Beloved

6

"You behave like a girl having her first child instead of a woman who has already birthed two sons," old Bab snapped to Zenobia.

Zenobia gritted her teeth as another pain rippled across her belly and back. "Vaba and Demi were easy births," she groaned. "This child seems not to want to be born."

"Poor little mite," Bab murmured. "It will never know its father. It is almost as if the gods had gifted you after all these years-to give you this last child of King Odenathus but nine months after his death." She shook her head again. "Poor little mite," she repeated.

"It truly is a miracle," said Julia, leaning over her old friend and wiping the perspiration from her forehead.

"At least the succession is well served," said Zenobia, breathing easier as the pain receded. "Three sons is even better than two."

Julia laughed. "It could be a daughter this time, Zenobia."

"No," came the certain reply. "Odenathus and I spawned only sons-strong sons for our Palmyran dynasty!"

"Well," Julia said, "I, for one, am delighted to have a son and a daughter. Gaius was for Antonius, but Flavia is for me."

"She certainly is," Zenobia chuckled. "Not only is she your image, but even her mannerisms are yours." A spasm crossed her face. "Ah, Mother Juno!" she cried out.

"Push, my baby, push!" Bab commanded.

Zenobia did as her old nurse commanded, but even though she worked hard at birthing this child, it would still be several hours before she gained her goal.

Outside, in the queen's antechamber, Cassius Longinus and Marcus Britainus waited. The two men had become quite good friends over the last months. Indeed, Marcus did not know what he would have done without the wisdom and friendship of Zenobia's trusted councillor. He might have gone mad without it, for fate had dealt him one more blow, the gods having given him a glimpse of paradise had then as quickly snatched it away.

The morning following Odenathus's death he had waited for Zenobia to summon him, but instead he had been summoned to a council meeting to receive his instructions. Her behavior toward him was as it had always been, polite and pleasant. Ah well, he had thought, she is the queen, and will wait until after the nine days of sorrow and the funeral are over. It is only right.

The king's body had been washed and prepared. He had been dressed in a finely woven tunica palmata, which was a purple and gold embroidered ceremonial tunic reaching to the ankle, and worn with a beautifully spun light wool toga picta of Tyrian purple embroidered in gold-thread figures representing the gods. Upon his feet were gold sandals, and a victory wreath of beaten gold laurel leaves adorned his dark head.

He was placed on his funeral couch in the atrium of the palace, his feet toward the door, to lie in state until the time came for his funeral. About the couch were masses of flowers, and incense burned in silver braziers. At the head and the foot of the couch were gold lamps burning scented oil. Before the doors of the palace were set branches of pine and cypress, a warning that it was contaminated by death. When all was in readiness the doors of the palace were opened to the public in order that they might enter in and mourn their king. The people came in a steady stream for a full day and night and another morning before Odenathus's body was carried to his tomb outside the city walls, for it was forbidden for a cemetery to be within the gates of a city.

The funeral procession from the palace was followed by every citizen in the city who could walk; men, women, and children alike. At the head of the procession was a band of musicians and singers who played and sang mournful dirges in praise of Oden-athus Septimius and the greatness of his reign.

Because Odenathus had been a great military leader memorials to his victories, especially those over the Persians, were carried in triumphal procession. Next came the body upon its funeral couch, the face uncovered. The couch was borne by the Council of Ten. The family followed the body, Zenobia garbed in deepest black, which strangely suited her golden skin and only made her look more beautiful; Al-Zena, proudly erect although the grief was etched openly in her face; the young king and his brother, vulnerable, but as their mother and grandmother, proud and straight.

At the end of the city's main avenue, the procession exited Palmyra, passing beneath the great Triumphal Arch through which Odenathus had so often entered when returning from his many victories. A half-mile beyond was the cemetery, and it was here at Odenathus's family tomb, a great marble construction, that the procession came to a halt. All grew silent as the young king stood before them and eulogized his father.

The priest of Jupiter reconsecrated the tomb, and the marble sarcophagus into which Odenathus's remains would be put. He then sprinkled purified waters three times over all the mourners, and they departed, leaving only the immediate family at the tomb. An animal was sacrificed to make the burial ground sacred, and upon its burial couch Odenathus's body was finally lowered into the sarcophagus. They left Zenobia with him for a minute before the tomb was closed.

Zenobia looked down upon the face of the man who had been her husband and her friend for the last thirteen years. Although he yet seemed familiar, the life spark that had made him the man he was was long gone. There was a finality about the body shell which was all that remained of Odenathus Septimius. Reaching out, she touched his face, but it felt waxlike now, no longer like living skin.

"Oh, my Hawk," she said sadly, "it should not have ended like this. That your life force has been snuffed out by two bitter and useless boys, your own seed, is not to be borne; and yet I must bear it." She paused a moment, considering her words carefully, for a promise to the dead must not be given lightly. Finally she spoke again.

"I will try to raise our sons as you would want them raised; and I will govern Palmyra as you would-with justice and strength." Bending, she placed a kiss upon his icy lips. "Farewell, my husband! May Charon guide you across the Styx to that place where all the great end!" Then, turning, she hurried from the tomb.

Al-Zena withdrew within herself, and even her faithful slave woman, Ala, could not reach her. She blamed her son's death on herself. "If only," she wept to Zenobia, "I had not sought to make mischief by using Linos and Vermis, Odenathus would be alive today. I have caused the death of my own son, and two of my grandsons! The gods have indeed punished me for my wicked meddling!" Not even Zenobia could reason with her. She mourned deeply, stopped eating, and within the month was dead, too. She was buried with suitable pomp in the same tomb as Odenathus.

Returning once again from the cemetery, Zenobia burst out, The gods! I am so sick of death!" And then she fainted. Her female weakness was put down to the great pressures she had been under. Within the next few weeks, however, the queen found her appetite not at all as it had always been. She grew queasy at the mere sight of her favorite foods, and developed longings for fruits out of season. Finally old Bab said to her tartly, "Is it not obvious to you what your trouble is?" The queen shook her head in the negative. "You are with child," the old woman said. "The king has given you a final gift."

The second the words were out Zenobia knew them to be true. She was pregnant! Strange, she pondered, I cannot remember being with Odenathus recently; but then she pushed the thought from her mind. Shock could do strange things to a person, and there was no other explanation. She was with child. She liked the idea. Another baby. Ah, how pleased he would have been with her. Three sons, for of course it would be a son. She had always been a mother of sons.

The next week made her certain. Her moon link had been broken for close to three phases now, and it was time to publicly announce her condition. She told Longinus first, and briefly wondered at the strange look that fleetingly passed over his sensitive face. Given his sexual preferences, he probably didn't like pregnant women, she thought.

Cassius Longinus had his suspicions, and so he cornered old Bab one day. "I need information, lady," he said quietly.

"What could I possibly tell the queen's favorite councillor and private secretary, Cassius Longinus."

"You must not misunderstand, lady. I have only the queen's best interests at heart, but I must know when the queen's last show of blood was."

Bab looked scandalized. "What kind of question is that for you to ask?!" She had grown plump with age and good living. Her three chins bobbed indignantly, and her ample bosom heaved with righteous outrage beneath the rich fabric of her dark gown. "Well, Cassius Longinus?"

"Lady, I know that you love the queen; have been with her since birth. I also know that what I tell you will remain with you alone." He moved next to the old woman, and lowered his voice. "The queen was with Marcus Britainus the night of Odenathus's murder. I saw THem. Yet never since that night has the queen acknowledged Marcus Britainus as more than an old friend. His heart is breaking, for he loves her truly. Now the queen says she is to have a child."

He had expected old Bab to fly at him in a rage, but instead she shook her head back and forth. "Aiiiiieee," she intoned softly. "I knew something was wrong. I knew it!" Then she looked frightened. "Does anyone else know?"

"No," he said. "No one else knows, and certainly, given the queen's reputation for chastity, they do not suspect." He looked closely at the woman. "This is not Odenathus's child, is it, lady?"

"No," Bab replied. "It cannot be, and yet I hoped." She took Longinus's arm, and slowly they began to walk through the queen's garden. "When the king came home for the celebrations, she was unclean. Her link with the moon was in force. I am certain he did not go to her. They were quite strict about that. Then he was murdered. And yet when the signs became obvious I still hoped. Oh, Cassius Longinus, will anyone guess? Is she in danger?"

"Does anyone else know her personal habits as you do, lady?"

"No. I alone serve her. Those silly butterflies she calls her maidens do naught but sing and giggle. They have not one intelligent mind between them."

A ghost of a smile flitted over Longinus's lips. "No one will suspect, lady; but I am yet unsatisfied as to why the queen has not acknowledged the Roman."

"My baby has never been devious," Bab said. "She has made no mention of him to me, and if there were something to tell she would share it with me. No, Cassius Longinus, she has said nothing because she remembers nothing. She honestly believes this child to be Odenathus's child."

Longinus nodded. "It is possible," he said. "Yes, it is quite possible. She was in shock THat night. While everyone about her mourned, Zenobia was forced to take charge."

"Cassius Longinus, what would you advise in this situation? What shall we do?"

"Nothing," he said. "If the queen remembers what happened the night of Odenathus's murder, then I believe she will come to terms with herself."

"What of the Roman?" Bab demanded. "He moons about her like a lovesick puppy."

"I will explain to him what has happened."

"And will you tell him that the child is his?"

"No. It is unlikely the child in its infancy will bear any great resemblance to him. It is better he not know."

Bab peered closely at Longinus. "Why?" she said.

Longinus sighed. "If he learns the child is his it will only bind them closer."

"Would that not be good for Palmyra?" she demanded.

Again Longinus sighed. "Lady, I do not know, but I cannot take the chance of his turning her from her obligations. Marcus Britainus is an old-fashioned Roman. Women are the homemakers, no more. Until he can be taught differently I cannot allow him to seriously influence the queen in any way."

"I understand your reasoning, Cassius Longinus, but I am not sure you are right. Yet, I will abide by your decision."

They parted then, and Longinus found himself encouraged to have an ally in the queen's old nurse. Now he had but to convince Marcus Britainus that the queen remembered nothing with regard to their brief relationship. He grimaced. The gods had given him an awesome task indeed when it fell to him to convince a virile man that the woman he adored and had made love with did not remember the occasion. He wondered if Marcus Britainus had a sense of humor.

If he had expected outrage he was surprised and relieved to find concern instead.

"Will she be all right, Cassius Longinus?"

"Other than the fact her memory of your liaison is gone, she is in perfect health," he replied.

"Will she ever remember?"

"I am not a physician, Marcus. I do not honestly know. There is one thing, however, that you should know. The queen is to bear Odenathus a posthumous child." He watched to see the Roman's reaction. Would he guess?

"I shall have to begin again with her, and perhaps it is better," Marcus replied absently. "A posthumous child, you say. Poor baby, not to know his father."

And that was all. Cassius Longinus almost cried aloud his relief was so great.

Now, six months later, he and the Roman paced back and forth in the queen's antechamber waiting for the birth of the child. During those intervening months Marcus had taken the opportunity to court the queen, and she was beginning to respond. How many times had he seen them walking in the palace gardens? How many meals bad she shared with him? He ate the final meal of the day with Zenobia and her sons, almost every night. The young king and his brother were succumbing to the Roman's charms. Marcus was the most prominent male figure in their lives, he thought, with just a trace of jealousy. They admired him and respected his views, which Longinus was forced to admit were practical and sound. He could not help but wonder what would happen once Zenobia had delivered the child and been purified. Would the passion that had enveloped them on that one night consume them again?

From within the queen's bedchamber came the sounds of groaning, and the Roman paled. "It will be soon," he said.

"How do you know?" Longinus asked.

"I am the eldest of four."

A shriek came from the queen's chamber, followed by a lusty wail. Within the room Zenobia pushed a final time, expelling the afterbirth, and demanded, "Is my son all right? Is he perfect?"

Julia, cleaning the baby with warmed olive oil, looked up a moment from her task, and said, "Your daughter is perfect, dear friend. She is an adorable little beauty."

"Daughter? I have birthed a daughter? Surely you are mistaken, Julia. Look again! I cannot have birthed a daughter."

"But you have, Zenobia. It is not the end of the world."

Zenobia lay back, physically exhausted but mentally alert, as Bab, faithful Bab, removed all traces of the birth from her mistress's body. "I shall enjoy having a little girl to take care of again," she chortled. "You have two fine sons, my baby. A daughter will be a comfort to you in your old age."

She helped to support Zenobia as two of her maidens changed the linen on the queen's couch. Zenobia was restless, and demanded of Julia, "Give me the baby. I want to look at it." She could not yet bring herself to say "her."

"But a moment," Bab protested, and she sponged her mistress with perfumed water before placing a fresh linen chamber robe on her and helping her back into bed. The covers were lightly tucked around her, and then Bab stood sternly by as Zenobia was given a nourishing beverage. The queen drank it down, grimacing.

"Why does everything that is good for me have to taste so awful?" she demanded, handing Bab the empty goblet. "Now, bring me the baby!"

Julia approached, cradling a swaddled bundle that made soft little mewling noises. "There you are," she said, placing the infant in Zenobia's arms.

Zenobia turned her eyes to the child. It looked nothing like either Vaba or Demi. The baby whimpered, and looked up at her mother. Zenobia stared in shock. She had blue eyes! Her daughter had blue eyes! and the expression in them was strangely familiar. She clutched the infant to her as her head began to whirl; and in the midst of a roiling reddish darkness she heard a voice:

"/ love you. I have always loved you. I have loved you from the beginnings of time, and I shall love you long after our memories have faded from this earth."

Her head cleared as quickly as it had grown dizzy just seconds before. 'Take it away!" she almost shrieked, holding out the bundle. "Take it away/"

The baby began to wail, either from fright at the sound of her voice or out of some sense of her mother's rejection. Julia quickly took the child and looked strangely at Zenobia.

"What is it, my baby?" Bab hurried to the queen's side. "What * is the matter?"

"I don't want her! I don't want her! I birth sons for my Hawk, not daughters."

"This child is the lord Odenathus's last, and surely most precious gift to you, my baby," Bab said sternly. "What do you mean you don't want her? Of course you do! Your travail was long, and it has addled your wits."

"Leave me!” Zenobia cried, "and take it with you!"

Bab nodded to Julia, and together they hurried from the room, leaving the queen alone. Zenobia lay very still, but her mind was almost boiling with confusion. The voice she had heard had been that of Marcus Britainus! The half-images of memory began to grow whole as she concentrated with all her might, endeavoring to discover the key that would unlock this mystery. The key, however, eluded her, and coupled with the hard birth, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

When she awoke several hours later it was deepest night. The lamps had been trimmed and lowered and now cast flickering shadows on the walls, ceiling, and floor. The early-spring night was yet cool, and she drew her covers about her. She had remembered. She remembered all of that hot, hot July night that Odenathus had died. She remembered how she had willingly given herself to Marcus Britainus; and how he had made tender, passionate, marvelous love to her.

"I love you," he had said. "I have always loved you. I have loved you from the beginnings of time, and I shall love you long after our memories have faded from this earth."

The power in that commitment was in itself overwhelming. The child of course was his. There was no way it could have been Odenathus's daughter. Did he know? More important, who else knew? "Adria!" she called to the slave girl who lay sleeping on the floor at the foot of her bed. "Adria, awake!"

The girl scrambled to her feet, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Yes, Majesty? What is your wish?"

"Fetch old Bab," Zenobia commanded, "and then fetch Cassius Longinus. Hurry, girl!"

The slave girl ran from the room.

Zenobia willed her mind blank for the next few minutes. Then the door to her bedchamber opened, and old Bab hurried in, demanding, "Are you all right, my baby? What is it?"

"I have sent for Cassius Longinus," Zenobia replied. "We will talk when he arrives. Be sure no one lingers about my door to hear us. Do you understand?"

Bab nodded.

The door opened again, and Cassius Longinus entered, looking slightly disheveled. "Majesty."

"Adria, I would speak privately. I will not need you again this night. Go to the women's quarters and sleep."

"I obey, Majesty," the girl replied as she backed from the room. Bab held the door to the bedchamber open to be sure the girl departed the anteroom, and did not linger to eavesdrop. The guards at the entry to the apartment would let no one else enter. She turned back to Zenobia.

The queen looked from Cassius Longinus to Bab. "The child is not Odenathus's," she said, watching for their reaction.

"Nevertheless," was Longinus's quick reply, "no one is likely to suspect the child's paternity, Majesty. The little princess is not apt ever to inherit the throne, and so the dynasty remains unsullied."

"You knew from the beginning, both of you," Zenobia said.

"I knew. Bab suspected, although she hoped her suspicions would come to naught. Once we had talked we both understood the truth of the matter."

"Does he know?"

"No," Longinus said. "I thought it best he did not."

"You thought it best?" Her voice was chilly, but he was not intimidated.

