emperor said I might go home after I did my duty by you. I have not seen my wife and children in over a year, Majesty.”

“I understand, Gaius Cicero,” Zenobia said politely, and then she nodded to Bab to see that the emperor’s aide had refreshment. He quaffed it down with almost indecent haste, and quickly took his leave. Zenobia chuckled. She did not doubt that he wished to be with his wife tonight. Gaius Cicero was one of the few imperial officers who did not indulge himself with the camp whores. Neither had he kept a mistress. Then, too, she could imagine his position if he should spend the night under the same roof as her and Aurelian found out. His military career would be destroyed, not to mention the danger to his personal safety.

“Well,” she said to her servants, little Mavia having been taken off by her nurse, Charmian, “is it livable?”

“It is not the palace in Palmyra,” Bab said, “but we are lucky not to be in prison or in our funeral urns.”

“Is it habitable?” Zenobia said, looking about, for it certainly appeared a pleasant place.

“It is somewhat smaller than we are used to, Majesty,” Adria said. “There are two stories to the house,” she continued. “On this level is the atrium, where we stand, and there is a nice interior garden beyond. It should be a pleasant place on winter days. There is also a fine large garden out back that goes down to the river. There is a kitchen, a dining room, and a small library. On the second level there is a bath and two bedchambers.”

“What of the servants’ quarters?” Zenobia asked.

“They are separate from the house, Majesty.”

“It will not do,” Zenobia said. “You and Bab cannot live in slave quarters.”

“There is a nice room off the kitchen, Majesty, but the cook tells me that the slaves use that room to eat and rest when they are not going about their chores.”

“More than likely they use that room to hide from their dudes,” Zenobia noted.

“Just what I thought,” old Bab said. “They’re a lazy lot from what I’ve observed so far, my baby.”

“Then we shall have the emperor replace them,” Zenobia said with a laugh. “That room off the kitchen sounds just perfect for you and Adria. I hope you will not mind sharing a room, but we are obviously cramped, and I want you both here with me.”

“Shall I give orders to have the room cleared, and beds brought for Adria and me?” Bab asked.

“Send the majordomo to me,” the queen said, and a few minutes later when the man stood before her Zenobia gave the orders to remove whatever furniture was in the room by the kitchen, and bring sleeping couches for her two serving women.

“Why can your women not sleep in the slave quarters like everyone else?” the majordomo demanded.

“Because,” Zenobia said, “they are not slaves, and I want them here in the house with me. Hear me well, Crispus. If you should ever question my orders again I will punish you. My orders will be obeyed without question! Go now and do my bidding!”

“Will the emperor be coming tonight?” Bab asked.

“I do not know, old woman, but if he does not I shall send him a message tomorrow demanding that all the slaves in this villa be replaced. I will not suffer rudeness from a slave.”

“Come out into the garden, Majesty,” Adria said, “and see how fair it is. It will cool your anger.”

Zenobia smiled at the girl. “Let us go, Adria, and see this garden that so delights you.”

The three women walked through the villa’s interior garden and out into the rear of the building. Zenobia gasped with delight. At the foot of the garden the blue river flowed merrily by, and across it the mountains rose green and fair. Upstream a magnificent waterfall ran white and frothing over the high rocks, and plunged in a wide crystal ribbon into the river below.

The garden itself was neatly laid out in colorful flower beds, all accessible by the crushed white marble paths. Zenobia saw roses and lilies in profusion, along with sweet herbs and small fruit trees. There were violets, both purple and white, and sweet pink stock and brightly colored wall flowers within the beautiful garden. It would be a lovely place for Mavia to play. There were several large shade trees nearer the river, and some marble benches for sitting.

“You are right, Adria. It is lovely.”

“You will see, Majesty, that we are separated from the neighboring villas by a low wall, and although we can see our neighbors, no one may intrude unless we invite them.”

“Good day to you,” came the voice from across the wall, and the three women turned, startled. There stood a tall and very beautiful woman. “I am Dagian, the empress’s friend. It was my pleasure to prepare the villa for you, Queen Zenobia. I hope it is satisfactory.” She walked over to the waist-high wall.

Zenobia moved over to the wall, and smiled at the woman. “I thank you, Lady Dagian. The villa is a bit small, but it will be most comfortable, I am sure. I do, however, wish to remove the slaves there, and replace them with my own people.”

“I am sure,” Dagian said, “that all you need do is inform the emperor of your wishes, and he will give his permission.”

Zenobia looked closely at the woman to see if her remark was merely a statement, or a sly innuendo; but Dagian’s face was as smooth as a mill pond. “Will you join us, Lady Dagian, in a cup of wine?” the queen asked politely.

“I should like that,” the older woman replied, and walking to a small gate that was set within the wall, she opened it and came through.

“Bab, Adria. See to the wine, and have a table brought. I have an urge to sit in the garden.”

The two servants hurried off to do their mistress’s bidding.
Zenobia indicated with her hand a nearby marble bench, and invited Dagian to sit. “Are you also an imperial captive?” she asked.

“Of sorts,” was the reply. “I come from a land to the west, and for many years I was married quite happily to a wealthy Roman. When my husband died almost two years ago, the emperor forced me to remain here in Rome in order to blackmail my eldest son into doing something he did not want to do.”

