Beloved (70 page)

There were two rudders, one on either side of the stern. The helmsmen stood upon a small elevated deck that had on it the upper half of a swan, painted quite realistically and hollowed so that it might serve as a shelter for the captain of the vessel or one of the helmsmen when he was not at his steering oar.

On the main deck was the master’s cabin, made up of two rooms, the larger front room an airy and light place where they would eat. Behind the main cabin and beneath the steering deck was set a smaller inside cabin, where Marcus and Zenobia would sleep in privacy.

Below decks was the enormous cargo hold and a place for the crew to sleep. Also below the decks would be all of the Alexander household slaves, but it would not be overly crowded, for the cargo space would be only half full with all the family’s goods.

The merchantman, called a corbitae, was a round ship. It was sturdy and reliable, but could easily be caught by a faster bireme or trireme, Roman warships, which were not only sail-powered, but oar-powered. It was therefore important that the Alexander family cause no attention to be drawn to them. The captain had been ordered to file a course for Cyprus with the authorities, and only when they were under way would Marcus order that course changed. The fewer people involved in his secret the better.

Little Mavia was delighted with the ship, and promptly told everyone so. “What is it called, Mama?” she demanded of Zenobia, who turned to Marcus for help.

“It is called the
Sea Nymph
, my daughter,” he answered her.

“I am not your daughter, am I?” Mavia asked innocently.

Marcus lifted the child up into his arms, and looked into the blue eyes so like his own. Gently he brushed the chestnut hair,
also like his. “You are my own true child, and I love you,” he answered her simply.

Mavia put her arms about his neck and kissed him upon the cheek. “I have always wanted a father,” she said. “I am glad you are my papa.”

It was as simple as that. From that time on, Mavia, the Princess of Palmyra, disappeared into the mists of time. There was only Mavia, the daughter of Marcus Alexander Britainus, and for Mavia, it was as if he had always been there. Although until this moment she had never called him Father, she would, when she grew older, never remember
not
having called him Father.

Zenobia’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she said to her husband, and Marcus understood.

“It was the right time,” he told her.

Then, together, they went aboard the
Sea Nymph
to be warmly greeted by Captain Paulus. Charmian took Mavia off to see the ship, and the others settled themselves while Zenobia and Marcus spoke with the captain.

“The next tide is two hours after midday, sir,” the captain said. “With your permission we can sail then.”

“Is there a reason to stay longer, my love?” Marcus asked.

“No,” she replied. “I am willing to sail this day.”

“So be it then!” Marcus looked to the captain, who nodded his agreement.

“We’ve all our supplies aboard, and plenty of fresh water, sir. If you, my lady, need any extras you would be wise to purchase them now. I can have one of my men escort you to the harbor shops.”

“I do not think that I lack for anything,” Zenobia replied, “but I shall call my servants and visit the shops you suggest. Mayhap in the looking we will see something we need. Your escort will be most welcome.”

Zenobia sought out Dagian and Adria, and the three women spent the next hour shopping in the company of two brawny sailors. As they returned to the
Sea Nymph
Zenobia’s heart lurched as she saw a familiar figure standing upon the deck with her husband. The three women climbed the gangway, and while Adria hurried to store away their few purchases Dagian and Zenobia came forward to meet Marcus and his guest.

“Gaius Cicero, it is good to see you,” Dagian said cordially.

The tribune bowed from the waist, and replied, “And as always, Lady Dagian, it is good to see you. You are well?”

“I am. How is Clodia? And your children?”

“They thrive.”

There was a short awkward silence, and then Dagian said, “Come, Zenobia, let us see to Mavia.”

“No.” Marcus looked to his wife. “You go, Mother. I would like Zenobia to stay here with us for a few moments. You will keep Mavia occupied for us.”

Dagian withdrew, and Zenobia looked at the two men. “Well,” she said, “what is it? I can tell that all is not right.”

“I have an order for your return to Rome, Majesty.”

“Never!”

Both men were startled by the vehemence in her reply, and in an effort to calm her Marcus put a hand on her arm, but she shook it off angrily.