"What happened was the result of your shock over the king's death; and then your mind blocked out the incident. I could not tell you the truth of the matter for fear of endangering your health or that of the child. You are Queen of Palmyra. It is what you were born for, your destiny! I do not know if he can readily accept that if you become lovers."

"It was not your decision to make!" Zenobia said furiously.

"You could not make it!" he countered. "I but sought to protect you and the young king! Would you really give this all up simply to lie beneath your lover? I do not think so, Majesty. You may love him, but first and foremost you are Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra."

"Can I not have both?" Her eyes were fast filling with tears.

"That depends on Marcus Britainus, Majesty. You, I know, can both love and rule. It is he who must love you despite the fact you are the queen. I do not think it will be easy for him, Majesty."

"He must know that Mavia is his daughter," Zenobia said.

"Mavia?" they both exclaimed.

"My daughter," was the queen's reply. "I have decided to call her Mavia."

"Is it really necessary to tell him?" Cassius Longinus looked distressed.

"Oh, Longinus, you fret too much," Zenobia said softly. "I cannot keep such a thing from him, and besides, she looks like him. Her hair is reddish, and her eyes quite blue."

"All babies have blue eyes," Longinus said hopefully.

"Not this color blue. Mavia's eyes are the same blue as her father's, even to the same expression."

"He cannot publicly acknowledge her. Even now there are yet those who would discredit you, and remove you from the regency."

"I am sure that Marcus will be as anxious as we all are to protect Mavia, Longinus." She turned to old Bab. "Is Marcus Britainus within the palace tonight?"

"Aye, my baby. He is even now sleeping in his apartments."

"Fetch him secretly, Bab. When he is safely here you must bring my daughter to me."

"I will go," the old woman said, and hurried out.

"What do you plan?" Longinus asked.

"He must acknowledge her as his child before you and Bab. If anything should ever happen to me then Marcus Britainus must see to his daughter in my stead. Surely you approve?"

Longinus nodded. "You are wise, Majesty."

"Longinus, you are my best friend! What should I do without you?"

"You will never have reason to wonder, Majesty," he said fervently. "I will ever serve you!"

The chamber door opened to admit Marcus Britainus. It was obvious that he had come quickly, for he wore only a short tunica interior. His eyes sought hers, and she said quietly, "Leave us, Longinus. Wait outside with Bab. I shall call you when I want you."

Longinus left without even a backward glance, and hearing the door close behind him, Marcus slowly approached the bed where Zenobia lay propped up by several pillows. His eyes never left her face, and his heart leapt with hope when he heard her say in a soft voice, "I remember, Marcus. I remember all."

He didn't know what to say, and so she patted the bed, encouraging him to sit by her. "I remember," she repeated, "and I regret nothing."

"Then my prayers are answered, beloved," he said.

"The child is yours."

"What?!” His face was a dual mask of shocked surprise and incredulous delight. "How?"

She bit her lip in amusement. "Don't you know?" she teased him lightly.

"I mean, how can you be sure?"

"I had not been with Odenathus in many months, my darling. Mavia, for that is what I have chosen to call our daughter, was conceived on the night of Odenathus's death. You cannot, of course, publicly claim her, Marcus. My enemies would use such knowledge to destroy my dynasty, and I cannot, nay, I will not allow that to happen! Will you, however, in the presence of my faithful Bab and my good Longinus, accept her as a true Roman father would?"

He heard both the queen and the woman in the request. A daughter. He was the father of a daughter! "I will acknowledge her, beloved," he said.

"Thank you, Marcus," she answered him. "I know it will not be easy for you, for everyone will believe her to be Odenathus's child."

"May I see her?"

"Only if you will kiss me, Marcus Britainus. You see, I am really a terrible woman, for I will exact a penalty from you for what should be your right."

A slow smile lit his features, crinkling the corners of his deep blue eyes. A large hand cupped her head, while the fingers of his other hand tenderly re-explored her face. She sat very still as he moved over her eyelids, down the bridge of her nose, across her high cheekbones, and gently touched her petal-soft lips. As he did she kissed his fingertips. Then his head descended to cover her mouth with his own. The sweetness that flowed between them brought tears to her eyes. Feeling the wetness on her cheeks, he raised his head and gazed deeply into her eyes.

"Beloved, why do you weep?"

"Oh, Marcus, haven't you ever known a woman to weep from pure joy? I am so happy!"

"Do you love me, Zenobia?"

"Yes," she said simply, and without hesitation. "I love you."

"Let me see our daughter," he said, and she called to old Bab and to Longinus, who re-entered the room. In her arms Bab carried the sleeping infant, whom she laid at Marcus's feet. Immediately he took the baby up into his arms, and by that simple act acknowledged Mavia as his own. Whatever happened now the baby girl was admitted to all the rights and privileges of membership in a Roman family. No one, however, should ever know this, for Mavia would be believed Odenathus's posthumous daughter, and Princess of Palmyra.

Marcus Britainus looked down at his child, and his face softened. "She is beautiful," he said softly so as not to awaken her. He almost trembled so great was his emotion. This tiny bit of humanity was his daughter; created by the gods as proof of his love for Zenobia. He looked up from the child and at its mother. "Marry me," he said quietly. "Your period of mourning is almost over. We love each other."

"I cannot," she said quietly. "I am Queen of Palmyra, and if we married then we should endanger Vaba's monarchy. If I remained regent there would be those who would claim that you-Rome-influenced me against Palmyran interests. More likely, however, would be my removal by the Council of Ten from the regency. I cannot trust anyone else to guide the city's destiny for my son."

"And when Vaba is a man, Zenobia? Will you then release the reins of power to him and live for yourself?"

"Do not quarrel with me, my love," she said, avoiding his question. "Are you not my husband in all but the formal sense? You love me, I love you, and we have a child."

He looked at her, and she could see the pain, the hurt, the anger, the resentment, and the resignation all swirling about in his eyes. "So, I am to be known as the queen's lover instead of the queen's husband," he said softly.

"It matters not," she answered him as softly, "if I am your legal wife, for even if I were you should still be my lover, Marcus. Is it so terrible a thing?"

Longinus had been right, Marcus thought bitterly. The woman he loved put her duty above all. He could not have her to wife, nor could he have his own child. Still, he loved Zenobia, and if having her meant swallowing his own male pride then swallow it he would. When he thought on it he realized that her attitude to duty was actually no different from his own. "Am I your lover?" he asked.

"You will be," she said with certainty, looking directly at him.

He felt a chill of desire sweep over him. "When?" he demanded, the smile returning to his eyes and once more crinkling the corners.

"You must give me time to recover from Mavia's birth, my darling."

As if recognizing her name, the infant opened her eyes and looked up at the great man who held her. Making small noises, she instantly attracted his attention, and looking down again on his daughter, Marcus was enchanted. Gently he touched her pink cheek, and Mavia turned her head, her small bud of a mouth opening.

"Give her to me," Zenobia said. "She is already hungry. Longinus, go back to bed. We will speak in the morning. Bab, do you mind waiting in the antechamber until Mavia is ready to return to her cradle?" Reaching out for her daughter, Zenobia put her to her plump breast, not even seeing Longinus and Bab leaving. At first the baby was not certain of what to do, but the queen, all mother now, carefully forced her nipple into the baby's mouth, and pressed gently to expel some of the clear fluid already flowing from her breasts. The second the baby tasted the nourishment, instinct took over and she began to suck, tentatively at first, more vigorously as she met with continued success and became surer.

Marcus watched, fascinated. He was enchanted by the sweetly maternal picture Zenobia presented; and yet at the same time he felt a strong tug of hot desire watching the child as she nursed. In the months since the infant's conception he had found himself unable to enjoy the beautiful and skilled whores for which Palmyra was famous, and finally had stopped trying. Now celibate for many months, he watched as his daughter suckled on his beloved's plump golden breasts, and he found himself consumed by a lust that had become highly visible beneath his short interior tunic.

Transferring the baby from one breast to the other, Zenobia saw his state. "Oh, my darling," she sympathized, "I will send a slave girl to your bed."

"No!" he almost shouted through gritted teeth, and the baby started, giving a little hiccough before settling back down again to nurse. "I cannot… I mean I don't want anyone else but you."

"Are you telling me that there has been no one since that night?"

"No one," he said.

"Oh, Marcus!" The baby cradled in one arm, she reached out the other to take his hand in hers, and they stayed thus bound together until Mavia, sated at last, fell asleep against her mother's breast.

"If I were just a woman," Zenobia said quietly, "I should be so proud to be your wife. I could not say that while Longinus was in the room, for he would fret so. You know what he is like, my darling."

"We could wed in secret," he suggested.

"Marcus, there will come a day when I will marry you if you still want me. When that day comes it will be done with much pomp and public show; and you will escort me through the streets of Palmyra to your house, as befits an honest man. I will be your wife for all the world to see, and I shall not be ashamed. Until that time we will be lovers, and I shall not be ashamed of that, either. For now my duty is to the memory of Odenathus Septimius, his son-my son-Vaballathus, boy king of this city; and to Palmyra itself. I will not shirk my duties, Marcus. It is not my way."

In an isolated part of the palace she set aside a private apartment where no one but old Bab and himself were permitted to enter; although he rarely saw the queen's old nurse. It was one large, square, bright and airy room that she transformed into a retreat of sensuality where they might play with each other and be safe from prying eyes.

The floor of the room was made of great blocks of pale-gold marble, carefully fitted so that they appeared to be one piece. Near the entrance was a sunken black marble bathing pool filled with tepid scented water sprayed by the distended male organs of four mischievous gold cupids. To the left was a large, beautifully carved standing cabinet for storage, and beyond that a round table-in fact the very one of African cedar that Zenobia had bought from Marcus many years before-with two rounded backed chairs with carved arms and legs. Bright peacock-blue silk cushions had been placed on each chair.

In the far left corner of the room was a large, square sleeping platform that sat upon a dais set up two steps. An enormous striped mattress made of coral and gold silk, and filled with the finest, purest white lambswool was placed upon the sleeping platform. The dais and the platform had been overlaid with several layers of gold leaf. Upon the mattress were spread peacock-and emerald-colored silk pillows.

On the wall opposite the sleeping platform were seven marble pillars, gold-colored, veined in red, and between them hung sheer silk curtains of palest gold shot through with gold thread, which blew gently in the soft evening breezes. On the coldest days the silk would be replaced by heavy woolen draperies of an earthy gold color.

The walls had been painted with colorful frescoes of the gods and goddesses as they played at love. Diana, chaste goddess of the hunt and the moon, was held in captive embrace by the sun god, Apollo, who boldly fondled her unclad breasts; while about them Diana's equally chaste handmaidens were hunted by a band of rapacious satyrs. A very voluptuous Venus, goddess of love, reclined upon a couch, her pink, white, gold, and blue-eyed beauty totally nude for all to see while two very handsome and extremely well-endowed young mortal males sought to please. Juno, queen of those fortunates who resided upon Mount Olympus, lay upon her back, legs spread wide, her face a mask of ecstasy, while the blacksmith god, Vulcan, labored mightily. Jupiter, King of Olympus, was shown in both his guises: as the swan seducing the beauteous Leda, wife to Tyndareus; the King of Sparta; and as the chestnut-colored bull who abducted and seduced the virgin, Europa, daughter of Agenor, the Phoenician King of Tyre. Both ladies seemed quite pleased with the god's attentions, however. Among the gods and goddesses nymphs and centaurs sported in various and some quite interesting attitudes of play.

Carefully studying them during his first visit to the apartment, Marcus noted somewhat wryly, "I am not sure such a thing is possible when one has a body that is half-human, half-equine." He reclined in a chair along one of the walls.

"The ladies seem content," Zenobia noted from the black marble pool where she was swimming. In the crystal waters of the pool her own very voluptuous form was quite visible.

"Still, I wonder…" he mused, and then he turned to face her. "Come to me, beloved. It has been more than three hundred nights since you have lain in my arms. The gods know that I have always been a patient man, but now I am no longer patient."

Her gray eyes darkened with the remembered passion of that one night that they had had, and a soft smile curved her lips for a moment. Then she swam over to the steps of the pool and stood up. She slowly ascended the stairs as he watched with intense desire her lush golden body, the water droplets glittering like diamonds as they ran down her. Lazily she dried herself off, picked up an alabaster flask, and walked across the room to him. Handing him the flask, she purred, "Will you rub me with this cream, Marcus," and without waiting for him to answer continued on to the sleeping platform, where she lay down upon her stomach.

Standing, he whipped the wrap of cloth from his loins, and, naked, joined her. The night was warm with early summer as he straddled her, using her bottom as a seat, and poured the fragrant, pale mauve-colored cream into one big palm. Carefully he set the flask upon one of the platform steps and, rubbing his hands together to spread the cream, he began to massage her.

"Ummmmmm," she murmured huskily as his large hands swept up the long length of her back and over her shoulders.

He continued this way for some minutes until all the cream had disappeared into her skin, and then, reversing his position, he crouched over her facing her feet. Taking more of the mauve cream, he began to massage her buttocks with expert fingers.

"Ohhhh!" Zenobia gave a little shriek of pleasure, and he smiled to himself. She had thought to play this teasing game with him, but when he had finished with her it would be she whose fires would rage uncontrolled.

Finished with her buttocks, he began to rub each leg in its turn, and then her arms, with the scented cream. As he did so he was not averse to pressing teasing little kisses upon the back of her neck, having first pushed aside her long black hair, which had come free of its jeweled pins. It gave him great satisfaction to note that her delicious body was unable to remain still.

"Marcus!" Her voice was somewhat strained.

"Yes, beloved?" His voice was smooth, devoid of any emotion.

"I think you can stop now." He certainly could stop, she thought frantically. Her skin was absolutely tingling; in fact, she was tingling all over.

"Now?" His voice had turned innocent, and he slipped his hands beneath her to grasp her marvelous breasts. Teasingly, he pinched the nipples, very much enjoying her gasp of surprise. Covering her body with his own, his weight crushed her into the mattress as he murmured into her ear, "My beloved goddess, did you think to tease me to madness? You have succeeded!" And he gently bit at the back of her neck.

She shuddered as the flames of desire began to lick at her in earnest. "Marcus!"

He heard the plea, and lifted himself off her to turn her over onto her back. Her beautiful breasts rose and fell in quick rhythm. His dark chestnut head lowered to capture a pert nipple, which he then caressed with his tongue, circling round and round it, until she moaned a low, keening sound that was half-pleasure, half-frustration. Lifting his head, he moved over to her other nipple while his hand kneaded the breast he had just left. Her breasts had been extremely sensitive since she had stopped nursing Mavia and given that chore to a wet-nurse.

He was going to drive her mad, Zenobia thought. Reaching down, she grasped his thick hair and pulled him from her breast. "Kiss me!" she demanded furiously, and he laughed softly for a moment before his lips took fierce possession of hers. His tongue filled her mouth, skillfully doing battle with hers, which would not be subdued but fought him with equal cunning, bringing quick liquid fire into his hot loins.

Mischievously she bit him, and he swore softly while she laughed and, moving provocatively, murmured, "Now, my darling! Now!"

“No!" he told her. By the gods she might be Queen of Palmyra, but while she lay in his arms he would be the master! "Not yet, beloved! You are too eager."

"Yes, now!" She thrust her pelvis upward against him.

"No! There are pleasures yet to be savored, my beauty," and before she could stop him he shifted his body downward to push his head between her thighs. His fingers pushed the yielding flesh apart, and his mouth found the bud of her womanhood.

Zenobia struggled frantically for breath. Her husband had never done what Marcus now did to her! Such delights he was unleashing within her body! They came quickly one after another in explosions of incredible rapture that left her close to swooning. It was only when he heard the tone of her voice become distraught that he stopped and covered her body again with his own, murmuring soft love words, plunging deep into her burning flesh to soothe and comfort her. Her arms went about him, and she held him tightly against herself, her breasts flattening against the soft fur of his chest.

Together they found the perfect rhythm, and ascended an Olympus of their own, rising higher and higher until finally they gained a paradise far above that of mere gods. Together they clung to each other in that incredible world of instant immortality before descending again to the world of man. Neither remembered the return, awakening much later wrapped within the other's arms; Zenobia, suddenly clearheaded, could hear the strong beat of his heart through his ribs.

"Are you awake?" she whispered softly.

"No," he answered. "I can't possibly be, for if I am then I am in paradise."

"I love you," she answered him.

"No," he said. "I love you!"

Pushing herself up onto one elbow, she gazed down into his strongly chiseled face. "That first night," she said. "I remember thinking that you were the one I had waited for all my life, and I did not understand it. How could I love my Hawk, and yet so quickly love you? I still am not sure I understand."

"Did not your father arrange the marriage?"

"Yes."

"Then you were expected to marry Odenathus, and there was an end to it as far as your family was concerned. Tell me if I am wrong. He was the first man ever to come into your life other than your father and your brothers. He was the first man to make love to you. He was intelligent, and sensitive, and gentle. He adored you above all women, even to putting aside his concubine for you. Is all of this not so?"

"Yes."

