Beloved

by Bertrice Small

  "Think well, and do not think overlong," she replied, getting up and moving away from him.

  "Do you threaten me, my flower?" His voice held a dangerous note.

  She was neither afraid nor impressed, for although she loved him she was suddenly seeing him through different eyes. "I merely ask that you not delay in your decision, my lord," she replied coldly, and walked from the room.

  He felt strangely bereft, for in their six years of marriage they had never had a serious quarrel. Odenathus sensed that things between himself and Zenobia would never be the same. He had somehow failed her, failed her in an unforgivable way. Was she correct? Was it possible that his open affection for his two older sons might lead people to think that he favored his illegitimate children over his legitimate ones? He loved all his boys. Still, should he fall in battle before his sons were grown… He shuddered at the thought of the civil war that could follow, for Zenobia would not sit quietly by and allow her own sons' inheritance to be usurped. And if Rome involved itself? His whole line could be wiped out.

  He shouted for his secretary, and was dictating almost before the unfortunate scribe could ink his pen and put it to parchment. He ordered Rufus Acilius Curius to report to him immediately, no matter the time of day or night. Immediately! He realized now that Zenobia was right, and he would brook no delay. If Rufus Curius was not contracted, or in love, he was going to find himself married before week's end.

  It was a confused commander of Qasr-al-Hêr who arrived at the palace several hours later. Rufus Curius could not imagine why he had been summoned. Had he somehow offended the king? Was there to be a war? He was justifiably nervous as he was hurriedly escorted before his lord, and Odenathus's piercing appraisal of his person did nothing to put him at his ease. The king noted that Rufus Curius had his Roman father's height, and a reddish cast to his curly hair; but his eyes were brown, and his features very much Palmyran. He stood properly at attention before his ruler.

  Odenathus grinned, and the man before him relaxed somewhat.

  "Rufus Curius," said the king, his black eyes sparkling with amusement, "you are to be married. I think tomorrow would be a good day."

  Rufus Curius's mouth gaped. "Married?"

  "Married," his king replied. "Your bride is to be the lady Deliciae, who has for many years been in my favor. She is a good and beautiful woman, Rufus Curius. She will bring to your house my two sons, Linos and Vernus. I entrust you with their care and upbringing, for I am told that you are a loyal and virtuous man. These children cannot remain in my house lest others believe I favor them over my heir, Prince Vaballathus. I know that you will be a good foster father to my natural sons."

  "Sire, I am not unmindful of the honor you would do me," Rufus Curius said, "but I would have children of my own."

  "The lady Deliciae is a good breeder and an excellent mother," Odenathus said.

  "Yet she has only given you two children in all the years she has been with you."

  "It takes two people to breed, Rufus Curius," was the reply.

  Immediate understanding flooded the centurion's face. "I am grateful for this opportunity to serve you further, my lord."

  Clapping his hands, the king commanded the summoned slave to fetch Deliciae.

  She arrived wearing a pale blue stola, and her lovely milk-white bosom rose rather provocatively above the low neckline. Her beautiful blond hair was braided and looped gracefully on either side of her head. Her only jewelry was a thin gold chain about her neck. The whole effect was of purity and innocence. Rufus Curius looked once, his eyes glazing over, and Deliciae smiled sweetly. The centurion was lost.

  The wedding was set for two days later. It was agreed that Deliciae's sons would not go immediately with their mother, but follow her a month later so she might have some private time with her new husband.

  The day following their wedding, Deliciae and her new husband left for Qasr-al-Hêr, but in the royal palace of Palmyra Deliciae's sons found themselves in great trouble. With typical eight- and nine-year-old logic, Linos and Vernus had decided that if their younger half-brothers were not around, their father would not send them away. They had taken their four- and five-year-old half-brothers to the slave market, and attempted to sell them to a merchant whose caravan was shortly traveling to Cathay. The merchant was enchanted by the two golden-skinned, gray-eyed little boys who spoke so well, and were obviously quite intelligent; but he was equally suspicious of Linos and Vermis. They were a trifle young to be selling slaves. It was fortunate that he was an honest man. Taking the two younger boys aside, he asked them their names. He didn't doubt the answers he received. "I am Prince Vaballathus," lisped the older of the two. "My papa is the king. This is my brother, Demi. He is a prince, too."