“I would die before I would return to Rome, Gaius Cicero. I am tired of wars, and I am tired of politics! My only wish now is to live my life in peace. If I cannot then take your sword and kill me, for I will not return to Rome!” She looked to her husband. “Have you told him?”

Marcus shook his head.

“Tell him!” she commanded.

“Tell me what?” Gaius Cicero looked puzzled.

“Zenobia and I have been married for two months now, Gaius. We have witnesses—my mother and Zenobia’s two freedwomen.”

“By the gods,” the tribune said in a low voice, “you are leaving Italy!”

“We are.”

“I cannot let you, Marcus. The senate must be informed of Queen Zenobia’s marriage to you. They will, of course, set the marriage aside, for with a mate the queen becomes dangerous once more to Rome. I’m sorry, but I cannot let you go.” He looked honestly regretful.

“You owe me!”
Zenobia snarled, and suddenly she was once again all queen. She drew herself up to her full height, and looking Gaius Cicero directly in the eye, her gaze was proud. He remembered the first time he had seen her standing in all her queenly array atop the walls of Palmyra, defying the mighty Roman Empire. “I warned you of Aurelian’s impending fall so that your wife need not mourn
your
death, so that your children both born and unborn would not lose their father. Gaius Cicero, I gave you your life! Now give me mine!”

“Majesty, if it were my decision I would wish you Neptune’s
own luck wherever you went. But it is not my decision. I am only a servant of the empire, but I am a good servant. I will not betray my people.”

“We do not ask you to betray Rome, Gaius,” Marcus said quietly. “Zenobia and I have nothing to do with Rome. We are nothing more but a man and his wife trying to begin anew amid the ruins of our old lives. Palmyra is gone. It will never again arise from the destruction that Rome inflicted upon it. Its young king lives in exile with his family, its younger prince is lost in time. There is no longer a Queen of Palmyra, there is only Zenobia, the wife of Marcus Alexander, the mother, the woman. Let her go, Gaius.”

During his impassioned speech Zenobia found herself pressing close to her husband. They were at last a family, she and Marcus and Mavia. This time when he put his arm around her, she melted back into the embrace with pride, for she was proud to be his wife.

Gaius Cicero looked at them, and knew in that instant that they would not be separated. He knew that they would die first, or that his old friend, Marcus Alexander Britainus, would even set their long friendship aside and slit his throat before he would let Gaius take her back to Rome. He didn’t know why the senate had changed their minds, but, he reasoned, how important could it be? Aurelian’s execution was a certainty, and Zenobia was fleeing the empire. He could see that she posed no danger.

“I came ahead of my soldiers,” he said. “There is no one to know that I saw you. Who will contradict me when I say that your ship had already sailed when I reached Portus?”

“Thank you, my friend,” Marcus said gratefully.

“What course do you set?”

“Cyprus,” came the answer.

Gaius Cicero’s face said that he did not believe for a minute that Cyprus was actually their destination. “I have no order to follow you,” he said. “I shall ascertain your destination from the harbor master and return to Rome with my information.” Then he smiled at them. “May the gods speed your journey, my friends, and bring you to safety.”

The two men clasped arms in the old Roman fashion, then Gaius Cicero turned abrupdy and left the ship, walking away into the bustle upon the dock.

Marcus turned and spoke to a nearby sailor. “Is everyone aboard?”

“Yes, sir!” was the reply.

“Then take the gangway up,” the ship’s owner commanded. Giving Zenobia a quick kiss on the forehead, he hurried off to find Captain Paulus. The captain was on the helmsman’s deck. “I have ordered the gangway drawn up,” Marcus told him. “Is not the tide turning now?”

“Yes, sir,” was the reply. “I am just now giving orders to get underway.”

“Change your course,” Marcus said.

“Change my course? For where, sir?”

“For Massalia, Captain Paulus.”

“If we are to catch this tide, sir, there is no time for me to inform the harbor master.”

“That is indeed unfortunate, Captain Paulus,” Marcus said thoughtfully, “for I do want to depart now.”

“What harm can it do, sir,” the captain replied. “We are only transporting our new owner, and his family, and their goods and chattel. It can be of little import to the mighty Roman Empire.” So saying, the captain began to give orders, and the ship slowly got underway, taking its place amid the vessels catching this tide.