"Then how could a woman of sensitivity fail to respond to him? Did you know what love was, beloved? Do you know now?"

"My love for my Hawk was a child's love," she said slowly. "Very much the same as I feel for my father and my brothers. He awakened my body, it is true; but never did I feel for him what I feel for you. Yet that, too, is confusing.

"I remember that all my life until she died my mother always told me of how when she and my father met they fell instantly in love, and knew without reason that they were meant to be together. She did not hesitate to marry him, even though his life as a Bedawi chief was a great deal different from hers as a wealthy Alexandrian."

Gently she brushed a tousled lock of his chestnut hair back from his forehead. Catching her hand in his, he kissed it, and then pressed it to his heart. "When we met it was hardly love at first sight," she continued. "Oh yes, Marcus, I remember it well, although I have not until now spoken of it! We met on the desert road at dawn, and I was insufferably rude to you; but oh my darling, the pain of my mother's death still lived close to me." Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered that terrible morning so long ago when her beautiful mother was savaged, raped, and murdered by Roman mercenaries.

"Don't, beloved," he urged her, sitting up and gathering her into his embrace.

"I have never really spoken of it to anyone since that day, Marcus. I told my father what had happened, and after that I tried to put it from my mind; but I have never forgotten. They used her body. Then they slit her throat. Perhaps they did her a kindness, for I do not think she could have lived with her shame Blue-eyed Romans. They were blue-eyed Romans. When I met you the hate still boiled in my heart."

"Hate, beloved, is the opposite of love. From the very first moment I saw you I was lost." He chuckled. "You were such a little spitfire that I wanted to drag you from your horse and kiss that angry little mouth until it grew pliant and loving. I knew, however, that you were shortly to be married to the prince of the city. I wanted you then, and having possessed you now, I still want you!"

Her beautiful gray eyes, filled with their tiny golden lights, looked deeply into his sapphire-blue ones. "You have loved me all these years, Marcus, and I never knew it. I have loved you but never did I dare face that love."

"Yet the night of Odenathus's death you came willingly to me, beloved. It was as if your soul understood what your mind never dared to comprehend."

"I ought to be ashamed," she said quietly, "and yet I am not. My husband lay dead and I gave myself to another man."

"You were in shock, beloved; without the least thought or care for yourself you took immediate charge of the situation and thus saved Palmyra from a civil war."

"I did not even remember! All those months while I carried Mavia I believed her to be Odenathus's child, and when I first saw her and remembered, I rejected her."

"No, Zenobia, you didn't reject our child. At your first sight of her you were frightened and confused, as your memory had begun to return. What you were rejecting was the possibility of having behaved in a manner contrary to what you had always done."

She moved so that he held her but lightly and she might gaze into his face. "I love you, Marcus Alexander Britainus, and for some reason I cannot fathom I am loved by you in return. Stay by my side, my darling. Be my rock; my fortress and refuge in this world. Be my love, and never leave me!"

"I will never leave you, Zenobia," he promised. "You are my wife, my beloved one, and as long as you want me I shall stay by your side."

"Then you must remain with me for eternity, Marcus. Eternity and beyond!"

"You do not set me a very harsh task, beloved," he said and, bending his head, he brushed her lips with his own.

Her arms wound about him, and she murmured against his marvelous mouth, "Then I shall have to think of something, my darling, and do not fear, I shall!"

"You will not be easy to live with," he teased her, "will you?"

"No," she said, and then a smile lit her features, "but then, I suspect, neither will you, my darling!"

7

The soldier emperor, Gallienus, considered the letter he had received from Antonius Porcius Blandus, hot upon the heels of the news of Odenathus's murder. He had thought about sending a military governor out to the East, but old Antonius Porcius, a loyal fellow as he remembered, assured him that the young queen, Zenobia, had all in hand; and had already appointed a former Praetorian prefect, one Marcus Alexander Britainus, to be commander of the Eastern legions.

The Alexander family were well known here in Rome, and this was the eldest son. There were those who thought it amusing that the Alexanders kept to the old ways of loyalty, honest industry, and piety toward the gods, but Gallienus thanked Jupiter himself for such rare servants. The Eastern frontier would be safe with Marcus Alexander, and in a rare burst of goodwill even the senate confirmed his appointment.

Feeling confident, Gallienus went off to subdue the Goths, who were once more overrunning Roman territory. Unfortunately his departure encouraged his general, Aureolus, who commanded the cavalry in Milan, to rebellion. Gallienus hurried to lay siege to Milan. Once there, he was murdered by a group of his dissatisfied generals, who then put forth one of their own as the new emperor. Claudius II quickly subdued Aureolus, put him to death, and then went on to conduct a successful campaign against the German tribes. The Eastern Empire was forgotten.

It was some weeks after Gallienus's murder that word of it reached Zenobia in Palmyra. It was obvious that Claudius would pay no attention to their part of the world, and looking at Longinus, Zenobia said, "Odenathus told me that the right moment would come someday. The time is now!”

"Just what is it you want, Majesty? Palmyra's freedom from Rome?"

She laughed, and he could hear a triumphant note in the sound. "Once, Longinus, freedom for Palmyra was all I wanted, but I was young and I lacked experience. It is not enough that Palmyra be free. We need much territory about us to keep our near perimeters safe. I want all of Rome's Eastern Empire for Palmyra, for my son; and I shall have it!"

She had said it, and it was as he had suspected. "You must move very carefully, Majesty," he said slowly. "In the beginning all must be done in the name of the Roman Empire. After all, you will be using the legion they left here in Palmyra."

"A legion of mercenaries, Longinus; legionnaires from Numidia, Mauretania, and Cyrene! They can be bought."

"It will take more than money, Majesty."

"I know, Longinus. It will take victories, for these mercenaries love the taste of victory as well as the sound of gold. First I must win their confidence, and then I will buy them; first with the victories so dear to their hearts, and then with the gold they desire. You are correct. It will be done first for Rome, and only when I have Rome's legion in the palm of my hand will it be done for Palmyra."

"And Marcus Britainus, Majesty? Will he desert Rome for Palmyra?"

"I don't know," she said honestly.

"And will you give up your own happiness, Majesty, for Palmyra?"

"Why should I have to, Longinus? While Rome's legion and my own army fight together for Rome, there is no conflict. Rome is not competent to rule in the East, for she is too far away to administer the governments properly. Marcus will be on our side. After all, it is not as if he were involved in the government of Rome. Like me, he springs from two peoples-from Britain, and from Rome. He has spent the last fifteen years here in Palmyra, and become more Palmyran each day."

Longinus shook his head. Where Marcus Britainus was concerned Zenobia was blind in both eyes.

"As always, Longinus, you worry too much," Zenobia teased him. "This is not the time to make a decision, and perhaps there never will come such a time for Marcus. We are friends as well as lovers. When Vaba is eighteen I will marry Marcus and let my son rule alone. I want children for Marcus."

Again Longinus shook his head. She was a brilliant ruler, but where her lover was concerned she simply did not understand. Love was indeed blind in the case of Palmyra's queen.

"Stop frowning, Longinus! You are beginning to resemble a thundercloud."

"I think ahead, Majesty."

"And you obviously do not like the conclusions you have reached," she replied. "Do not fear, Longinus. Everything is going to be all right. Tomorrow I begin to ready the army for Syria."

"Will you go with them this time, Majesty?"

"Yes," she answered. "This time I will go with them. You, old friend, will remain behind in Palmyra to guide the king in my absence. This will not be a long campaign, but the Syrians must be brought firmly under my control."

"The Syrians are used to being conquered," Longinus said drily. "They will give you no trouble, Majesty."

It was doubtful that Zenobia even heard him, for she was lost in thought at her map table. Her fingers wandered restlessly across the parchment, touching the main cities of Syria: Damascus, Antioch, Emesa, Beirut. And above Syria lay all of Asia Minor. There was Cilicia, Cappadocia, Bithynia, and Pontus; Galatia, Lycia, and Pamphylia; Lydia and Paphilagonia; Mysia, Phrygia, and Commagene. Her fingers moved downward, brushing across Palestine, Arabia, and finally into Egypt. A small smile played about the corners of her mouth. Yes, Egypt should be the outer boundary of her Palmyran Empire, and the far west of Asia Minor her other boundary. She gazed out the window toward the east. She would need eastern boundaries. Perhaps Armenia and Parthia; but right now her chief enemies lay to the west. Rome. In Persia, King Shapur was old and beaten, holding his hollow court and speaking of past victories; victories before Odenathus; victories before Zenobia.

She could feel the power filling her soul, and she knew that she would be victorious in her endeavors. She did not understand how she knew it, but she knew. Marcus, of course, was not happy at the prospect of her going on campaign.

"You have made me commander of the legions," he said. "Do you not trust me to lead them well?"

"I am not questioning your competence, my darling, but I am the queen. This time I must go with the armies. When Odenathus was alive it was not necessary, for he as their king led them, and I remained here in Palmyra to rule in his name. Now, however, I am the power in Palmyra, and I must go with the legions. Vaba is still too young, and he is important to our people. Until he is married and has a son we cannot take the chance of losing him. Therefore I must go with Palmyra's troops." She moved provocatively into his arms and lightly kissed his lips. "Will it really be so terrible to have me with you on this campaign, my darling?"

"It is indeed a burden for me, beloved," he said honestly. "I cannot lead my armies if I am worried every minute that you may be in danger. There are hardships on a military campaign you cannot possibly know, Zenobia. We simply cannot carry along all the fripperies and slave girls necessary to a woman's comfort."

Cassius Longinus sat back in his chair, a wicked smile lighting up his aesthetic face. This was going to be quite enjoyable.

Zenobia sighed a long patient sigh. Walking across the room, she stopped before a cabinet, reached in, and withdrew two broadswords. Turning about, she tossed one to the very startled Marcus. "Prepare to defend yourself, Roman!" she said, loosening her long stola and stepping out of it. Beneath it she wore only a thin white linen camise.

Longinus muffled a deep chuckle. Reaching for his goblet, he quaffed down the sweet red wine, and then, his brown eyes darting between the queen and Marcus, he watched to see what would happen.

"Zenobia! Have you gone mad?"

"No, Marcus, I have not. I was born and bred to be a warrior. It is true that I have yet to taste battle, but I am capable, as any of my guard could tell you had you ever bothered to ask. You, however, doubt my capability. Since you do I must obviously prove myself to you. I am now prepared to do so, so you had best defend yourself, my darling, lest I slice off an ear!" She punctuated her speech by whirling her sword in ever-widening circles over her head.

Marcus Britainus was momentarily surprised, but, realizing that she was serious, quickly stripped off his toga and his long tunic, keeping only his short tunica interior to cover him. He was somewhat annoyed by her actions. She was a woman! Why could she not behave like one, and remain home in Palmyra while he took her armies out and subdued the Eastern Empire? Too late he realized that it was he who had brought about this confrontation. If he had simply agreed to her accompanying them and let it go at that-but no! He had to behave like a great masculine brute. He knew her competence. He could not allow her a false victory, for she would know. Wondering how good she really was with the broadsword, he leapt forward, his blade on the attack.

With a grin Zenobia moved backward but a step, and then, rather than taking an attitude of defense, which was what he had expected, she rushed forward, her sword cutting through the air with a loud whooshing noise, and it was he who was forced to retreat. He parried blow after blow, and quickly discovered that she was not only adept with her sword, but tireless. With a leap he got behind her, but she was equally quick, and instantly turned to defend herself.

Metal clanged as weapon met weapon, and they were both soon dripping wet with their exertions. Longinus sat watching, totally fascinated by the spectacle before him. It did not even cross his mind that they might unwittingly hurt each other. Zenobia's concentration was grim as she parried his blow, staggering somewhat for he had put his entire weight behind it. Still she would not give him the victory for she was angry. How could he love her the way he did, and yet be so unaware of the warrior she was? It infuriated her!

He was surprised at her skill and her stamina. She was one of the finest swordsmen he had ever encountered; but the battle was getting them nowhere. Eventually one of them was going to draw blood, and that thought frightened him. He could not bear to hurt her.

"Zenobia! Give over, my darling. I was wrong, and I freely admit to it."

"What?" She lowered her blade and looked at him. Her wonderful breasts were rising and falling with her exertion.

"I was wrong," he repeated. "You are a warrior, a great warrior, but I am terrified that I might hurt you. Please let us stop this battle. If necessary I will concede you the victory."

"You will concede me the victory?!" Her voice was filled with righteous indignation. "I win my victories!"

He saw it coming and, heedless of the danger, he leapt swiftly forward and wrenched the broadsword from her hand. "No!" he shouted. "No, you little savage, I won't allow you to hurt either yourself or me!" And he flung both weapons across the room.

Furiously she launched herself at him, nails extended to rake his face, but he caught her wrists and squeezed until he saw the pain leap into her eyes. But she would not cry out. Instead her gray eyes darkened until they were almost black in her anger. He was just as angry. Yanking her into his arms, his mouth fiercely savaged hers, stoking the fires of her body until the nipples of her breasts were as hard and as sharp as her swordpoint had been. The desperate need to retaliate was deep within her, and furiously she bit his lips.

"Bitch!" he murmured against her mouth, and then his kisses grew soft, and filled with such intense passion that she could feel the anger flowing from both their bodies as another, sweeter need rose and took its place. The arms that had been locked tightly about her loosened, and she slipped her own arms up and around his neck, molding her lush soft curves to his hard body. How long they remained standing there kissing, she never knew; but suddenly he was drawing her camise off, his big hands caressing her back, cupping her buttocks, drawing her tightly against him, letting her feel his deep and hungry need.

"Longinus," she managed to whisper, wanting very much to satisfy his need and the equally deep need within her.

"Longinus is gone," was the answer, and quickly looking about the room, she saw that Marcus spoke the truth.

"Not here, not now," she whispered again, somewhat shy that they might be discovered.

"Here and now," he answered, drawing her down onto a couch.

"Please, Marcus…" she pleaded.

"I very much please," he answered her, and then she felt his hands beneath her bottom, lifting her slightly, felt the hot tip of his shaft rubbing against her womanhood, felt herself encouraging him onward, and knew that she was lost.

There was no subtlety, for the need between them was too great. Again, again, and yet again he drove himself into her, and it was, he thought, like plunging into boiling honey. The sweetness flowed from her until he thought it could come no more; but yet again it flowed and in the end it was she who weakened him, and filled him with such delight that he cried out.

Her hands reached down and raised his face from her shoulder. She loved gazing into his eyes when they lay locked in passion. Kissing him with gentle little kisses, she said once more the words he never tired of hearing from her lips. "I love you, Marcus! I love you! Never leave me! Never!"

His sapphire-blue eyes bore into her, and told her all that his lips could not say at this tender and yet fiery moment. The deep and desperate loving began again, and she felt him growing and filling her with such pleasure that she believed for a long moment that death was but an instant away. Nothing, she reasoned, could be quite that wonderful, but he certainly was. Again, and yet once more he led her down passion's path until the rapture burst over her in a shower of tiny golden lights. Then she tumbled into a velvet abyss of warm, loving darkness that enfolded her, rocked her, protected her.

When she came to herself once more he was looking at her with a bemused expression. "Did all of this come about simply because I questioned your prowess with a broadsword?" he asked.

Weakened by his loving, she could only manage a soft chuckle. Unable to resist, he bent and tenderly covered her face with kisses. "I adore you, my Queen," he said quietly. "I adore you, beloved!"

"Then I have won this victory myself, Marcus," and her voice held a teasingly triumphant note.

He laughed then. He couldn't help it, for she had so very neatly outmaneuvered him. "You have won the victory fairly, beloved," he admitted.

There came a discreet knocking at the library door, and Marcus rose from the couch, snatching up his long tunic, sliding it over his big frame, reaffixing his toga. He looked to Zenobia who had as quickly redressed in her graceful long, white stola with its wide belt of gold squares studded with turquoise-blue chunks of Persian lapis. She nodded, and he said, "Enter!"

Cassius Longinus returned to the room, saying, "I assume you have reconciled your differences now, my children. It seemed to me when I was forced to hurriedly depart that you were well on your way to doing so."

They both laughed, and Zenobia replied, "We have indeed reconciled our differences, Longinus, and I have easily won the victory."

"Indeed the queen is invincible," the smiling Marcus agreed, and it seemed as if his words were prophetic of the months to come.

Palmyra's legions moved across Syria, subduing all rebellion in the name of the Roman Empire. Asia Minor was firmly cowed, and only then did Zenobia return to her oasis city.

There she found that in her absence her son, the boy king, had grown into a young man. He was fully as tall as she was, and so closely resembled his father, Odenathus, that it almost hurt her to look at him.

"Is it that I have been away so long," she marveled, "or have you really become a man?"

"I have become a man," he answered her. Gone was the squeaky voice of change that had bid her farewell. Now his voice was deep and sure.

"He has your knack for government," Longinus said quietly. "He has begun to rule, and rule well."

"Only under your guidance, and that of Marius Gracchus," the sixteen-year-old king replied graciously.