“That’s Aurelian,” Zenobia replied bitterly.

“You do not like the emperor?”

“I despise him,” she said. “Oh, I know, Lady Dagian. You have heard that I am the emperor’s mistress, and it is true; but like you, I have been blackmailed. My eldest son and his family live now in Cyrene under imperial
protection
, my little daughter and I have been brought here under the emperor’s personal care. Like you, I have no choice. Mothers are vulnerable creatures.”

Dagian nodded, fully understanding Zenobia’s position, but wondering how well Marcus would for all his assurances to her. Obviously Palmyra’s lovely queen did not realize that she was the mother of Marcus Alexander Britainus, and Dagian thought that perhaps that fact was better left unknown for the present. Then she caught her breath as a small child emerged from the villa, followed by a nursemaid. The little girl ran across the garden and up to Zenobia.

With a smile the queen caught the child to her and kissed her, and the affection between the two caught at Dagian’s heart. It was as she had suspected. Zenobia was a good and loving mother. If Marcus wanted his daughter back he would have to win her mother over first. Zenobia looked up, and said, “This is my daughter, the Princess Mavia. Mavia, this is the Lady Dagian.”

The little girl looked up, and Dagian felt her heart contract. The look was Marcus’s! Could not Zenobia see that look was that of her new acquaintance also? “How do you do, Princess Mavia,” Dagian said softly.

“Lady Dagian,” the little girl replied. “I am pleased to meet you. You have blue eyes, as I do. I have met few people with eyes the color of mine. Marcus had blue eyes like mine, but he went away.”

“Mavia!” Zenobia sharply reproved her daughter. “It is not polite to mention people’s personal appearances.”

Dagian longed to take the precious child upon her lap and kiss her. Not only did she have Marcus’s deep-blue eyes, but she had
his chestnut-colored hair as well. It was a wonder that Aurelian hadn’t made the connection, but perhaps he had. She shivered.

The slaves arrived with a small table, which they placed in front of the marble bench, and Bab came carrying the wine and Adria, behind her, the goblets. The old woman’s mouth was set in disapproval as she set down the wine.

“In Palmyra,” she said, “we would not have given our slaves wine like this.”

“I do not understand,” Dagian said, distressed. “I gave orders that the finest Falernian be bought for you. I ordered it myself in the town at the wine merchant’s shop.”

Bab held out a goblet into which she had already poured some of the beverage. “Taste, my Lady Dagian. Is this what you purchased?”

Dagian sipped the wine, and her face was a study in quick anger. Her mouth made a little moue, and she spat the wine she had taken onto the grass. “This is awful!” she said furiously. “Either the wine merchant tried to cheat me, or the slaves have stolen what I bought and replaced it with inferior wine, hoping you would not notice.”

Across the garden hurried the majordomo, full of importance, as puffed up as a frog. “The emperor comes!” he announced.

“Crispus,” Dagian said severely, “this is not the wine that I bought from the shop of Veritus Pomponio. I suspect that you and your cohorts have stolen that wine! Now the emperor comes, and how can the queen serve him such swill?”

The majordomo blanched and fell to his knees. “Help us, Lady Dagian! We can return the wine you bought, but not now!”

“You deserve to be flayed alive, but the queen must not be embarrassed.” She rose and, smiling at Zenobia, murmured, “I shall send one of my slaves over with some good vintage for Aurelian, and I will see you tomorrow if it pleases you.”

“Yes,” Zenobia said, “it will please me if you come—and thank you.” She, too, rose, and escorted her new friend to the garden gate that separated their villas.

“Good-bye, Lady Dagian,” little Mavia piped up.

Dagian turned and, bending, kissed the child on the top of her head. “Good-bye, little Princess,” she said before hurrying through the gate into her own garden.

When she turned back, Zenobia and Mavia were already hurrying hand in hand across the garden toward the villa. Dagian paused beneath a tall shade tree and breathed deeply. She had not
dreamed that she should see her granddaughter so soon. She remembered Marcus! That was good. Perhaps the child would be the bridge that joined her two proud and stubborn parents.

How beautiful Palmyra’s queen was, Dagian thought. She was quite different from both Roman and British women, yet the golden skin, the blue-black hair, and the storm-gray eyes combined with her marvelously aristocratic features to make her fairer than any female Dagian could ever remember seeing. She was intelligent, Dagian realized, and that would have attracted Marcus as well.

Zenobia, before re-entering her own villa, had looked back across the gardens. Dagian seemed a pleasant woman, the queen mused, but was she someone whom she might trust? I need a friend, Zenobia said to herself. She was so alone here.

“Hail, Caesar!” Mavia lisped, and Zenobia turned to see Aurelian standing within the entry of the house.

“Go to Charmian, child,” Zenobia ordered.

“Yes, Mama,” was the obedient reply, and Mavia was gone.

“You never give me a chance to really know her, goddess. Are you afraid I will corrupt her?”

“I never know what you will do, Roman,” Zenobia said coldly.

“You are angry about the triumph,” he said.

“I was paraded the length of Rome, naked for all to see!”

“Yet I have not humbled you, have I, proud bitch?” He reached out for her, but Zenobia skillfully evaded him and, brushing past him, gained the inner garden.