  "And who are the other boys?" asked the merchant.

  "They are Linos and Vernus. Their mama-her name is Deliciae-was married yesterday and we were given sugared almonds." Vaba smiled up at the merchant. "I like sugared almonds, don't you?"

  "Yes," the merchant replied. "I like sugared almonds, too. I will give you some to eat while I take you and your bromer back to the palace."

  No one in the palace had ever seen Zenobia angry, but that day her rage consumed everything in her path. She had to be physically restrained from attacking Linos and Vermis. "Get them out of my sight!" she shrieked. "If I ever see them again I will strangle them with my bare hands!" She ordered her sons' nurses beheaded, an order countermanded by Odenathus.

  "You cannot blame them," he attempted to reason with her. "The children have always played together. How could the nurses know what Linos and Vermis planned?"

  Weeping, she heaped rewards upon the merchant, invoking the gods' blessings upon him. Odenathus absolved the stunned merchant of all future taxes for himself and his heirs unto the tenth generation.

  Zenobia's rage would not abate. "This is all your mother's doing!" she accused. "You would not listen to me when I warned you that she was filling their heads"-she could not bear even to say their names-"with ideas above their station! My sons, my beautiful babies, could have been lost to us forever, and it would have been your fault!" The shock and fear had made her unreasonable. "You would not have cared, though, would you?! If my sons had been lost to you then you could have simply done what that bitch from Hades, your mother, has always wanted! You could have made Deliciae's brats your heirs! I will never forgive you! Never!" There was no reasoning with her for several days, although she did forgive the nurses for the sake of her children.

  Linos and Vernus were confined to their apartment in deep disgrace. They were not malicious children, but the sudden change in their lives had made them unsure of their own future. They very much needed to know who they were and where they belonged in this frightening world. Their father told them in no uncertain terms that although they were his sons, he had not been married to their mother. This meant that in the eyes of the law they could inherit nothing of his. That privilege belonged to his wife's sons, their half-brothers. Whatever ideas their grandmother had given them, they must forget, for she was nothing but a foolish old woman.

  Al-Zena, however, was a changed woman as she desperately tried to explain to Zenobia. "I did not mean them to harm Vaba and Demi," she wept, her proud face crumbled and suddenly old.

  "If they had I would have torn your throat out with my bare teeth," Zenobia snarled.

  "I love Vaba and Demi too, Zenobia," Al-Zena sobbed. "/ do!"

  "You have never loved anyone or anything in your life!" was the cruel reply.

  Al-Zena mastered herself. "You have the intolerance of the very young, Zenobia," she said. "I have loved. Oh yes, I have loved!" Sighing, she began to pace, and as she did she spoke. "When I was ten I fell in love, and my whole life I have loved this man, although he. is dead almost twenty years now. His name was Ardashir, and he was the King of Persia. His son, Shapur, now reigns. Ah, how I loved him. And from the first he loved me, though I was but a child. It was he who sent me here to Palmyra to be wife
to Odenathus's father. I fought against leaving. I begged him to let me be his concubine, to be his slave, anything but to leave him. I might have swayed him, but my older sister was Ardashir's wife. She did not object to Ardashir having concubines as long as I was not one of them. So despite my protests, I was sent to Palmyra, and all might have been well if only Odenathus's father had been understanding of my girlish heartbreak; but all he wanted was an heir.

  "You have undoubtedly heard the story of how he raped me on our wedding night. Well, it is true, for he did, and every night after that until he was sure I was pregnant. When my son was bom he was taken immediately from me. I was not even allowed to nurse him. I remember begging my husband to let me have my baby back, but he only laughed and said that he knew of Ardashir's plan to make my son sympathetic to the Persians, and that I would never be allowed to taint him.

  "Each day after that the child was brought to me for one hour, but I was never left alone with him. I begged my husband for another child that might be mine, but he refused. Then too, he said, I was not to his taste. I was too skinny, and he preferred plump women.