"Strange," Zenobia mused. "I had thought that you would prefer the military, like your father."

"I have not yet had the chance, Mother. You and Marcus have led the armies these many months."

"You were too young to go," she protested.

"But I am no longer too young. I will take the armies into Egypt when they go this winter. Palmyra's kings have always been good generals."

"No," she said quietly.

"What? Do you love war so, Mother?"

"I can see now that only your body has grown, Vaba. Your mind is yet that of a child."

"I am the king, and I will lead the armies!"

"I am the queen, and you are not yet of age. Until you are, my word is supreme in Palmyra! There is danger all about you. I will do everything in my power to protect you until you have a son of your own."

"I will choose my wife," he said, and she knew in that instant that he already had. She invoked the gods that the girl be suitable.

"Who is she, my son?"

"You will approve, Mother. It is Flavia, the daughter of your friends, Antonius Porcius and his wife, Julia."

"Flavia Porcius? She is but a child, Vaba."

"She is almost thirteen, Mother. She has already begun her woman's flow."

"I don't want to know how you know that," Zenobia said, shocked, and behind her both Longinus and Marcus smiled. The young king might look like his father, but he was his mother's son in that he was determined to have his way.

"Nonetheless she is my choice for a wife, and I will wager even you could not choose a more suitable girl. She is Palmyran-born, of reputable family, and ready to bear children. More important to me, however, is the fact that she loves me and I love her."

"Then why do you want to rush off into battle?"

"I must prove myself worthy to rule Palmyra; to myself, to my people, and to Flavia. Until I do I am only your son, and that is simply not enough for me. I must be a man in my own right."

Zenobia turned away so he might not see her tears. Vaba was indeed becoming a man. Gently he put his arm about his mother. "You have given me the greatest gift any woman could give her child. You gave me time to grow, time to learn, time to play. But now the time has come for me to earn my place. All your life you have been so good, so loyal, so generous. Do you not want a life of your own? Do you not want to marry Marcus? You are yet young enough to have children, and I believe that like any man he wants a son."

She blushed at his words. He, her firstborn, her baby, was chiding her, but when she turned to give him a sharp reply she saw how earnest he was, and instead she said, "You are right. You shall lead our armies into Egypt this winter while I remain behind to rule this city in your stead."

It was going to be devastating, she thought. Both Vaba and Marcus, two of the three males she loved best in this world, away from her this winter; for of course Marcus was still commander of the legions, and would go to guide Vaba in military matters. Then suddenly she thought that it was not so terrible after all. Egypt would be easily subdued, and Vaba would have his first taste of battle. He would return to marry Flavia Porcius, then she, Zenobia, would be free to marry Marcus Britainus. Together they would guide the young king and his wife in their rule of the Eastern Empire. Zenobia smiled. When Vaba's first child was born she would declare her son Augustus, supreme ruler of the Eastern Empire. With all the lands from Egypt to Asia Minor under their rule, who would dare to dispute them? Certainly not Rome, weakening Rome with its succession of soldier-emperors, and its north-em and western borders constantly challenged by barbarian tribesmen.

Later she sighed within the comfort of Marcus's arms. "Soon we shall be able to marry. Make this Egyptian campaign a quick one, my darling!"

"Do I not always do my best to oblige you, beloved?" he teased her, his hot mouth finding a ready nipple. Slowly he sucked on her sweet flesh, taunting her with his tongue while his fingers moved to torture her in yet another sensitive spot. They loved almost without ceasing in that short period between military campaigns. Zenobia allowed her son and the Council of Ten almost complete freedom while she and Marcus locked themselves within the love chamber she had created for them. They could not be sated in their consuming desire for each other.

Less than a month before Palmyra's legions were due to depart, a trusted household slave of the Alexander family arrived from Rome, bearing tidings from Marcus's mother. The slave had been admitted into the queen's private apartment, and stood staring in amazement at the colorful, rather explicit frescoes that adorned the walls. Watching him, Zenobia thought that the Alexander household in Rome was sure to get quite a report.

"Is every all right?" she asked Marcus.

"No." He paused in his reading. "My fattier is ill, beloved. He is seriously ill, possibly dying. My mother has sent to Britain for my younger brother, Aulus, to come home." He turned to the slave. "How long ago did you leave Rome, Leo?"

"This is the fiftieth day, Marcus Britainus, since my departure."

"It's thirty-three days to Britain. My brother is halfway to Rome already. Zenobia…"

"I will lead the legions, Marcus. You must answer your mother's plea. If the worst is to happen I could not live with myself knowing that I had kept you from your father in the hour of his death. Go back to Rome, and then come home to Palmyra, and to me."

"You will be able to manage?"

She smiled at him, a slightly wry smile. "I can manage, my darling, although I am not sure I should admit to that. Nor would I, but I don't want you to worry. Perhaps it is better that I take my son, the king, and teach him the art of war. Do not fear for us, Marcus. Longinus shall remain here with Demetrius. The succession is safe. Go to Rome."

"Leo and I will start at dawn for Tripoli. There will be a ship sailing for Brindisi."

"Do not take just any vessel, Marcus," she pleaded with him.

His blue eyes drove into her very soul. "I am coming back to you, I promise, beloved."

"I cannot survive without you, Marcus!"

He laughed gently. "Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, I do not believe that for a moment." He wrapped his arms about her, and felt her trembling against him. Small tears mattered her black eyelashes, tears she fought to hold back. Tenderly he tasted of her mouth, kissing at the corners of it, nibbling at her upper lip affectionately. "Oh, queen of my heart, do not make my going any harder. How I wish that Vaba ruled in his own right, and that you were naught but my wife and might go with me!" He sighed, and then said quietly, "I will take Leo to my house. Severus must be informed so that he may assume the responsibilities that are mine while I am gone."

"You will return to me tonight?" She brushed a tear that had dared to slip down her cheek.

"Yes."

When he was gone, taking the slave, Leo, with him, she sat squarely in the middle of the sleeping platform, legs crossed, very much like the child she had once been. It would be the first time that they had been separated. Thank the gods for the winter campaign against Egypt. She needed it to keep herself occupied. Rome was so far away, across a vast sea that she hadn't ever seen. There was a finality about Marcus's trip that frightened her, and set her imagination to playing tricks on her. Would he return to her if his father died? He would then be the head of his family, and it was not a responsibility he could pass on to his younger brother. Aulus, after all, had a life in Britain, and lands that needed his management there.

By the time Marcus returned to the palace that evening Zenobia was a bundle of nerves. He had never seen her that way. For that matter in her entire life she had never behaved that way. She picked at her food, but so did he even though she had ordered that his favorite dishes be prepared.

"I don't like leaving you, beloved," he said. "I wish you could come with me. I am beginning to see disadvantages in loving a queen."

"Then I shall come with you! Oh, Marcus, yes! I will come with you! I know it will shock your family, but I do not care if I may be with you!"

"No, it is impossible, Zenobia. You cannot come. If you come then you must send Vaba into Egypt alone. Without your tactical skill he is sure to lose."

"If your father dies you will not be able to return to Palmyra," she said, admitting to what really concerned her.

"I will return to Palmyra, beloved. I promise you that, and never have I broken a promise to you."

"If you are head of your family, how can you leave them?"

"I can leave them to return to Palmyra to fetch my wife, for you are my wife, beloved. Zenobia, marry me before I go! Be my wife legally, before the gods."

"We would have to wed secretly, Marcus, and that I will not do as long as I am the reigning queen. You know it! We have spoken it before."

"As always, you put Palmyra before all else," he said, his voice a trifle bitter.

"And you!" she accused him. "Are you not putting your family before our love? You see your duty, and you do it. Why, then, is it so different when I do the same?" Suddenly she stood up from the table with its barely touched meal. "I will not quarrel with you, my darling. Not tonight; this is the last night we will have for so many months! Come!" She held out her hand to him. "Let us bathe, and then let us spend the hours we have left in making love to each other."

"I don't want to leave you," he said low. "Youknow it, beloved!"

"I know it, Marcus, but we are two people who have been trained to duty and loyalty. Return to Rome, and receive your father's final blessing. I will be waiting when you come home to Palmyra."

Together they walked across the room to remove their garments by the side of the pool. He stood watching as she descended the steps down into the tepid water, and felt himself grow warm with longing at the sight of her golden body moving languorously in the black marble pool. Her dark hair streamed out behind her, a feathery cloak. Turning, she swam back toward him, her gray eyes devouring his tall body. His long legs were to her like the marble columns that lined the portico of the ancient Temple of Baal, and she shivered in anticipation of feeling his hard thighs.

Already his shaft was straight and firm, thrusting from the dark forest of his groin. Their eyes locked, and he moved down into the pool, walking slowly toward her. Zenobia felt herself growing weak with desire as she floated, her limbs losing their will. His hands closed gently about her ankles, and he drew her forward, his sure grasp moving up her legs. She ached for him, a yearning clearly visible in her beautiful face, as he tenderly entered into her body, filling her with the fiery fullness she loved. He stood in the waist-deep water, his throbbing lance buried deep within her as she floated before him, her legs wrapped lighdy about his body, her marvelous hair billowing in the soft swell of the waters.

The fingers of both his hands began to rub the nipples of her breasts with delicate little touches. She shivered, and while he smiled a slow smile her eyes closed in rapture and small waves of pleasure began to lap over her. Her entire being was finely tuned to the pleasure of their lovemaking, and she almost screamed aloud her bliss as she felt him throbbing and growing within her. Yet he remained perfectly still but for his fingers, which continued to tease at her velvety nipples.

Finally she could bear no more of such exquisite torture, and her body began to shiver as the honied sweetness flowed from her, crowning the ruby head of his manhood. She heard his soft laughter. "Oh, beloved, you are as ever an impatient and greedy creature." Then he withdrew from her, gathered her up, and carried her from the pool.

"I hate it when you are so superior," she murmured as she stood on trembling legs that threatened to give way beneath her at any minute.

One strong arm locked about her slender waist, and with his other hand he carefully dried her off. "I am not superior, I am only delighted that I can give you such pleasure," he said as he toweled her long hair free of excess water.

"But I want you to be pleasured, too!" she protested.

"I am," he answered, "and even more so when I see the look on your face." He picked her up again, walked across the room, and gently deposited her upon the sleeping platform. Lying down next to her, he said, "In the lonely nights to come, beloved, I shall relive a thousand times each moment we have spent in this room; each night I have lain by your side and loved you. I have never loved anyone else, and I swear to you that I never shall." He took her into his arms then, and they kissed until they were breathless.

Now he was afire to possess her once again, but Zenobia squirmed away from his eager grasp. Turning her body, she moved downward, covering his flat and lightly furred torso with little kisses. Teasingly, she nipped at him with her sharp little teeth, and he groaned as the tip of his shaft tingled with her assault. A warm, soothing tongue followed, and then she took him in her mouth for a few moments while he fought to retain control of himself. Just when he thought he would lose the love battle between them, she moved again, mounting him and plunging downward to envelope him deep within her hot sheath.

Reaching up, he crushed her beautiful breasts within his big hands, aching with incredible pleasure. Through slitted sapphire eyes he watched her as she flung back her head in ecstasy, the delicate veins in her smooth throat standing out as the blood pumped visibly through them. She shuddered again in pure fulfillment, and it was then that he regained control, turning her over so that he now rode her.

Slowly he withdrew from her, chuckling at her soft cry of distress. Taking his shaft in his hand he softly rubbed it over her lower belly, and she moaned, seeking him with hot, eager little hands. "No, beloved," he murmured, bending to caress the inside of her ear with his tongue. "Do not be too eager, for there is time for us." His tongue followed the intricate path of her other ear, tickling it lightly for a moment.

Beneath him she writhed, her desire growing again with each touch, each caress. His hands moved with love over her trembling form as he committed to memory the line of her body; the feel of her satin skin; her wonderful breasts-those honeyed hills of softness that reminded him of the great mother goddess herself; her long, strong legs that could grip a man in passionate embrace as easily as the sides of the great gray stallion she rode; the marble smooth twin moons of her bottom. He adored her completely, worshiping at the shrine of her, his love, his very soul.

"Oh, my love," he murmured into the damp tangle of her hair, "I do not know if I can bear the separation from you!" His voice throbbed with emotion, and Zenobia could feel the unbidden tears begin to straggle down her cheeks.

"Make us one, my darling," she begged him. "I shall die if you do not," and she arched to receive him as he thrust vigorously into her aching body.

Over and over again he drove himself into her willing flesh; and Zenobia wept as much with the joy of his possession as she did from the knowledge that in the morning he would be gone. At last his passion peaked, and his seed rushed into the warm darkness of her womb as he collapsed upon her breasts. She wept silently as he shuddered with his own pleasure. How would she manage to exist without him? He was her very life. Oh, Mama, she thought, if this was how it was for you and my father then at last I can understand the love you bore each other.

For some minutes they lay locked in embrace, not speaking. He could hear her heart gradually growing quieter beneath his ear, and he knew that his own heartbeat was slowing. She was the most incredible woman, he thought, and he didn't intend spending any more time in Rome than he had to. If his father was truly ill to death-and his mother was not a woman to exaggerate-then he would have to accept his responsibilities as head of his family; but first he would return to Palmyra for Zenobia. Then it occurred to him that there was no reason he should have to remain in Rome. He didn't like Rome, and he never really had. His younger brother, Aulus, was settled in Britain; his two sisters, Lucia and Eusebia, lived with their husbands away from Rome-Lucia in the north outside of Ravenna, and Eusebia in the south at Naples. His mother would probably choose to return to Britain with Aulus. He would be free to live in Palmyra, to make it his home, their home. He shared his thought with her, and he could hear the joy in her voice when she answered him.

"You mean you would really make Palmyra your home? You would desert Rome?"

"I deserted Rome fifteen years ago, beloved. What is there for me? A house? A business? These I can sell. They have no meaning, hold no sentiment for me. My home, beloved, is where you are. My home is here in Palmyra."

Zenobia wept with joy, her hot tears pouring down her cheeks to soak the pillows, running into her ears. "Now," she said, finally gaining control of herself, "now I can bear your going! I will send six of my guard with you, Marcus. The first will return from Tripoli to tell me the ship on which you have sailed. The second and third will bring me letters from your ports of call; the fourth will come directly from Brindisi to tell me that you have reached Italy safely; the fifth will bring me news from Rome; and the last man will stay with you until you are about to return to me. He will bring me the gladdest tidings of all; the news that you are coming home!"

"So be it, my beloved!" he agreed, and then his mouth found hers again, drinking in the sweetness of her, quickly seeking to possess her once more as she joyously opened her arms to him and received him again. They loved almost without stopping that night, with lips, and tongues, and hands, and eyes. They touched, and caressed, and tasted until they thought there were no more pleasures. And then they were astounded to find that that was not so-their bodies turned, and twisted, and molded themselves a hundred different ways, and the rapture never ended, but grew sweeter, sharper, better each time. Finally, but an hour before the dawn, they fell into a restful sleep. When they awoke but a short time later they were both at peace.

Their private good-byes were said within their love chamber, their lips clinging for a moment to each other, their eyes locking in silent understanding. "Nothing will keep me from returning to you, beloved," he said.

"I will be waiting," she answered.

Their public farewell was said in the main courtyard of the palace, surrounded by Longinus, the young king, his brother, and the other members of the Council of Ten.

"Please bring our loyal greetings to the Emperor Aurelian, Marcus," the king said. "We hope his reign will be a long and prosperous one. It is unfortunate that Claudius died of plague."

Marcus smiled. "I shall be happy to convey your Majesty's greetings to the Emperor Aurelian. He is married to a distant cousin of mine, and he is a fine general. I suspect if the senate will cooperate Rome will prosper under him."

The king nodded, then said, "Farewell, Marcus Alexander Britainus. The gods go with you, and keep you safe until you return to us here in Palmyra!"

Marcus bowed to the young king, and then nodded to the others before his eyes found Zenobia again. They gazed lovingly at each other. "Farewell, beloved," he said softly, and he heard her answer, "Farewell, my heart! I will wait!"

He did not look back again, but mounted his white stallion and rode off through the main gates of the palace accompanied by his family's slave, Leo, and six of Zenobia's personal guard. He did not know that she went immediately to a tower in the palace that overlooked the main caravan road west, and watched until he and his party became but specks upon the horizon.

Several days later the first of her guards returned. Marcus Britainus and his party had taken passage from Tripoli upon a first-class merchant vessel, Neptune's Luck, which would be stopping only at Cyprus and Crete before it reached Brindisi. The second messenger returned, and shortly thereafter the third. The voyage was progressing smoothly, the seas calm, the winds perfect. He would shortly be in Rome. In two months' time the fourth messenger returned back to Palmyra: the queen's beloved had safely reached Italy. Zenobia stopped fretting. The Appian Way, the empire's most famous road, ran directly from Brindisi to Rome, and was eminently safe.