Marcus Alexander Britainus returned to the main deck below, and stood with Zenobia at the rail, watching the activity of the harbor as
Sea Nymph
’s sails caught the afternoon wind and began to move gradually out into the open sea.

“I remember,” he said, and he caught at her hand, “the day that we arrived here from Britain those long years ago. How different it was from my homeland. I never loved Rome the way I love Britain, nor did I love Rome the way I loved Palmyra.” He sighed. “I wonder,” he said, “if I shall still love Britain. It can be a harsh place, Zenobia. You are not used to chill weather, and Britain can be cold.”

“You have told me that the climate is mild on the island where we shall make our home. You have told me that palm trees grow on our island. Palms cannot exist in a harsh climate. As long as the palms thrive, then so shall I, my love.”

They had cleared the harbor, and as the
Sea Nymph
swept into the open sea Zenobia felt a small thrill of excitement. Strangely, the sea did not frighten her, child of the desert that she was. She found it very much like the desert, vast and rolling and ever-changing. It seemed to go on forever, and in the days ahead she found that she could stand at the rail for hours, her eyes seeking, searching, ever watching, for what she knew not.

*   *   *

It had been early spring when they left Portas, and now they would shortly be reaching Massilia, the great and ancient port in that part of Caesar’s Gaul known as Narbonensis. Here, the Alexander family would leave their ship and journey up through Gaul, using the roads traveled for centuries by the tin caravans. On the north coast of Gaul they would once again meet up with
Sea Nymph
and cross the channel to Britain. Because of the dangers of sea travel Marcus had preferred his family to travel by land where safe routes existed. The slaves would remain with the ship; but Zenobia and Dagian’s personal servants, Mavia’s nurse, and Severus would travel with the family.

At Massilia there was no undue activity about the docks, nor any interest shown in the
Sea Nymph
or her passengers. Marcus breathed a deep sigh of relief, though he realized that if Gaius Cicero had returned to Rome with the information that they had sailed for Cyprus, there would be a pursuit ordered in that direction. When their pursuers discovered no trace of them, the search would probably be ordered in the direction of Britain; but by then the trail would be cold, and they would be where Rome could not reach.

They left
Sea Nymph
, and traveled easily and quickly up from the coast bordering the Mediterranean to the coast on the channel that faced Britain.

The weather was pleasant, and they traveled amid the beauty of Gaul with its flower-filled fields and its great forests of oak. It was the forests with their soaring trees and dappled sunlight that made Zenobia nervous. She had never seen such vast expanses of trees, and she did not like being shut off from her sun. The nights they spent in the forests were most frightening to her, and she lay hollow-eyed and wide awake against Marcus, who slept unconcerned by her side. Every hoot of an owl, every unexplained rustle (and the long night seemed full of them) set her heart beating quicker. Zenobia welcomed their arrival at the coast where
Sea Nymph
waited to ferry them across to Britain.

They sailed from Gaul on an evening tide. By morning they would be in Britain. Zenobia dozed fitfully that night, her entire body attuned to the dawn, and when it came she rose from her place and wrapped herself in a long cloak before leaving the cabin. There was no wind, and the sky was white.
Sea Nymph
bobbed gently amid the clouds of fog, the only sound the rhythmic splash of the sea against the sides of the ship.

Then, as the sky began to grow a clear blue and the mists were driven away by the rising wind, she saw ahead of her a large island, its white cliffs rising out of the sea. Behind her she heard a step so familiar she didn’t even bother to turn. “What is it, Marcus?”

“It is the island of Vectis, and just beyond it is Portus Adurni, where we shall land.”

“What makes the cliffs so white?”

“They are made of chalk,” he said.

“Interesting,” she replied, then added, “Will Vaba and his family be awaiting us in Portus Adurni?”

“No,” he said quietly.

“Are they already upon our island, or are they to come after us?”

He sighed. “They are not coming at all, beloved.”

“Not coming?”
She turned and looked up at him. “Why are they not coming, Marcus?”

“Because Vaba chooses not to come. Cyrene is not the grandest place in the Roman world, but he prefers to remain there with Flavia and their daughter. He has found contentment.”