Beloved

by Bertrice Small

  "Call a slave," she said.

  "I am at a loss for what to do with you," he said slowly, pulling off the beautifully decorated breastplate and then undoing the belt that held the strips of armor that hung from his waist. Warrior that he was, he carefully placed the armor in a small chest for safekeeping, then turned back to her. His muscular arms pulled the short-sleeved, knee-length red tunic off, and this garment was followed by a natural-colored linen tunica interior. He was nude except for his sandals and leg shields. Sitting down, he held out a foot. "Will you undo my sandals?"

  "I am not your servant, Aurelian."

  "You highborn wenches aren't good for very much at all. You refuse to help me undress, and you kiss like a child. I wonder if you will be worth all the trouble I am going to have to take with you."

  "Then return me to Palmyra!" she spat at him. "Return me, and then fight me like a man, Roman!"

  He looked up at her, now free of his sandals and leg shields. "I am going to fight you like a man, goddess, and for probably the first time in your life you are going to have to fight like a woman!" She gasped, outraged by his words, but he continued. "Therewill be no emperors or queens in this tent tonight, Zenobia, just a man and a woman waging the age-old battle between men and women!" His eyes blazed blue fire at her, and, startled, she stepped backward. It was all the advantage he needed. Stepping swiftly forward, he lifted her and tossed her over his shoulder.

  He had made no attempt to be gentle, leaving her helpless to struggle, for she was too busy trying to catch her breath. Walking across the tent into his sleeping chamber, he unceremoniously dumped her upon his bed and then flung himself down atop her, trapping her face between his two hands.

  "I have nothing to give you!" she hissed.

  "You will before this night is finished," he promised, and then yanked her head back to his. His lips claimed hers again.

  This time Zenobia struggled against Aurelian. As his mouth ground down upon her an unreasoning fear welled up within her, destroying her intent to remain cool, increasing her panic as her heartbeat accelerated violently.

  He quickly felt her terror, and suddenly his lips were gentle, barely brushing hers as he murmured against them, "No, goddess, don't be afraid. Shhh. Shhh, I will not hurt you."

  She was unable to prevent the shudder that ripped through her. This was worse, she thought. She didn't want him to be gentle. She wanted him to assault her with violence so she might hate him even more. With an angry cry she raised her hands and clawed at him.

  Forcing her arms above her head, he held them there with one hand while the other sought to gentle her. "No, goddess," he chided her, and then, "What are you afraid of, Zenobia? Give me some of the sweetness of your mouth, beloved. There cannot be great harm in that."

  She almost wept then. Beloved! He had called her beloved -until now only Marcus, Marcus who had betrayed her and left her to this man, had called her beloved.

  Aurelian sensed the weakness, and in that instant he descended on her again, his mouth tenderly taking hers in a kiss so passionate, and yet at the same time so gentle, that she was unable to resist any longer. Her lips softened beneath the insistent pressure of his. Finding her tongue, he sucked a long minute upon the tempting morsel, then released her from the kiss.

  Zenobia was stunned by the sense of loss she felt. Why did she feel this way? She detested this man, and had a weapon been available she would have used it on him. Opening her eyes, she found him looking down on her, unsmiling. His free hand came up to caress her face. "Your skin is like silk," he said softly, and then his hand began a lengthy exploration of her body.

  Shifting his weight off her, he released her hands and put the arm that had imprisoned her about her shoulders, pinioning her as effectively as he had before, but allowing him the freedom he needed to caress her. A warm hand moved down her throat, a hand, she thought, that could as easily strangle her as make love to her. He read the thought in her gray eyes.

  He dallied a moment in the soft hollow of her neck, and she could feel the blood coursing beneath his fingers. His hand next moved down to stroke the high swell of her breasts, trailing leisurely downward between her cleavage. A single finger teasingly encircled each nipple, shocking them, despite her best efforts to resist, to tight and tingling peaks, which he bent his head to kiss.

  She could feel the cry welling up in her throat, and with a supreme surge of willpower she forced it back. He must not know-she would not let him know that his hungry mouth now sucking on her breasts was beginning to elicit a tiny response deep inside her. She could not understand it, and it not only puzzled her, it frightened her. She began to tremble, and tried to draw away from that insistent mouth.