  "I grew bitter, Zenobia, and is it any wonder? My son was growing up without knowing me. I had a husband in name only, and I was separated from the only man I had ever loved. When Odenathus's father died I tried to regain my son's love so I might have some small comfort in my old age; but you came, and Oden-athus had no time for me again.

  "Do you blame me that I have hated you, that I have tried to make your life the hell that mine has been? Why should you have been loved and I not? Believe me, though, I would never intentionally hurt my grandsons!"

  " Which ones?" Zenobia asked harshly.

  "None of them. Neither Linos nor Vermis; nor Vaballathus nor Demetrius. I love them, Zenobia! They are all I have, and they love me!"

  "I do not know if I can ever forgive you," Zenobia said.

  "I do not know if I can forgive myself," was the sad reply. "In my bitterness and jealousy I may have done Deliciae's sons great harm. If you will let me I will try and undo it. Whatever I have said in the past, I know that Palmyra can have only one heir and it must be my son's legitimate heir, your son, Vaballathus."

  Zenobia looked closely at her husband's mother. What she saw convinced her that Al-Zena was being honest. "I do not know if we will ever be friends, Al-Zena, but whatever you can do to convince those two of the error of their ways, I will appreciate."

  "And you will not take Vaba and Demi from me?"

  "No."

  "And you will forgive my Odenathus? You cannot fault him for loving all his sons."

  "His love is not the cause of my anger. I am angry with him because he refused to see the danger until it was almost too late."

  "You must forgive him, Zenobia! You are his joy! You have been surrounded your entire life by love, and cannot know how terrible it is to be without it."

  Afterward, as she sat alone, Zenobia began to question if she had ever really loved her husband. She enjoyed his lovemaking, and she certainly enjoyed his company. He was her friend and companion, and she respected him, but was that love? Was that all that had bound her parents together? She thought not, yet she did not know for certain, and wondered if she ever would.

  For the first time her life was not simple and clear-cut. When she was a child, her father and Akbar had been her gods. When she had married, she had turned to Odenathus. It had never occurred to her that things would someday be different. She could not erase all the good years with him simply because he had disappointed her, but neither could she ever completely trust in him again. She knew that she was being unreasonable, yet the feeling was there and could not be denied. Men, it seemed, were fallible. Why had that thought never occurred to her before? If Odenathus had put her on a pedestal to be worshiped, then so too had she put him on a pedestal.

  "Majesty."

  Zenobia turned to see a slave girl. "Yes?"

  "Marcus Alexander is here for your lesson, Majesty."

  Zenobia nodded at the slave girl, and hurried out into the garden of her little palace where lessons were held on pleasant days. When he turned to greet her something within her quivered, and for a moment she looked searchingly at him.

  "Good morning, Majesty."

  "Good day, Marcus Britainus. I have decided it is far too lovely a day for lessons. Will you ride with me?"

  "Are you certain you are not one of those women sent to lure hapless travelers to their doom?" he teased her, and she chuckled as she remembered their first meeting in the desert.

  "You will have to take your chances, Roman," she teased back, feeling more lighthearted than she had in days.

  Marcus Alexander rode a large-boned Arab gelding, gold in color with a creamy white mane and tail; Zenobia, a big gray stallion. She was dressed as he first remembered seeing her, in a short white tunic and gold sandals. Although they were both recognized as they rode through the city, they were not stopped by the queen's adoring admirers, and once through the gates of Palmyra Zenobia let her stallion have his head.

  They rode without stopping and without speech for several miles. Marcus Alexander was content to follow, for although he had lived in the desert for some years now one sand dune looked the same as another to him. It always amazed him that the native-born of Palmyra seemed to know exactly where they were going.

  Zenobia watched him from beneath her lashes as they cantered along. She was conscious of the long, muscled legs that guided his mount so easily, and suddenly Zenobia was painfully aware of him as a male being. There was an auburn down on his shapely legs, and his feet were much longer than her husband's.