Now Zenobia turned her eyes toward Egypt. They departed Palmyra on an early winter's morning, the queen and her handsome son both riding within the same magnificent gold chariot drawn by four coal-black horses. The citizens of Palmyra lining the way to the Triumphal Arch screamed themselves hoarse at the sight of their beloved queen and their king.

"How they love you," Vaballathus marveled over the cries of the crowd.

"How they love you," she corrected him. "You are the king."

"No," he replied. "I have not yet earned their adulation. It is you for whom they cry, but when we return through this Triumphal Arch they shall cry my name, and / will deserve it!”

8

Dagian, the wife of Lucius Alexander Britainus, hurried into the atrium of her home, arms outstretched in joyous welcome. "Marcus!" She flung her arms round her eldest son, and then kissed him on both cheeks. "Praise the gods, you have arrived home safely!"

He stood back and studied her. She was nearing sixty, and yet he could see little change in the fifteen years he had been away. Her wonderful, once golden hair was gray, but the blue eyes he had inherited were as clear and sharp as ever. There were few lines in her beautiful face. "Did Aulus arrive safely?" She nodded in the affirmative. "And Father? He is still alive?"

"Yes, but only because he did not choose to depart for the Underworld until he had seen you, Marcus. He is sleeping now, but I will take you to him when he awakens."

"Marcus?" A woman, very like his mother but with red-blond hair, had come into the atrium.

"Lucia?" By the gods, she had been but a slip of a girl when he last saw her!

"I did not think it possible, Marcus, but you have grown even handsomer with age," Lucia said, coming up and kissing him as his mother had done.

"And you, my sister, have also grown lovelier," he answered.

"No, Marcus," she answered him wryly. "I have simply grown," and she laughingly patted her matronly form. "The result of five children, and too good a cook. Wait until you see your nieces and nephews, Marcus. They are young men and women."

"Yes, Marcus," Dagian put in quietly. "Lucia's children are almost all grown, and you, the eldest of my children, are not even married."

He might have put it off, but suddenly he realized it was better to speak the truth now, so they might get used to it, rather than wait until after his father had died and then suddenly spring it on them. "I will not be making my home in Rome, Mother. I will be returning to Palmyra."

"Marcus! Why?"

"I am afraid, Mother, that my fifteen years in the East have made me prefer a dry and warm climate."

"And what else? You cannot fool me, Marcus. Warm weather is simply not a reason for deserting your home."

He laughed. He was not going to escape her curiosity. He had never been able to, even as a child. "There is a lady whom I wish to marry. She has consented, and so I will return to Palmyra."

"Who is she, Marcus?"

"I cannot tell you yet."

"Is she married?"

"She is a widow."

"Young enough to have children?"

"Yes, Mother. She is young enough to have children."

"Is she beautiful, Marcus?" Lucia asked softly.

"Little sister, if the goddess Venus came to earth, she would take my beloved's face and form."

"You are in love!” Dagian was amazed.

"I am in love, Mother," he admitted with a smile.

For a moment Dagian stared in surprise at her son. He had always kept his feelings in complete check, never exhibiting undue emotion, even as a little boy. He had grown into a big, elegant, intelligent man who always appeared a bit severe to her. He was not like her younger son, Aulus, always laughing, light of heart, deeply involved in life, unafraid of being hurt. He was not like his sisters, passionate and gentle women whose emotions were always quite visible. No, Marcus had been the reserved one, and now suddenly to see his face alight with love was somewhat startling.

"Marcus!" The cry was almost a shriek, and came from a short, plump young woman with her father's dark hair and eyes who ran across the atrium and hurled herself into his arms.

He swung her high above him, and she giggled with glee as he put her down. "Eusebia, my little bird, you have not learned to curb your passion for sweets, I see."

"Calvinus says a skinny woman is no use on a cold night," came the prompt reply. She eyed him frankly. "Jupiter! You have grown positively gorgeous! Perhaps I should move to Palmyra."

"It is love that has softened him, Eusebia," teased her older sister.

"Love? Marcus is in love?" Eusebia's dark brown eyes were round with curiosity. "Tell me! Tell me!" she begged her oldest brother.

"There is nothing to tell. I will marry the lady when I return to Palmyra."

"You aren't going to stay in Rome?" His oldest sister spoke.

"There is nothing here for me, Lucia. You live in Ravenna, Eusebia in Naples; and Aulus in Britain. Father is the first of the Alexanders to make Rome his permanent home. He likes it. I do not. I will return to Palmyra which I have grown to love, Lucia."

"Do you plan to sell the business?" A man almost as tall as Marcus entered the room. "Welcome home, brother."

"Thank you, Aulus." Marcus was amused at his brother's question. "I think we shall wait until the matter need be settled to settle it."

"That's right," replied Aulus. "After all it will all be yours as the elder son, won't it, Marcus?"

Marcus laughed pleasantly. "You haven't changed, Aulus. You are still spoilt."

Aulus shook his head wearily. "The gods, Marcus! How long has it been since we have seen each other; and the second I lay eyes upon you I become the whiny little boy trying to compete. Forgive me, brother. I thought I had outgrown it."

Marcus looked at his younger brother. Aulus was not quite as tall as he, but they looked very much alike with their blue eyes and chestnut-brown hair. He had been almost six when Aulus was born, and he had, he recalled, been totally unimpressed with the baby. Aulus, from the moment of his birth, had competed with his elder sibling, imitated him, followed him; but alas, the gap had been too great between the boys. Aulus had never been able to keep up, and although totally charming with everyone else, he eventually became embittered toward his brother, finding himself only when his maternal grandfather left him his estates in Britain and he could be his own man away from Marcus.

"We will make the decisions necessary together, when the time comes, Aulus," Marcus said quietly, and Dagian was silently proud of her eldest child.

"You have had a long journey, my son," she said. "I will show you to your room, and then perhaps you will want to bathe the dust of the road away."

Knowing that his mother wanted to be alone with him for a few moments, he followed her from the atrium, leaving his sisters and his brother behind to gossip. They ascended to the second floor of the house, and she led him into the simple bedchamber of his youth. Gone, however, were all the small things that had made the room his.

Dagian seated herself in the room's one chair and looked piercingly at her son. "Now, Marcus," she said. "I wish to know of this woman you propose to make my daughter-in-law."

"Her name is Zenobia. She is the Queen of Palmyra."

"The gods, my son! You aim high! How can you marry this woman if she is the Queen of Palmyra?"

"Her late husband Odenathus left her regent for their son, the young king. Once the king is married, her obligation is over, and Zenobia will be free to marry me."

"But if her child is old enough to be king in his own right, then this woman is far too old to bear your children," Dagian protested.

"We have a child, Mother. A daughter. Her name is Mavia, and she is the Princess of Palmyra."

"What?!" Dagian gripped the arms of the chair and leaned forward, her lovely face very white.

"Hear me, Mother, before you speak again. I had barely arrived in Palmyra when I saw Zenobia and fell in love with her. Regrettably, she was about to marry Odenathus, who was then Prince of Palmyra."

"She returned your feelings, though?"

"She didn't even know, Mother. She was young, and very innocent, for after her mother's death her father and her brothers all overprotected her. You would like her, Mother. She is very much like you in certain ways."

Dagian looked like she might cry, but she fought back the emotion that threatened to spill over and asked in a voice that was less than steady, "How is she like me, Marcus?"

"She is stubborn, yet compassionate, intelligent, and kind. She was a good wife to her husband, and is a good mother to her children."

"Yet she has borne you a child, Marcus. A child that you tell me is known as the Princess of Palmyra. I do not understand."

"The night that Odenathus was killed, Zenobia collapsed with the shock, and we made love, Mother. In the morning I was gone and she remembered nothing. She believed the child to be her husband's until she saw it, and then she remembered. We both thought it best that Mavia believe she is Odenathus's child. To do otherwise could have compromised the rule of young King Vaballathus, for although the boy is his father's image, there are those who might say he was not Odenathus's son."

Dagian nodded, understanding Zenobia's protective maternal instincts toward her children.

Marcus spoke again. "Now I wish to see my father, receive his final blessing, make his passage from this life to the next a happy one, and then return to my beloved in Palmyra. Zenobia is my very reason for living, Mother, and I ache with the separation from her."

Dagian was now unable to control herself, and a flood of tears rushed down her face. "Oh, Marcus, you are my eldest child, and although I would never admit it before even to myself, you are my favorite child. I want you to be happy, but you cannot marry your Zenobia. Your father has arranged a match for you. He so wanted to see you married before he died. You must not be angry with him!"

Marcus was astounded. "He arranged a match for me? Has his illness rendered him mad, Mother? I am no boy for him to arrange a wife for me. I am past forty! Could he not have waited until I got home, and consulted with me on this matter?"

"Marcus, try to understand! He is dying and he wants everything in his life in order before he must make that crossing from here to the Underworld. His eldest son, a man these many years, remains unmarried. If you were a lover of boys he would have long since given you up, but you are a real man, and his only immortality."

"Aulus is married, Mother, and he is also father's son. Aulus is the father of several sons."

"You are Lucius Alexander's eldest son, Marcus, and he wanted you settled. He wanted you happy, as he and I have been all these years. He did not seek to harm you. Besides, why did you not write to us of your love for Zenobia. As always, you have been secretive."

"I could not write to you under the circumstances, Mother. Surely you must see that Zenobia's situation is far too politically sensitive, and if such a message had fallen into the wrong hands it might have brought down her government and endangered the empire's eastern boundaries that she and her late husband protected so well for Rome. No, it is unfortunate, but this betrothal will have to be broken."

"It cannot be," Dagian almost whispered.

"Cannot?" His brow darkened with anger. "What do you mean, 'cannot,' Mother?"

"Your father secured a great match for you, Marcus. You are to be married to the emperor's niece, Carissa."

"The match will have to be broken, emperor's niece or no, Mother."

"Marcus, you cannot offend Aurelian!"

"Do not fear, Mother. I will go to Aurelian myself, and explain the situation. Zenobia is vital to the empire's eastern defenses. I know the emperor will approve my match with the queen and find another husband for his niece.”

They walked from the room and back downstairs again into the atrium, where Marcus called for a chariot. Within moments the vehicle was at the front door of the house, and with a quick smile to his mother he was gone through the door. She stood listening as the chariot rumbled off down the quiet residential street. An arm went about her shoulders, and Aulus said. "You look as if you have been crying. What has my big brother done now, Mother?"

"He has done nothing, Aulus. Your father made a match between your older brother and the emperor's niece, Carissa. Marcus, however, is in love with a woman in Palmyra. He has gone off to tell the emperor that the betrothal must be canceled."

Aulus had paled at the mention of the emperor's niece's name. "Carissa, Mother? You are sure of the name?"

Dagian nodded, and then asked, "What is wrong, Aulus? You look as if you have seen an evil spirit."

"Oh, Mother, Carissa is the most venal creature alive."

"That sweet-faced child?"

"That is the paradox of Carissa. She looks like a vestal virgin, yet is more corrupt than any woman in the empire."

Marcus drove through the bustling streets of the city to the Palatine Hill, where the emperor lived. He could not help but notice the filth in the streets, unusual, for the Rome he remembered had been clean and bright. Now, however, the great marble buildings were in need of repair, and there was obvious vandalism to public places. There were many shops closed and shuttered.

At the palace a slave ran to take his horses, and he strode into the ancient building to encounter an old friend.

"Marcus Alexander!" came the shout, and he turned.

"Gaius Cicero!"

The two men gripped arms in the traditional Roman greeting, and then stepped back to view each other.

Gaius Cicero was a man of forty, of medium height and stocky build with brown eyes and black hair. "I had heard you were coming home from the eastern frontier," he said with a smile. "I am sorry so sad an event as your father's dying brings you. What do you here?"

"I must see the emperor."

"So cries half of Rome, Marcus Alexander, but Aurelian's time is limited."

"This is an urgent matter, Gaius Cicero. It could have far-reaching effects on the empire. Can you help me?"

"By chance, yes. He's in the baths now, and if you don't mind seeing him there, then I will take you."

"I would see him in Hades if necessary."

The Praetorian officer smiled wryly. "I am sure there are those who would wish Aurelian in the very place you mentioned. Follow me, Marcus Alexander." He made several turns into exquisitely decorated corridors that were lit with multilamped candelabra. "Ah, here we are," he announced as they moved quickly through large double doors that were opened by two Praetorian guards.

A slave hurried to aid them, and Gaius Cicero said, "Tell the emperor that Gaius Cicero has brought Marcus Alexander Britainus to see him on a matter of urgent business. We ask the emperor's leave to come into the bath."

"At once, Gaius Cicero," the slave replied, and hurried off.

"If he will see you, Marcus, you will not need me. I do not wish to intrude."

"I thank you again for your help, Gaius Cicero," Marcus replied.

"Perhaps we can have dinner together while you are in Rome," the Praetorian said.

"The emperor will see you, Marcus Alexander Britainus," said the returning slave.

"Farewell, Marcus Alexander," Gaius Cicero said. "I will send a message to your parents' home."

The slave quickly had Marcus divested of his clothes. "The emperor is already in the caldarium. He will speak with you when you reach the unctorium, Marcus Alexander Britainus."

Marcus nodded, and walked from the dressing room into the tepidarium where he sat down and waited for the perspiration to flow. When his pores were open and he was dripping, a slave began to scrape him free of dirt and sweat as he stood silently. He moved quickly into the caldarium for a hot bath. The emperor was already gone. There were, however, several young, beautiful nude slave girls who bathed him tenderly with scented soap before leading him to the bath, where he soaked a short time. He decided against a plunge in the frigidarium's icy bath, preferring a quick swim in the open courtyard pool, which had been warmed by the sun. Now he might enter into the unctorium. The emperor was waiting.

"Marcus Alexander!" Aurelian rose and came toward him, smiling.

"Hail, Caesar!" Marcus replied, his right arm extended in salute.

"Put your arm down, Marcus," Aurelian said, gesturing impatiently, "The gods, I shall never get used to being greeted 'Hail Caesar!'" The emperor was a tall man, over six feet, but Marcus still topped him by a good two inches. "Come and have a rub-down, and we'll talk," he invited.

The two men lay upon the massage benches, and Marcus studied the emperor from beneath apparently closed eyes. He had known him briefly years ago, and he remembered Aurelian as fair but determined. He wondered if the years had altered him any; certainly not physically. He was older than Marcus, and yet Marcus noted the emperor's body was yet that of a younger man -firm and hard. His blond hair was just faintly touched with silver, as was his barbered beard; but his light blue eyes were as clear and sharp as ever. He had a nicely shaped head, his eyes were well spaced, his nose was long and surprisingly aquiline for a man with peasant roots, his lips narrow, almost scornful.

"How is your wife, Ulpia?" he asked.

"Your cousin Ulpia is well, Marcus, but that is not what you came to see me about. What is it you want?"

"Release me from the betrothal my father made with you between myself and your niece, Carissa."

"No."

"I will not marry your niece, Caesar. I came home for two reasons; because my father was dying, and to tell my parents that I was to marry at long last. I am already betrothed. When I return to Palmyra I shall marry its queen, Zenobia. Her son will shortly rule in his own right, and I shall then wed his mother. Is it not of more importance that I wed such a valuable ally to Rome?"

"Do you love the Queen of Palmyra?"

"I have loved her for many years, Caesar."

"And she loves you?"

"Yes."

"It is unfortunate then that you must wed with my niece. Take her back with you to Palmyra if you desire to live there, Marcus. The queen will remain your mistress if she loves you."

Marcus felt the anger welling up within him. Who was this peasant, chosen emperor, that he might control the life of a member of one of the empire's oldest patrician families? "I will not marry this girl you have chosen for me, Caesar," Marcus said quietly, attempting to mask his fury.

"But you will, my friend, because if you don't I will destroy your family. They are all here in Rome now, aren't they? How would you like to see Aulus executed on the charge that his loyalty to Britain is greater than his loyalty to Rome? It is, you know. I would then send word that his foreign wife and half-breed children be expediently dispatched, and that his wealth, as well as that of your father, be confiscated by the government. Your parents would be forced to beg for their very existence. I wonder how long your beautiful mother would survive, Marcus. As for your luscious sisters, my friend, a short stay in the whorehouse of the Praetorian Guard would make them welcome death. As for you, defy me in this, and you will never see your beautiful mistress again."

Marcus felt frustrated and helpless. Aulus might run; the husbands of his sisters use their wealth and influence to protect them; but who could protect his parents? His father must be allowed to die in peace in his own home. His mother must be comfortable in her old age. "Why?" he asked.

"Because I am Caesar, and I command it."

"You can force me to wed with your niece, Caesar, but you will do her as great a disservice as you are doing me. I will never touch her, and she will be condemned to a life of total loneliness. Is this what you want for her?"

Aurelian smiled. "You have not seen Carissa yet, my friend. She is exquisite."

"There is nothing your niece can offer that I want. I will marry her because you have given me no choice, but I will not honor her or love her." Marcus arose from the massage bench, and strode toward the door to the dressing room.