  Slowly he raised his head. His eyes were glazed with passion, and something else she could not fathom. She turned her head away from him so he might not see her fear. "You will not deny me, goddess," he said softly. "I will possess you."

  "No," she managed to whisper, "my body, but nothing else!"

  "I will possess all!" he answered her. "You will belong to me alone, goddess, for never have I been beaten in battle, and I will not be beaten in this one."

  Scalding, slow tears began to course down her cheeks, but no sound came from her throat. This was what it had been like for her mother those long years ago; pinned beneath a Roman who demanded everything of her and took it without a care for her soul. They had destroyed her mother, but whatever happened between Zenobia and this Roman, she would not allow him to destroy her.

  "No, goddess," and his voice was deceptively soft. "Don't weep. I will not hurt you. I will only love you," and he raised himself up so he might kiss the wetness on her face.

  It was too much for Zenobia. With a wild cry she fought to escape him, but could not fight her way free, for his strength was too great. Aurelian laughed, her confused and terrified resistance seeming to give him great pleasure. He shifted his body once more, this time to cover hers. She could feel his muscular thighs with their soft blond down pressing down upon hers, and to her horror she felt a great flash of heat suffuse her body. His broad chest crushed her full breasts, his mouth again captured hers in a kiss of such blazing passion that she could feel her strength ebbing away. Against the inside of her thigh she felt his staff lengthening and growing hard with his desire for her.

  He caught at her tongue and began to suck upon the velvet of it again, sending shock waves of desire-dear Venus, it was desire!-throughout her feverish body. With that admission to herself it was as if a dam had burst within her. Unwillingly her arms went about him, and she felt him seeking entrance to her unwilling, yet willing body. He thrust deep, and she cried out, her breath coming in quick pants, her long golden legs wrapping themselves about him. Again and again he plunged himself into her burning and wet sheath, making her cry with pleasure in spite of herself. And then with a pitiful sob she whimpered low "/ do not understand! I do not understand!"

  He stopped in his rutting, and with a roar of laughter he caught her frightened face in his hands. "It is lust, Zenobia! Sweet, hot lust! How is it that you have never before experienced lust?" He drove again into her and, bending, murmured against her ear, "I will teach you to enjoy lust, my goddess, to revel in it, to yield to it!" His hands moved beneath her to cup her buttocks, and he squeezed them possessively. "Do you feel it, Zenobia? Do you feel the fire coursing through you? Lust! It is lust, and you have no choice but to give in to it; give in to me! The victory will be mine, goddess, as I warned you! The victory will be mine!"

  Shocked, Zenobia realized that what he was saying was true. She had no control over her body at that moment. Ripple after ripple of pure, sensuous pleasure was starting to wash over her, and she had not the strength to resist it. A tension was beginning to build deep within her, and the force of it was so great that it threatened either to consume or destroy her. She would either give in to it, or die from it; and as shameful as she found her situation, she did not want to die. The victory would be his whatever way sh
e chose, but she would find a way to revenge herself upon him. This was only the opening battle in the war between them.

  With a soft cry her nails dug into the muscled skin of his upper back; and his laughter was triumphant. With slow, deliberate thrusts of his pelvis he began to move upon her again, and this time Zenobia pushed her own body up to meet him. "I hate you!" she snarled at him through gritted teeth.

  "But your delicious body wants mine," he murmured.

  She caught his head between her two hands, and kissed him fiercely, then finding his left ear she provocatively ran her pointed tongue around it, pushing it into the cavity insinuatingly, blowing softly, laughing low when he groaned. He countered by sliding his hands beneath her rounded buttocks and caressing them. Leaning forward, his mouth began to play with her taut nipples, licking and nipping at them until her breath began to come again in short, quick gasps. She tried to push him away so she might counterattack, but grasping her bottom he drove hard into her, pinioning her once more beneath him, subduing her cruelly. Soon Zenobia writhed, mindless, beneath Aurelian while he brought her to the brink of pleasure once, twice, three times, until at last she cursed him, "Damn you, Roman, give me release!" And he did, climaxing with her with a sound somewhere between laughter and a groan.