  Unexpectedly, Zenobia's mount reared up, and caught daydreaming, she found herself pitched from his back into a small dune. Marcus instantly dismounted and was by her side, gathering her into his arms, and calling frantically to her. She was momentarily stunned, but as her vision cleared she became aware of his mouth but inches from hers. Zenobia stared, momentarily frozen. He wanted to kiss her, and she knew it! Instinctively her lips softened and parted as she found to her shock that she wanted to kiss him.

  "Zenobia," he whispered.

  Hearing the hunger in his voice was enough to bring her back to her senses. With a little sob she turned her head away from him, and hot tears slid down her cheeks. She didn't know why she was crying, but she couldn't seem to stop.

  With a deep sigh Marcus held her close to his heart, and crooned to her as he might have to an injured child. "Are you all right, Majesty?" he asked, forcing away any thought of what might have been.

  Her tears now controlled, Zenobia replied softly, "I think that I have only injured my pride, Marcus Britainus. I have never been thrown from my horse before. I cannot understand what caused the beast to rear up like that." Her mount was now standing quietly, although he quivered nervously.

  "I will see to the animal. He seems yet agitated." Marcus rose and walked over to the queen's gray stallion. "Easy, my beauty," he said gently to the horse, and took his bridle. Scanning the ground around the animal for a few minutes, Marcus finally found what he sought. "Scorpion," he said to Zenobia, "and a huge one at that. No wonder this big beauty of yours panicked."

  Zenobia rose to her feet. "Is he all right?" she asked.

  Marcus ran a swift and knowledgeable hand over the horse's legs and, looking up, said, "He appears to be perfect, Majesty. He just needs the reassurance of you upon his back again."

  "Help me up," she commanded softly, and he bent, cupping his hands so she might have a mounting place. Zenobia vaulted lightly back onto the gray, and then said, "Come, Marcus Britainus, we have not finished our ride." Kicking the beast, she started off again, this time more careful to keep her mind on the horse and her surroundings.

  Later, however, in the privacy of her own rooms, she began to think over the incident in the desert. During her whole adult life her beauty and sensuality had been directed toward Odenathus. She had been taught that a woman cleaved unto her husband only. But Zenobia h
ad always been honest with herself, and she was being honest now when she admitted to herself that she had wanted to kiss Marcus; had very much wanted to feel his mouth possessing hers in a burning and passionate kiss. Did she really desire Marcus, or was it that she was still angry at Odenathus? What had made her turn away from the Roman at the last moment? With an angry sound she pushed the disturbing thoughts away. She was a grown woman and the king's beloved wife, not a silly young girl who gave in to her desires.

  ***

  The Roman Emperor Valerian came east from Italy, and engaged the Persian King Shapur in a pitched battle at the ancient city of Edessa in Mesopotamia, just north of Palmyra. The Romans were defeated, and driven back while their emperor was led into a shameful captivity from which he would never escape. No one could understand why Valerian had come east, especially when Odenathus and his Palmyran legions had successfully driven the Persians out of the Eastern empire the previous autumn.

  Shapur now felt invincible, and taunted the Romans with the imperial captive. He used Valerian as a human footstool when mounting his horse. Finally beheading the emperor, he presented his tanned skin to the horrified Roman delegation sent to negotiate Valerian's release.

  Valerian's son was wild with grief and thoughts of revenge. He was now emperor, and in their outrage over their defeat his army never considered replacing him which was fortunate, for Gallienus faced usurpations almost immediately on three fronts. While Gallienus took on two of his own challengers, Odenathus defeated the third at Emesa and was reconfirmed king by the grateful Gallienus.

  Odenathus returned from his defense of the empire a changed man. Zenobia had greeted him coolly, but he seemed not to notice. "The time is close," he told her, "when we may throw off the chains that have bound us all these years."

  "What has changed?" she asked.

  "The government in Rome is worse off than ever, my flower. Every legion has a candidate for emperor, although only a few have dared to rebel so far. Gallienus is beset by too many problems both internal and external. He may be resolute, but he cannot possibly solve the empire's difficulties. The silver coinage is being debased, and he has already incurred the enmity of the senate. He has taken away perquisites from the politicians, and the majority of the senate is far more interested in its social position and its privileges than in good government."