"The wedding will be in two days," the emperor called to him. "Would you not like to meet Carissa before then?"

"Why?" was the acid reply, and Marcus disappeared from Aurelian's view.

"I do not like him, Uncle," said the beautiful nude girl who had been massaging the emperor.

"You do not have to like him," Aurelian replied, laughing, "I have most kindly supplied you with the son and heir of one of the most patrician families in the empire for a husband. He is handsome, he is wealthy. What more can you want, Carissa?"

"He will not be manageable, Uncle."

"Nevertheless he is a Roman of the old school, and as his wife you will lack for nothing."

"You speak of his returning to the East. I do not want to go to the East."

"Then don't, my pet. Many a Roman wife has remained behind while her husband served a term in Syria or Palestine. You are most fortunate, Carissa, that Lucius Alexander chose this time to die. Else I had not gotten you such a prize."

"But I don't want him, Uncle. Find me someone else!" the girl pouted.

Aurelian smiled a slow and lazy smile as he turned over on the marble bench. His staff was straight and hard. "You do not have a choice," he said softly, pulling her atop him, and burying himself inside her. "You simply do not have the choice," he repeated, thrusting deeply, sinking his teeth into her smooth shoulder.

"Then make him stay in Rome, Uncle," she murmured, imitating his pelvic movements.

"I will try, my pet," he said. "I will try," and he crushed her in his embrace.

'Try hard, Uncle," she said, and then her mouth took his in a flaming kiss.

Marcus had dressed and left the palace. He was in a high fury, for he could not think of a way to extricate himself from this situation that would not involve his entire family. He did not doubt for one moment that Aurelian would carry out his threats. What was he to tell Zenobia? How could he possibly explain to her in a letter all that had transpired? In two days he must marry the girl. Two days! He had not yet seen his father, but when he had obtained his blessing, and the wedding was over, Marcus intended to return to Palmyra alone. There, he would explain to Zenobia what had happened. Then, as soon as his father died, his sisters had left Rome and were safe with their husbands, and his brother had taken their mother to safety in Britain-for whatever Aurelian might think, there were places in Britain that Roman "justice" could not touch-then would he act to divorce this woman he was being forced to take to wife. He would divorce her and marry his beloved.

If he left the day after the wedding he could reach Palmyra before any letter could; before any gossip could. Furiously he whipped his horses and, as he raced through the streets, took savage pleasure seeing the pedestrians scatter and scramble out of the way, hurling curses at him that flowed off his shoulders like rainwater. If they hated, he hated right back.

His father was awake when he arrived home, and he went quickly in to see him. "Do not upset him," Dagian begged her son, and Marcus nodded. He was shocked by his father's withered and shrunken appearance. Marcus had long ago topped his father by several inches, but the tiny, frail man who lay in his bed was almost a stranger until he spoke.

"You are growing older, my son," he said. "Your mother has told me that she informed you of the fine match I have made for you. I would that she had given me that pleasure, but then," and here he gazed affectionately at Dagian, "your mother was never one to keep a happy secret. We must have the wedding soon, Marcus. Charon already waits to ferry me across into the Underworld."

"I have already seen the emperor, Father. He tells me that the wedding will be in two days."

"Good, good!" the old man enthused. "I ask nothing more of the gods but to see you safely married." He fell back upon his pillows and was soon snoring lightly.

"Oh, Marcus," Dagian whispered, "when I think of the strong and virile man he was. And now-now he is so weak." Dagian took her son by the hand, and led him from the room. 'Tell me what transpired between you and the emperor."

"Aurelian is adamant that I marry his niece. He has threatened violence and destruction against this family if I do not. However, I shall leave the day after the wedding for Palmyra. I can stay no longer, and Father will die whether I am here or not. This is hardly something that I can tell Zenobia in a letter. Once Father has passed on; once my sisters are safe with their husbands; once you and Aulus are safely returned to Britain; then I shall divorce this Carissa and marry Zenobia."

Dagian nodded slowly. His plan was sound, and although she could see that he was angry it was a contained anger. She could not understand Aurelian's immovable intent. Why did he so fervently desire Marcus for his niece? Surely there were other young men in Rome who could be brought into line, or even bought. Why Marcus?

She wondered again two days later after her eldest son had been married to Carissa. Because of her husband's illness the ceremony had been performed in her husband's bedchamber, and for a brief time Lucius Alexander exuded the power and the charm that had once been his. It was as if he had gathered all his strength for a final performance. He greeted the emperor heartily, and complimented the bride.

The Bride. Dagian gazed upon Aurelian's niece and marveled that any woman could be that perfect. Carissa was a girl of medium height with an oval face and two adorable dimples on either side of her rosebud mouth. Her skin was milk white, her cheeks were touched with rose. Her features were quite delicate for a girl of peasant background. Her small nose was straight, her black eyes round and fringed with thick, long gold eyelashes. Her forehead was not quite as high as one might have wished, but her small, square chin was also blessed with a dimple. The lovely head was crowned with thistledown hair, of the natural gold color that the women of Rome so desperately sought in their wigs.

Carissa had slim hands and feet; a reedlike waist; slender hips; and firm, high young breasts. She moved with complete grace, and her manners appeared excellent, for her voice was soft but clear, and she deferred to her uncle and her Aunt Ulpia. She had chosen white and silver as her wedding colors, and they suited her admirably.

Marcus glanced at the girl, his distaste obvious. The augurs were taken, and declared highly favorable. Dagian hid a smile. The soothsayer could have opened a lamb that was filled with writhing snakes and he would have found it favorable to this match. The ceremony was quickly over.

The emperor and the empress were quite jovial at the feast that followed. They and their friends ate and drank liberally. The bride was quite animated, chatting with all the guests. But not once did she speak to her husband, nor he to her.

The rest of the wedding customs were forgotten, and Marcus was glad, for this marriage was a mockery of everything he had ever been taught. Zenobia! He almost cried her name aloud in his anguish, and Dagian, seeing the spasm cross her son's face, reached out and squeezed his hand.

When it was no longer possible to prolong the festivities, the emperor and his wife stood, and both bride and groom escorted them to the door, bidding them a good night. Ulpia Severina wept matronly tears as she kissed the beautiful girl she had raised. "Be happy, dear child," she murmured, and with a maidenly sigh Car-issa assured her aunt that she would be. The emperor looked directly at Marcus, and said in a very public voice, "I know that you will make my niece happy, Marcus Alexander."

Marcus smiled broadly. "You may be certain, Caesar, that I shall see that Carissa has everything she deserves," he replied.

The emperor and the empress departed, and with them all of the other guests. Turning, Marcus looked at the beautiful girl who was now his wife.

"We will sleep in the atrium tonight," he said. "I see that the wedding couch is already there."

"Very well," she replied coldly, and walking over to it kicked off her sandals. "Do you want me naked?"

"I don't want you at all, Carissa. Surely you know that I was forced into this marriage. That I am betrothed to another woman."

"Whether you sleep with me or not, I do not care," was her answer. "The child will come anyway."

"What?!" He felt a throbbing begin in his head.

"I am with child," she said. "It will be born in four months." A small smile played about the corners of her mouth. "You surely do not think I wished to marry you?" She laughed her tinkling, irritating laugh.

"Whose bastard do you carry? Why did you not marry him, or is he perhaps already married?"

"Yes, he is married. Unfortunately he could not divorce his dull wife to marry me, for it is forbidden that an uncle marry his niece. My child should be the next emperor of Rome after Aure-lian, his father, but it cannot be. Therefore it was necessary that I have the most patrician of husbands to give my child a name. Aurelian will eventually name our child his heir, for he has promised me that."

"A worthless promise," Marcus replied. "Aurelian will be emperor for a few years if we are lucky, but eventually one of our power-mad generals will assassinate him and declare himself Augustus."

"That is a possibility, of course," she answered coolly, "and that is why this child will be considered an Alexander. He will be safe if his real father should die before he is old enough to take command of the empire. My child will be safe until his time comes."

"Since I have just arrived home, Carissa, there is no one who will believe the child mine."

"It makes no difference. You are my husband now, and therefore my child will be legally yours, heir to this fine, old patrician family! You will never have a child of your own, Marcus Alexander, for I will never couple with you! Never! Nothing shall endanger my child's place in life!"

It was then he slapped her, his big hand flashing out to make contact with her smug, beautiful face. The red imprint of his long fingers crossed her smooth, white cheek. Carissa screamed with outrage, her high voice pealing throughout the entire house again and again until finally the room was filled with Dagian, Aulus, Lucia, and Eusebia, and numerous wide-eyed slaves.

Carissa, the shoulder of her tunic suddenly shredded, flung herself into Dagian's startled arms, weeping wildly. "Oh, Mother Dagian, he tried to make me-make m-m-me-it was foul and unnatural! Nothing like what dearest Aunt Ulpia told me was expected of me on my wedding night." Then she sobbed again, hiccoughing a few times for effect.

"Back to your quarters, all of you!" commanded old Castor, the Alexander major-domo, in an attempt to herd the slaves away from what was obviously a family dispute.

"Oh, no!" Marcus said loudly. "Since my wife has started this thing publicly we will finish it publicly. You will all stay." He turned to his mother. "Don't bother attempting to comfort her, Mother. She is a consummate liar and a skilled actress as well as an obviously competent whore. My blushing bride has just told me that she is some months pregnant, and was married off to me to supply the child with a good name."

"Aurelian will kill you for this!" Carissa hissed, suddenly in full control, her beautiful face contorted with fury.

"I would kill you," Marcus replied, "but instead I intend leaving Rome tonight. I will divorce you as soon as I reach Palmyra."

"You will never divorce me!" she screamed at him. "Aurelian will not let you divorce me!"

Marcus looked to his two sisters. "Take her out of my sight!" he commanded them. "Lock her in some room far away from the rest of the household where she cannot cause any trouble! I cannot bear the sight of the whore!"

Aided by two strong young slaves, Lucia and Eusebia did as their brother bid them, removing Carissa from the atrium as she screamed threats and curses at them in high fury.

"Now," Marcus said, turning to old Castor, "you may send the slaves to bed."

"You should have let me tell him," Aulus said to Dagian.

"Tell me what?" Marcus asked.

"I knew of Carissa's reputation, for though she and the emperor have been discreet, they have not been that discreet."

"It would have made no difference," Marcus replied. "I went to the emperor, and was told if I did not marry her he would destroy our family."

"I should not have allowed you to sacrifice yourself for us, Marcus. Return to Palmyra this night. We will weather the storm."

He sat down heavily, and his head wearily dropped into his hands. "You are welcome to come to me, Mother, but I somehow feel that you will want to return to Britain with Aulus. Go with him if that be your desire, or live with Lucia or Eusebia, but leave, I beg you, this sewer that has become Rome. When I ride through its gates I shall never return. I swear it! I shall never return!"

"Oh, Marcus," Dagian replied brokenly, "I am so sorry. I am so very sorry!"

"Marcus is correct, Mother," Aulus spoke up. "Rome is no longer a decent place to live. Why do you think I chose to settle in Britain? The immorality and corruption here is worse than ever. Each day the rich become stronger, the powerful more powerful. The simple citizen who would normally be honest and hard-working is being ground into the earth, and the idle are being rewarded for their very laziness. This is not the Roman way, yet mention the old ways of diligence, hard work, honesty, manners, and honoring the gods, and the people mock you. Well, the new ways are not my ways, nor are they better ways, and I will not abide by them.

"Aurelian chose to foist his whore off on Marcus because of the very virtues we believe in, Mother. He knew that Marcus would not, like so many of these new Romans, desert his family or his obligations."

"Mother!" Lucia hurried into the room. "Mother, it is Father!"

"I will come immediately," Dagian replied, and she hurried from the room.

"Is he dying?" Marcus questioned his sister.

"I think so," was the answer.

"Will you and Aulus come now?"

"In a few minutes, Lucia. Where did you put Carissa?"

"In nurse's old room on the second floor in the far back of the house."

"Go now, Lucia. We will come presently."

"What are you going to do, Marcus?" Aulus cocked his head to one side curiously.

"If he is dying then he will want to see us all, and that most certainly includes his new daughter-in-law. I know I can rely on your aid, younger brother."

"You can, older brother," was the smiling assent.

As they went Marcus said, "There will be time for us to talk before I return to Palmyra, Aulus. I intend selling the business here in Rome, but it will be to someone who will broker for us the goods you send from Britain and those I send from the East."

"Agreed, and I think I may know the man we can trust."

They reached Lucius Alexander's room, and when they looked inside Dagian left her husband's side and hurried toward her sons. "It is the end," she said softly. "He will die before dawn."

The two brothers disappeared down the corridor of the upper floor and, stopping before a heavy wooden door at the corridor's end, lifted the heavy bar that lay across it.

"You bastard!" Carissa was across the floor, her nails extended to rake at him.

With a wolfish grimace he caught her wrists and brutally forced her arms down. "Be silent, you bitch, or I swear I will throttle you, emperor's niece or no!"

She glared at him furiously. "You are hurting me," she said.

He ignored her complaint, continuing to hold onto her wrists. "My father has chosen this moment to die, Carissa, and he wishes his entire family about him. You are going to come with me now, and you are going to behave like a good Roman wife would behave. Modestly, quietly, and reverently."

"No I'm not! I shall tell your father that I carry Aurelian's son, and that my bastard will bear his proud patrician name! Let that be his last thought in the mortal world, and let him know he is powerless, even as you are powerless to do anything about it!" Her beauty was suddenly marred by her hatred, which made her look quite common.

Marcus's voice was low, but Aulus could hear that it held a dangerous note. "No, Carissa. You will behave as I have said. Modestly, quietly, and reverently. If you do not I swear to you that I shall throw you from the roof of this house, and tell the world that you committed suicide when I attempted to claim my conjugal rights." He smiled, but his eyes were pitiless. "I almost hope," he said, "that you give me the chance to kill you."

Looking into that hard and ruthless face, Carissa knew that Marcus meant exactly what he said, and she shivered, suddenly afraid. She didn't want to die, nor did she want her unborn child killed. "I will do what you want," she said.

"And remember," Aulus said, "that I, too, shall be by your side."

Carissa brushed her hair into a smooth coil, and affixed it with silver pins. Then she quickly shed her torn tunic and replaced it with a fresh one. They walked down the hallway to Lucius Alexander's death chamber, where Dagian and her daughters clustered about the old man's bed. "Here are your sons and Carissa to see you, my dearest," Dagian said as they reached the bedside.

Lucius Alexander opened his dark eyes, but for a moment he could not focus clearly. Then as the fog cleared from his eyes he struggled to speak. "You have both been sons to be proud of, and I know you will keep the family and its traditions alive in the hearts of your own children. Kneel, my sons," and both men knelt by Lucius's bedside. The old man struggled to raise his hand to Aulus's head. "My blessing, Aulus. May only good fortune smile upon you and your family throughout your lifetime." Aulus felt the sob rising in his throat, but quickly forced it back. "Marcus, my son, my heir, upon you falls me responsibility for mis family. Will you honor mis responsibility?"

"Yes, Father, I will." Marcus felt his father's bony hand upon his own head.

"I am pleased with you. Pray that tonight you will plant the seed of life within this sweet child's womb."

"It will be as the gods will, Father."

"Carissa, my newest daughter, I know you will be to Marcus as my faithful Dagian has been to me."

"Yes, Father Lucius," came the demure reply. "I promise to follow her example."

"You are a good child," Lucius whispered. "I was right to pursue this match. Marcus will see I was right." The dying man fell back upon his pillows, his breaming a harsh rasp. Soon he slid into a half-conscious state. As the minutes turned to an hour, and then two, and three, Lucius Alexander seemed to shrink before their very eyes. Each bream he drew was a tortured struggle, and it seemed as if his chest would split with the effort. In the loneliest part of the night, those hours just before the dawn, Lucius Alexander opened his eyes a final time, and stared at the woman who sat patiently by his side. "Farewell, my heart," he said distinctly in the voice of his youth, and then he died.

For Dagian it was as if a spear had pierced her heart. One minute he was there, and then as quickly he was gone. As she sat frozen with shock and grief her eldest son reached over and closed his father's eyes. "Conclamatum est," he said as he closed them.

"It is over, Mother," Marcus said quietly, helping her to rise from her place by the bedside. She looked helplessly at him, unable to speak. "Lucia, Eusebia, take our mother to her room to rest, and stay with her. Aulus, return Carissa to her place of confinement."

"You cannot mean to lock me up again?" Carissa protested.

"Do as you are told else I take a stick to you!" he thundered.

Had Lucius Alexander Britainus died but several days later, his eldest son, Marcus, would have been safely on his way back to Palmyra. As it was, the old man's death and the settling of his estate took longer than Marcus had anticipated.

Lucius was buried the same day he died. In the confusion the two young slaves appointed to carry the lifeless body of their master to the atrium mistakenly placed him upon the wedding couch that had been set up for Marcus and Carissa. Marcus laughed at the irony of it. "The marriage was dead before it was even celebrated," he said bitterly.