  Afterward they lay sandwiched together for some minutes before he rolled off her, and shortly she heard him snoring. Only then did Zenobia pull herself into a tight little ball and weep softly into the pillows until at last she fell into a deep, healing sleep. When she awoke she found that she was lying upon her stomach, caught beneath his hard arm. She debated the wisdom of moving, for she feared that if he was awake too he might want her again, and Zenobia was not yet ready to undergo another such battle.

  "You are awake." Aurelian's voice decided the matter for her.

  "I am awake, Roman." Deliberately she made her voice flat and emotionless.

  "Are you all right?" he demanded.

  "Why should you care?" she countered, rolling over, then sitting up and dragging the coverlet over her chilled body. "You have had your victory, haven't you? You won the battle between us, Roman. What more do you want?"

  "You." He made the word sharp and clear.

  "You had me." Her voice trembled slightly, and she silently cursed herself for the weakness.

  "I possessed the body, Zenobia, but I did not possess you."

  "You never will, Roman! No man ever has, nor ever will!" she lied.

  "Not even Marcus Alexander Britainus?" he asked.

  "Damn you, Aurelian! Damn you a thousand times over," she said in a tight voice, and she forced back the tears that threatened to begin again. "What do you want of me? Perhaps the truth will silence you once and for all. Very well, then. I loved Marcus as I have loved no other man. When he married your niece I ached not only with the loss of him, but for his betrayal, for I thought I knew him. Yes, I gave myself wholly to him, and I shall not make that mistake again. Each time you desire me you will have to force me, and perhaps you will again make me cry out a surrender of sorts, but you will never really have me. And you will never be able to use Marcus as a weapon in your war with me. You cannot hurt me." She felt drained by the speech, but, incredibly, she also felt strong again.

  He had lain on his belly throughout this exchange, and now he rolled over and looked up at her. "How strangely naive you are, goddess." His blue eyes regarded her with a funny mixture of compassion and determination. Then quickly the look was gone, and his glance was once again unreadable. Calmly he arose from the bed and, turning, said to her, "Get up, goddess. I sent a message to your son last night, and this morning I will present you to the city of Palmyra as my prisoner. They will have the space of one day in which to decide their fates."

  "They will not surrender," she insisted.

  "Then I will destroy the city about their ears," was the reply.

  They glared at each other, each immovable in intent, each sure of lightness. Finally Zenobia said sulkily, "I have nothing to wear, Roman. Surely you aren't going to make me stand naked before my own city walls?"

  A wicked grin creased his mouth. "A delectable thought, goddess, but no. I rarely share with others what belongs to me. Late last night before I joined you there came into camp a querulous old woman who claims to be your servant. Your son sent her with garments and other things that a woman needs. Poor Gaius Cicero had a terrible time with her. Only when one of the Bedawi women spoke to her could she be calmed. I will send for them now."

  Aurelian dressed quickly and left the tent without another word to her. Shortly afterward he returned with two women.

  "The gods be praised! You are unharmed!" cried Bab, tears running down her weathered old face as she fell on Zenobia's neck.

  The bed's coverlet wrapped around her, Zenobia soothed her nursemaid. "Hush, old woman! As always, you fret too much over me. Am I not the beloved of the gods?" Aurelian, however, noted the concern on the queen's face. So, he thought, her heart is not entirely cold.

  "Zenobia."

  She looked curiously toward the other woman, who threw back the hood of her robe. 'Tamar! Oh, Tamar, is it really you?"

  "It is me, child." Tamar eyed Zenobia's garb. "Is all well with you?"

  Zenobia nodded quietly. "It is as expected," she answered.

  "Who are these women?" the emperor demanded.

  She looked at him. "My old nursemaid, who has always cared for me. Her name is Bab, and this," she drew Tamar forward, "is Tamar bat Hammid, my father's wife."

  "Then you are in good hands, and I may safely leave you," he answered. He turned to the two older women. "Prepare the queen in her finest garments." He raised Zenobia's hand to his lips and, turning it, kissed the inside of her wrist. "Until later, goddess," and he was quickly gone from the tent.