At the hour appointed for the funeral the public crier gave notice according to ancient custom, going about the city and saying, "The citizen, Lucius Alexander Britainus, has been surrendered to death. For those who find it convenient, it is now time to attend the funeral. He is being brought from his house."

Lucius Alexander's funeral was well attended, for he had been a respected man. He was escorted by many to the Alexander family tomb, which stood along the Appian Way on the road to Tivoli. Afterward the family hosted the funeral dinner, and their nine days of sorrow began. The emperor and his wife had come, of course, and Marcus had seen Carissa deep in conversation with her uncle.

"I can only hope," he warned her later, "that you have done nothing foolish."

The nine days passed slowly. Within the house Dagian and her daughters carefully packed up all of Lucius's belongings until very little trace of the man remained except within their minds and hearts. Carissa, no longer confined to her room, spent most of her time lying about, eating outrageous delicacies that she had ordered the kitchen to prepare for her alone, and having her golden hair brushed, did not bother to help.

Marcus and Aulus spent the time preparing their father's trading house for sale. The younger Alexander son knew a man who would be more than delighted to have the business, and would cooperate with the two brothers in marketing their goods from Britain and from Palmyra. Since they could not leave the house or conduct business during this time, however, they could do nothing concrete. Finally the nine days were over, and Julius Rabirius was contacted. As expected, he wanted the Alexander business interests; offered a generous amount for them; and agreed to deal with Aulus Alexander Britainus exclusively in Britain and Marcus Alexander Britainus in Palmyra.

Eusebia and Lucia, assured that their mother would be well taken care of by her sons, returned to their homes. They had both been gone several months, and their own families needed them. Lucia, the sister nearest to Marcus in age, spoke the thoughts that had occurred to both sisters before they departed.

"Will we ever see you or Aulus again in this life, Marcus?"

"I do not know," he replied honestly. "I have given Aulus permission to form his own family, independent of mine. You and Eusebia belong now to your husband's families. Mother has decided to return to Britain with Aulus, and will be a part of his family. Zenobia and I will found our own family in Palmyra. I think it unlikely that we will meet easily again."

Lucia began to weep softly, and Marcus comforted her. "It is not easy for a family to part, dear sister, but it is the way of the world. Nothing ever remains the same. The seasons change; the years change; often too quickly to suit me, but none of us can hold back time any more than we can hold back a sunset or a dawn. One moment we are carefree children, the next we are grown, and as suddenly we are old. There is nothing for it, my sister, but to enjoy that which we have, and not waste time bemoaning what we do not have. Give thanks to the gods that we are all happy and taken care of, my sister. So many are less fortunate than we of the Alexander family."

"You make it all sound so simple," Lucia sniffed.

"That, my dearest sister, is the secret of life. We spend so much time seeking the solution to it; and what it all boils down to in the end is simplicity."

The sisters departed, Lucia north to Ravenna, Eusebia south to Naples. Now it was time for Aulus and Dagian to leave for Britain. "What of your Zenobia?" asked Dagian. "Have you written to her of your marriage, and what you plan to do?"

"If I were to communicate with my beloved the message would certainly be intercepted by the emperor. I have here with me one of the queen's own personal guard who will go before me when I am ready to return to Palmyra. He will take my message then, but I fear to send him before I am ready to leave myself."

"When will you go?" Aulus asked.

"Not until I receive word that you and mother are safe from imperial retribution."

"It will be over two months before we can get word to you, Marcus. Dare you wait that long? You have already been gone three months from Palmyra."

"I do not have a choice, Aulus. Only when my family is safe can I act."

He escorted them to the western gate of the city, but there they were stopped. "I am sorry, Marcus Alexander Britainus," said the centurion in charge of the gate, "your brother is free to return to his home in Britain, but neither you nor your mother may leave the city without the emperor's permission." Realizing the futility in protest, Marcus turned to Aulus. "Go, brother. I will care for our mother, and see that she eventually returns to the land of her birth. Make ready a place for her, Aulus."

Dagian nodded her agreement. "Give my love to Eada and the children," she said, and then she hugged him tightly. "I will come soon, I promise you, Aulus. It is not meant for me to die in this foreign land."

The two brothers embraced. Both had tears in their eyes as a thousand memories assailed them; memories of happier times when they had been one family. "We will meet again, Marcus," Aulus said softly.

"Perhaps," was the quiet reply. "Now, go, youngster! Never forget you are an Alexander! Never allow your children, or their children, to forget it."

Then Dagian kissed her younger son tenderly. "I will come as soon as I can."

'Take my chariot, Aulus. Without Mother it will help you go quicker," Marcus said.

Aulus climbed down from the raeda, which was a large, heavy, covered wagon with four wheels, drawn by four horses, used for family travel. One of Dagian's slaves hurried to remove his scant baggage, and store it in Marcus's elegant chariot. Quickly Aulus climbed aboard the chariot, and with a quick smile at both his mother and his older brother he drove off down the Via Flaminia. Dagian's eyes were wet with unshed tears as she watched him go.

They spoke little as the raeda rumbled back through the streets of the city, and out into their suburb. Startled servants hurried to greet the wagon as it entered the grounds of the Alexander house. Marcus helped his mother down and quickly gave orders that her baggage be returned to her rooms, then together they hurried into Marcus's study. Tenderly he settled his distressed mother, pouring her some wine.

"How did Aurelian know that we were leaving?" Dagian wondered aloud.

"Carissa," was Marcus's flat reply. "The bitch has an uncanny instinct for survival."

"Then why let any of us go?"

"You, Mother, are the only hostage he needs, and that is why you were forbidden exit from the city. Aurelian knows that as long as I must worry for your safety, the safety of his whore and his bastard are assured."

"What of your Zenobia?" Dagian asked.

"I do not know," he said helplessly. "How can I send her a letter explaining this?"

"What of her personal messenger, my son?"

"The Palmyran was found strangled in his quarters early this morning, Mother. I did not tell you because I did not think you would need to know. I expected that you would be on your way with Aulus, back home to Britain."

"There is more to this, Marcus, than meets the eye," Dagian said thoughtfully.

"I know that, Mother, but what is it? What is it that Aurelian really wants?"

"You would do well to ask me that yourself, Marcus," said the emperor, striding into the room. "Good day to you, Lady Dagian."

"How did you gain entrance to my home?" Marcus demanded angrily.

"I was visiting my dear niece, Marcus. Surely you don't object to a fond uncle visiting his favorite niece. She is quite pettish as her pregnancy advances, I find, and suddenly, my dear Marcus, she grows fat. Carissa should not allow herself to grow fat. It coarsens her. I do hope that after she has delivered the child you will insist she regain her divine form."

"I will leave you," Dagian said, rising.

"No," commanded the emperor, waving her back into her chair. "I wish you to hear what I have to say to your son, Lady Dagian. It will save him the trouble of repeating it." He turned back to Marcus. "You wonder aloud at my purpose, Marcus. It is really quite simple. Of course it was necessary that I supply Carissa with a husband, due to her state; but it might have been any of a number of young patrician fops rather than you. I chose you because you were the betrothed of Palmyra's queen. It serves my purpose well.

"You see, Marcus, I know the history of Zenobia's youth. I know how she has hated Rome for the murder of her mother. I know how, as a child, she watched her mother's murderers as they slowly died. I know how after Odenathus's death your love for each other grew, and her hate subsided; but that hate is still there, Marcus. It exists just below the surface, waiting to be rekindled. I intend to rekindle Zenobia's hatred of Rome. Her cooperation does not serve my purposes.

"I do not want Palmyra ruled by a client king. I want it returned to a Roman governorship, as it was in the great days of the empire. I want to return imperial Rome to her glory, and I have already begun with the resubjugation of Gaul. In the East Zenobia has kindly subdued all, and now I will subdue her!"

"She has shown no disloyalty, Caesar. You have no just cause."

"I will have," Aurelian smiled. "When Palmyra's queen hears that her lover, the man she expected to marry, has married another…" he chuckled, and then said, "I expect that her fury will know no bounds. She will want to revenge herself on Rome once more, and believe me, Marcus, she will try. When she does I will do what any Roman emperor would do when faced with a threat to the empire. Your fair Zenobia will walk in golden chains behind my victory chariot, Marcus. A year, two at the most if she is as good as they tell me she is in battle, but she will crown my triumph, and settle me firmly upon the throne sooner or later. The empire will be preserved." He paused, looking at the stunned faces of his audience. "It is but an added bonus that she is beautiful. I always enjoy making love to beautiful women, especially if they are intelligent as well."

"If you touch Zenobia…" Marcus suddenly had come to life again.

"My dear Marcus, you're a married man with a pregnant wife. For shame, dear boy!" He chuckled indulgently. "Oh, you may have her back when I am through with her… if she wants to go to you. Of course, I imagine she will be quite piqued with you. Quite piqued, indeed." He looked to Dagian. "I can trust you to look after my little Carissa, Lady Dagian? A young woman having her first child needs the comfort of an older woman."

"I assumed that was why you forbade me exit from Rome, Caesar. If you had but told me it would have saved me a great deal of packing and unpacking," Dagian said tartly.

"I will allow you to return to Britain when Carissa is safely delivered and Zenobia of Palmyra is properly beaten. You have my word on it, Lady Dagian. Until then you must content yourself to remain with your eldest son."

"As Caesar wills it," Dagian replied acidly.

Aurelian chuckled again, then spoke once more to Marcus.

"I do not think the city is good for Carissa right now. You have two days in which to pack all you need, and then you will depart for an imperial villa in Tivoli. You will be forbidden Rome once you leave. Only when I have the Eastern provinces firmly under imperial control again will you be allowed to return to the city."

"My business requires I remain in Rome, Caesar. I will give you my word not to leave the city, but you cannot exile me from it."

"You have sold your father's trading business to Julius Rabirius, Marcus. I know that he has agreed to broker for both you and your brother. You may communicate with him, of course, but be advised that every message you send will be read by me before it goes on its way. I will allow you no chance to warn your queen of my plans for her-and the Eastern Empire."

"Are we restricted to your villa, Caesar?"

"I think for the time being, Marcus, that it would be wisest." He rose from the chair in which he had been sitting and stopped before Dagian, who remained seated in a gesture of disrespect he did not miss. Aurelian smiled brightly and bowed to her. "Good day to you, Lady Dagian. I hope I shall see you soon again. Come, Marcus, walk out with me."

The two men left the study, and moved into the atrium. "Make no mistake, Marcus," the emperor said quietly. "If you attempt to warn Zenobia of my plans, or plot against me, or embarrass my family, I will act swiftly. Do you understand, Marcus?"

"Yes," was the terse reply.

"Good," Aurelian said. "Now I have a project for you to do. I want a detailed map of Palmyra, and her border fort, Qasr-al-Hêr."

"The gods curse you, Aurelian!" Marcus swore angrily. "It is bad enough that you make it appear to Zenobia that I have betrayed her. Must you also see that I do so in fact as well?"

"I wish to take Palmyra with as little bloodshed as possible. A blackened city with a dead populace is of no use to us. Your lovely queen will fight me to the last man if I let her. It is her reputation to do so. If I can prevent this I would prefer it so."

"Caesar. I cannot betray Palmyra any more than I could betray Rome."

"I understand," the emperor replied, and then with a quick nod he was gone.

With a deep sigh Marcus returned to his study. Dagian was gone, and he was alone. Wearily he sat down, reached for the wine, and poured himself a full goblet, which he quickly drained and as quickly refilled. He stared into the dark red liquid, which mirrored his own face, severe with sleeplessness and worry. He was trapped. If Dagian had been allowed to leave Rome perhaps he might have made a run for it; but, of course, Aurelian had had no intention of allowing it. He drained the second goblet, and felt its warmth beginning to suffuse his body.

The emperor was correct in all he said. When Zenobia learned of his marriage to Carissa, she would, of course, assume another Roman betrayal. If only Longinus could hold her in check… But in his heart he knew that Longinus would not be able to do so. Hurt, she would seek to hurt.

Oh, beloved, he thought sadly, Aurelian will eventually crush you, for never have I known such a determined man. But then, you are a determined woman. Perhaps you will prevail over him if the gods will but allow. May they guard you, and protect you now, my beloved, for I cannot.

Marcus sipped at the wine, sinking deeper into depression until suddenly he realized that to give in even in the face of such incredible odds was totally out of character for him. Never in his life had he allowed self-pity to gain the upper hand. Never in all the years that he had yearned for Zenobia, then another man's wife, had he ever given up hope. He would not give it up now! Not even now!

Resolutely he stood up, feeling the wine in his head and swaying.

"You're drunk," came the petulant voice from the door.

"And you are fat, Carissa," came the scathing reply. "Your uncle is correct. It coarsens you." He moved to the door, and with surprisingly firm hands pushed her out of his study. "This room is forbidden you, Carissa. If you are to have the run of the house, there must be one place where I may escape the sight and sound of you."

"Once we get to Tivoli things will change," she snarled at him.

"I don't think so, my dear," was the acerbic reply. "I will still be the head of this household whom you must obey."

"I hate you!" she screamed at him.

"No more than I hate you, Carissa!" he laughingly replied. "No more than I hate you."

9

Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, stood looking out upon the Mediterranean sea. She could not get enough of the sight, for she had discovered that it was very much like her desert; a constantly changing pattern of color and movement. It was close to sunset, and the sea was very still at the moment, a smooth and silken surface, wine-colored, reflecting back at her the palace from which she watched it. Above her a flock of pink flamingos whirled, their black underwings in stark contrast to their vividly colored upper bodies. She turned to watch the beautiful birds as they flew over the palace to settle down along the shores of Lake Mareotis, where they nested. All was quiet now, and she stood for some long minutes watching the beacon to the east harbor, the Pharos lighthouse. It was a view seen many times by her ancestress, Cleopatra.

Her gaze moved back to the sea, and she could feel her eyes straining as if by only looking hard enough she might see Rome across the water; see Rome-and her false lover, Marcus Alexander Britainus. There was still pain when she thought of him; but it was not as sharp today as it had been yesterday, nor would it be as sharp tomorrow as it was now. She had always believed she could not live without love, but now she knew that to be untrue. Hate was a magnificent substitute, and she had vowed privately that she would never love a mortal man ever again. Death had taken Odenathus from her, and now an emperor's niece had taken Marcus.

Why? she wondered once more. Why had he married another woman when he had sworn to return to her? She could find no explanation. He had not even written to her.

"Are you all right, Majesty?" Cassius Longinus had come out on the long open portico.

"Yes, Longinus, I am fine," she replied, but he could hear the sadness in her voice.

"There has to be a logical explanation," he burst out, and she turned to look at him with haunted eyes.

"Why do you attempt to find excuses for him, Longinus? You never really approved, I know that. There is no explanation other than the fact that the Roman used me; but I have always learned from my mistakes, and I will never be used by any man again."

He did not argue. But still, Longinus wondered. He believed that he knew the Roman very well, and this sudden marriage to Aurelian's niece and his failure to communicate with Zenobia were totally out of character for Marcus Britainus.

"I intend declaring Vaba Augustus, and myself Queen of the East," she said, and he was quickly jolted from his thoughts.

"You will bring Rome down on you, Majesty."

"Rome is weak," Zenobia said scornfully. "One general after another declares himself emperor, and the path to their empire's throne is littered with the bodies of the assassinated. None can hold power for very long. The barbarian tribes to the west and the north of Italy are constantly encroaching upon the empire's territory. Can Aurelian divert enough soldiers from Europe to make war on me? I do not think so, Longinus. Rome must face the fact that I now control the East, and I will not let it go! This I can do to insure Vaba's future, and that of his sons and grandsons."

"Is it for Vaba you do it, Majesty, or is it to revenge yourself on Marcus Alexander Britainus? Hate is a two-edged sword, Majesty. It can injure those who wield it as well as an enemy."

"You worry too much, Longinus. Did not the augurs at my birth say I should be fortunate at war? And have I not been?"

"The augurs also said you would be fortunate in love, Majesty," was the devastating reply.

"And so I have been!" she argued. "Was my Hawk not the most wonderful of husbands?"

"But he is dead, Majesty, and the man that you truly love with every fiber of your being has appeared to betray you. I do not consider that fortunate." Longinus's logic was a sharp knife cutting away at her confidence.

Zenobia tossed her head angrily and chose to ignore his remark. "I repeat, Longinus, you worry too much."

Longinus bowed his head in acceptance of her will. "Will you make this announcement here in Alexandria, Majesty?"

"Yes," was the reply. "By the time my announcement arrives to ruin Aurelian's digestion, I shall be back in Palmyra." She laughed. 'This could very well topple the latest of Rome's military rulers, and who shall be next, and for how long?"

He wondered about her overconfidence, and he worried, yet all had gone well so far. The armies of Palmyra had passed easily and quickly through Syria and Palestine and across the Egyptian desert. They had crossed the Nile River Delta, attracting only curious glances from the peasants, and entered into Alexandria with no resistance. There, Zenobia's uncles Paulus and Argus Simon had been busy spreading her doctrine of an Eastern Empire free of foreigners; free of Rome.