  For a moment the three women stood in silence, and then Tamar said quietly, "Bab, show Zenobia what you have brought so we may choose from among her garments for something suitable."

  Bab shuffled to the entry of the tent and, bending, dragged a small trunk inside. Opening it, she brought forth a diaphanous dark garment. With a ghost of a smile she held it up, saying, "I have chosen this for you, my baby."

  Zenobia's own lips twitched with delight. "Are you becoming a rebel in your old age, Bab?"

  The old woman cackled. "I thought it fitting under the circumstances."

  "Have you gone mad?" Tamar demanded. "Black is for mourning."

  "Should I not be in mourning?" Zenobia shot back. "I mourn for my virtue, torn from me last night, and I mourn for Palmyra, my beloved city. I sense that this battle with Rome will be to the death."

  "Can we not win?" Tamar's voice had dropped to a whisper.

  "If I were in the city instead of here, yes; but I am not within the city; and Palmyra's king, my son, is not as skilled in the art of ruling as I would wish. I fear that Aurelian will outwit Vaba, for he is a clever man."

  "Then why did you turn over the full responsibility for Palmyra to Vaba before you rode for Persia?" Tamar was curious.

  "If I were not to return I wanted no misunderstanding among the council as to who the king was. I can only pray that Vaba will be the king his father was; that he will hold firm even though Aurelian holds me prisoner. I shall pray to the gods, if they have not deserted me entirely, that he will be strong."

  Outside they heard the trumpets call, and Bab said, "We must dress you, my baby. Soon they will come for you, and you must be ready."

  A few moments later Gaius Cicero arrived with a six-man escort that he left outside to await their prisoner.

  Zenobia greeted him pleasantly enough, and unable to conceal the admiration he felt, his eyes widened at the sight of her. "Are you ready, Majesty?" he inquired politely.

  "I am ready, Gaius Cicero," was her calm reply.

  Tamar and Bab stood at the entry to the tent and watched as the Roman centurion and his men marched Zenobia from their sight. They brought her to the edge of the camp that faced the main gates of Palm
yra, and there she saw a raised platform with a small tent upon it. They led her up a small flight of steps behind the little tent and then into it, leaving her there. Within the little enclosure Aurelian awaited her. He raised one blond eyebrow at the sight of her and then he chuckled.

  "Thought you to irritate me by wearing mourning, goddess? I believe your gown an excellent choice, for it implies defeat. Defeat for Palmyra."

  Her heart sank. He was right, but she had not thought of it that way and neither had old Bab. She had indeed sought to annoy him by wearing a plain, black kalasiris and no jewelry other than her royal circlet of golden vine leaves atop her unbound black hair. "Will you allow me nothing, Roman?" she said low.

  "It is dangerous to allow you anything, goddess. We gave you a city, and you took an empire. You are known to bite the hand that feeds you, Zenobia."

  Her hand flashed out, catching him off guard as it slapped his face. Instantly rage suffused his features, and grasping her arm, he brutally forced it behind her. "Were it not necessary for me to present you publicly to your people, and your son in a few moments," he said through gritted teeth, "I should beat you. Never raise your hand to me again, goddess!"

  "You are hurting me, Roman," she spat back, not daring to struggle for fear the movement would break her arm.

  The anger drained from his face, and he released his hold on her. "I give only one warning, goddess," he said coldly. "Stay here and do not move. You will know when I want you."

  He exited the tent, and she was left alone to listen to the sounds whose sources she could not see. She could hear the movement of many feet, the undertone of voices, and then suddenly silence followed by the flourish of trumpets, which was answered by Palmyran trumpets from atop Sie city walls. Zenobia's heart quickened. She heard Aurelian's voice in the clear air.

  "People of Palmyra, I am Aurelian. Hear me well! I have now in my possession your rebel queen, Zenobia. Surrender to me, and I will spare not only her, but all of you and your city as well. I will not impose fines upon you, for the fault has not been yours but that of your overproud queen. You have until this time tomorrow to make your decision."