Alexandria, never treated well by the Romans, had responded to that message by welcoming Palmyra's queen, and taking her as their own. After all, was she not the child of a daughter of this city? Was she not a descendant of the last great Ptolemaic queen, Cleopatra? By the gods, they would once again rise to the greatness that had been theirs before the Romans. The Romans! Since the days of Julius Caesar they had been bad luck for Alexandria.

The Ptolemaic pharaohs and their queens had made Alexandria the academic center of the ancient world. The great Alexandrian library and museum were world-famous. So were the many schools of rhetoric, medicine, mathematics, philosophy, art, literature, and poetry. In the beginning of Roman rule nothing had changed; but then it became intolerable and various segments of the population began to chafe. A revolt by the large Jewish population resulted in their annihilation and the destruction of the Jewish quarter, fully a third of the city. And with the Jews went Alexandria's commercial prosperity.

It was now merely a beautiful ancient city whose schools and great library attracted scholars. There was a certain amount of commerce, but nothing to compare with its days of glory. The Alexandrians had little love for the Romans, whom they rightly blamed for their plight. The chance to strike back at them was irresistible, and Queen Zenobia of Palmyra appeared the very person for them to follow.

The pronouncement of King Vaballathus and his mother, Zenobia, was made from the main portico of Alexandria's royal palace. Zenobia had sworn never again to wear Roman garments, and had taken to the opulent clothes that were a mixture of Egyptian, Persian, and Parthian.

Her dress that day was called a kalasiris, a long, sleeveless garment with a simple, round neck that was totally accordion-pleated to the ankle-length hem. Its color was a pale Nile green. and the linen of the garment was so sheer that Zenobia's flawless body could be seen through it. Her firm and full breasts thrust the fabric boldly out beneath the great jeweled collar of gold inlaid with emerald, lapis lazuli, turquoise, and amber. Upon her arms were beautifully carved gold armbands which were easily visible despite the floor-length cape that she wore. The cape was an incredible piece of workmanship, the lining cloth-of-gold, the exterior of male peacock feathers. It was fastened to her shoulders by means of hidden gold clasps attached to her collar. Upon her feet were simple gold sandals; her long black hair was entwined with lotus blossoms, and the beautiful gold fillet she wore was decorated in front by Egypt's royal asp.

In contrast to his mother's barbaric beauty, young Vaba was dressed quite simply… He wore the flowing white robes of his Bedawi heritage, but the hood of the garment was pushed back to reveal his strong, handsome face, the dark head topped with a magnificent gold crown. Standing next to his mother on the top steps of the portico, he listened with impassive face as Cassius Longinus, several steps down from them and dressed in an impressive white tunic, intoned in a loud, clear voice to the great mass of humanity who had crowded into the square before the palace.

"Behold, Egypt! Behold Zenobia, Queen of the East, and her son, Vaballathus, Augustus of the Eastern Empire!"

Three times the queen's favorite councillor called out, each time followed by a great trumpet fanfare. The crowds cheered and shouted their approval of Zenobia and her son. Longinus looked up at the queen, and said so just she might hear, "Rome will not fail to notice this demonstration, Majesty."

"Then let them be warned, Longinus," was the icy reply.

Aurelian was indeed warned, and in far less time than Zenobia had anticipated. On the very day that Zenobia had proclaimed herself Queen of the East, and her son Augustus of the Eastern Empire, a Roman spy in Alexandria let loose a pigeon. The pigeon, a small capsule attached to his leg, flew to the city of Cyrene, where his message was transferred to the leg of another bird, who flew to Lepcis Magna; then to another who flew to Carthage; and yet another who traversed the length of Sicily. The last bird left Sicily, rested overnight at a cote in Naples, and within a week the message from Alexandria had arrived in Rome.

Eagerly the emperor removed the message from the capsule carried by the last bird; and a slow, satisfied smile spread over his face as he read it.

"It is good news, Caesar?"

"Yes, Gaius Cicero, it is very good news. Praise the gods for creating women to be predictable. The Queen of Palmyra has done exactly what I expected her to do, and now we may march against her."

"Zenobia of Palmyra, sir? But I thought she was our ally?" Gaius Cicero looked puzzled. "Has she not kept the peace for us in the eastern provinces since her husband died? Why are we to march against her?"

"Because, my dear Gaius, the Queen of Palmyra has just seven days ago had the temerity to declare herself Queen of the East, and her son Augustus of the Eastern Empire."

Gaius Cicero sought out his old friend, Marcus Alexander, at his new home in Tivoli. "The Queen of Palmyra has revolted against Rome, and the legions will soon march," he announced. "Will Rome prevail, Marcus?"

"Rome must prevail, Gaius, although I now question my own loyalty to a rotting empire."

Gaius Cicero shook his head. "It will take more than a war with Palmyra to turn Rome from the path of decay."

"Will you be going with the emperor?"

"Of course!"

"Then you will have an opportunity that I have not had, Gaius. The Queen of Palmyra was to have been my wife. Tell her that I yet love her, that my marriage is but a sham. I was not able to communicate with Zenobia after my return. Do this for me, Gaius, for the sake of our long friendship, I beg you!"

Gaius Cicero saw the pain that lurked within his friend's eyes. He knew the cost to Marcus's pride to have to ask even as old a friend as he to relay such a personal message. "I will gladly take your message, Marcus," he said. He was very surprised by his old friend's revelation, and for the briefest of moments Gaius Cicero had doubts about the emperor's conduct in this matter. Then he thought of the good Aurelian had accomplished in his short tenure as emperor. What were the problems of two lovers in light of such greatness?

Aurelian marched east, his troops departing from Brindisi, then ferrying across the Adriatic to Apollonia in Macedonia. From there they marched into Thrace, crossing the water once again to Dar-danus in Asia Minor. The emperor moved at a steady pace, stopping to reassert imperial authority in major towns, allowing the local officials to tell him that they could not be blamed for assuming that Zenobia, like her late husband, Odenathus, spoke for imperial Rome. Aurelian agreed, nodding wisely, laughing silently to himself at their quick defection from Palmyra's queen, and levying token fines to impress upon them Rome's authority.

Before the walls of Antioch Aurelian met in battle with Zen-obia's general, Zabdas. No one was more surprised than the Palmyrans, for they had not expected the Romans for some time, and yet suddenly here they were. The force commanded by General Zabdas was small, the bulk of the army being with the queen in Alexandria. Though they fought well, and bravely against the legions, they were overcome. Zabdas fell back to Emesa, leaving Antioch to the Romans. But securing the city, they quickly followed him and defeated him a second time at Emesa. His small force virtually wiped out, Zabdas fell on his sword, ending his life, but satisfying honor.

Aurelian might then have crossed the hundred miles between Emesa and Palmyra, securing Palmyra in its king and queen's absence and taking its regent, Prince Demetrius, prisoner. That he did not he was to regret. So far he had not lost many men to battle, disease, or fatigue, and he was feeling invincible. Swiftly he moved his army down through Palestine, avoiding as many towns and villages as he could, for surprise was to be his greatest weapon. In Emesa and Antioch his authorities made very sure that no messenger escaped the city to warn Palmyra's queen. They would meet in Alexandria!

The emperor, however, was doomed to disappointment for in a quirk of fate the armies of Rome and those of Palmyra passed within a few miles of each other in the Egyptian desert of Gaza, and neither saw the other. Zenobia, having made her position clear in Alexandria, was hurrying home to await Rome's answer. Aurelian arrived in Egypt's premier city to find his quarry gone, and what was worse, the Alexandrians were not one bit repentant of their support of Palmyra's queen. In retaliation Aurelian set fire to their famous library. By the time the fire was contained, many of its valuable books had been destroyed.

When Zenobia reached her beloved city she found surprising news waiting for her. The enemy was almost at her gates. On the battlefield at Emesa one Palmyran had pretended to be among the casualties, then waited until dark before making good his escape. He had had no supplies or water to aid him; but he was of Bedawi parentage, and tough. It had taken him five days to reach the Qasr-al-Hêr fortress, where he told his story before collapsing. Rufus Curius had immediately sent word to Palmyra.

"But how could Aurelian have heard so quickly?" Zenobia was puzzled.

"The Romans have been known to use pigeons to carry messages," Longinus said. "The message was most likely sent from Alexandria, Majesty."

"And Aurelian has come himself?" she mused. "He will find that Palmyra's legions are not so easily beaten. General Zabdas's defeat will have made the Romans overconfident."

"You don't propose to meet them in open battle, Majesty?"

"No. We will withdraw within Palmyra, and then wait. I am curious to see how long the Romans can survive in our desert, Longinus. Send a message to Rufus Curius. I want all civilians withdrawn from Qasr-al-Hêr immediately, and only a token force left at the fortress. Those who remain are to poison the wells and build upon the highest tower the makings of a bonfire. At the first sign of Aurelian they are to light the fire as a beacon to Palmyra and men retreat. It is easy to fight in the forests of Gaul, where the dew drips from the very branches of the trees, but here in the desert how long will Rome's legions last without water? With luck we will not lose one Palmyran to Aurelian's armies."

The order was sent, and soon the people who had made the Qasr-al-Hêr fortress their home began arriving, crowding the desert road from the west with their carts and livestock. Most had relatives within the city that they might stay with. For those who did not, the queen offered shelter within properties owned by the royal family.

Word was sent along the desert road to the east that Palmyra would soon be under siege, and should be bypassed by those who did not seek to have their goods confiscated by the Romans. Zenobia felt she owed this courtesy to those merchants in Cathay and India who regularly did business with the city.

Confident of their triumph, the people of Palmyra went about their business, me city taking on a festive air for the wedding of the young king and Flavia Porcius. After the festivities, Zenobia and Longinus sat together getting companionably drunk on Cyprian wine. "Marcus has betrayed me," the queen mourned. "Why did he betray me, Longinus? Am I not beautiful? Intelligent? Rich?" A tear slid down her cheek. "What does Aurelian's niece have that I do not have?" Then she giggled. "I shall ask him when I capture him, Longinus! That's what I shall do! I will say to him, Aurelian, what does your niece have that lured Marcus Alexander from my side? Am I not clever, Longinus?" She was happily drunk.

Her answer was a soft snore, for Cassius Longinus had fallen asleep in his chair. His goblet tipped from his hand, drizzling sweet red wine across the marble floor. Zenobia watched the blood-colored trickle of liquid, as it ran slowly across the white floor. She sighed again and, standing uncertainly, she reached for the decanter, picked it up, and wandered slowly down the corridor that led to her private apartments.

She awoke late the next morning, and her head immediately regretted her actions of the previous night. The bright sunlight streamed in across her bedchamber, causing her to wince with genuine pain. Warned by her aching head and roiling stomach, she did not dare to rise else she be sick. She lay very still, finding that the closest thing to comfort.

Old Bab hurried in, her sandals slapping against the floor in a most aggravating manner. "So, you are finally awake."

"Do not shout," Zenobia whispered. "My head pounds."

"I am not surprised. But there is something you must know. The beacon from Qasr-al-Hêr has just a few minutes ago been spotted burning. The Romans are coming."

"The gods!" Zenobia swore irritably. 'Today of all days!"

"Aye, they were ever a thoughtless bunch," Bab observed wryly. "Come, I will mix you a potion that will take the ache from your head and the sickness from your belly." Bab bustled out, and Zenobia could hear her giving orders to the slave girls in the outer room. In a few minutes she was back again, carrying a small goblet, which she handed to Zenobia. "Drink it," she commanded in a voice that brooked no nonsense, and the queen obeyed.

Within minutes the symptoms that had made her so uncomfortable were magically gone. "What was in that?" she demanded of Bab.

"It is a mixture of honey, fruit juices, and herbs," was the reply. "Let me help you up now, my baby, and it is off to the baths for you."

An hour later Zenobia stood atop the highest tower of Palmyra gazing west toward the Qasr-al-Hêr fortress, where the sentinel beacon blazed brightly even in the midafternoon sun. On the westward road she could see in the distance faint puffs of dust made by the hooves of the approaching camels who carried Rufus Curius and his small patrol to safety in Palmyra. She stayed watching until she could make out the riders quite plainly, and then she descended the tower and, mounting her chariot, drove through the city amid her cheering people to greet the riders.

They thundered through the gates, which quickly closed behind them, coming to a quick halt before the queen's chariot. The camels knelt, and their riders swiftly dismounted and stood making their obeisance before Zenobia.

"It has been done as you commanded, Majesty," Rufus Curius said.

"The Romans?" she asked.

"At least two legions, Majesty. Possibly three."

Zenobia turned to Cassius Longinus. "Have them sound the alarm, Longinus, so those outside the walls may enter before it is too late."

"What of the Bedawi, Majesty?" he asked.

"They have disappeared into the desert," she said with a small smile.

"The better to watch for us," he murmured with an answering smile, and left to do her bidding.

Zenobia returned her attention to Rufus Curius. "You have done well, old friend, and I thank you for your loyalty, you and your men. Go now and spend the evening with Deliciae and your children. I do not expect the Romans before our gates until tomorrow, when they will attempt to frighten us with a show of force."

He saluted her, and Zenobia, remounting her chariot, drove quickly back to the palace. Throughout the city the echo of the warning trumpets sounded again and again as latecomers and stragglers from the unwalled suburbs hurried to safety within the gates. Arriving at her destination, the queen hurried to the council chamber for a prearranged meeting with the Council of Ten. She found them and both her sons waiting.

Questions were fired at her with great rapidity, and impatiently she held up her hands demanding that they stop so she might speak. "We do not expect the Romans before dawn," she said, "and then they will do one of two things. Morning will possibly show Aurelian in full battle force before our gates. Often the legions sneak up upon a city in the night so that the dawn reveals their battle formation. It can be a formidable sight.

"The other possibility is that dawn will reveal an empty desert. Suddenly in the distance will come the faint sound of the war drums, which will grow louder and closer as each minute passes. As suddenly, the Romans marching in perfect ranks will begin to pour over the horizon until they are lined up before our gates. Both of these ploys are used to frighten a civilian population, and so our people must be told in order that they not be afraid. Terror is the prime weapon used by the Romans.

"Marius Gracchus, have foodstuffs been laid in as I commanded?"

"We have several months' supply of grain, oil, olives, figs, and dates in government storehouses, Majesty. We have spent the last few weeks buying livestock, which will be slaughtered as needed and distributed when necessary. Practically every family in the city has some sort of poultry in its keeping. Palmyra is well prepared to withstand a siege of several months."

Zenobia nodded. "The Romans will not last that long, Marius Gracchus." She then looked to her younger son, Demetrius. "You have seen to the wells in the suburbs?"

"My men and I personally visited each house, Majesty, and impressed upon the owners the importance of destroying the water supply so that the Romans could not have it," he said. At seventeen, Demetrius was an extremely handsome young man, far better-looking than his older brother, who favored their father. Demetrius was his mother's son, with her dark hair, a pair of languid gray eyes, and a most sensuous mouth. Like his mother, he was impetuous and passionate; but Zenobia suspected that, like his father, Demetrius would not marry until he was considerably older. There were too many delicious treats the prince wanted to taste before settling down.

She inclined her head in response to his reply, and then she turned to Vaba. "Is there anything you wish to add, my son?"

The young king shook his head in the negative. "You seem to have thought of everything, mother," he said quietly.

Zenobia threw him a sharp glance, and then turned back to the entire council. "Does anyone else have anything further to say?" she asked, and the reply being in the negative she dismissed them. "Stay, Vaba," and he heard the command in her voice. When the room was at last empty she turned on him furiously. "Do not ever fence words with me again in open council!" she said. "Why do you choose this time to quarrel with me?"

"You behave as if Palmyra has no king, Mother. Everyone defers to you. The council, the people, even the damned Romans! I am consulted on nothing."

"Vaba, Vaba," she chided him. "The very life of this city is at stake. Tomorrow morning the Romans will arrive. They seek to destroy us. Do you really believe you are experienced enough to plan the defense of Palmyra? I am sorry that in all the tumult you have not been properly deferred to, but there is no time. I did not expect the Romans for another three months, and suddenly they are on my doorstep."

"In other words, Mother, they have already outmaneuvered you," he said quietly.

"Yes, Vaba, they have. I am not ashamed to admit it. I am human as are they, and I learn from my errors."

"If going to war against the Romans is an error, Mother, then all of Palmyra shall learn," he answered her.

"Rome has no business here in the East. Your father believed it, and I believe it."

"This war would not have happened if Marcus had returned to you," he accused. "I wish to the gods that he had, for then you would have married him and I might have ruled in my own right!"

"You ungrateful little whelp!" she hissed at him. "You rule this city?! What a joke, Vaba, my son! What a fine joke! When your father was murdered I secured the city for you. For six years Ihave ruled it for you, and what have you learned from me, my son? You have learned nothing! All you know of kingship is the bowing and scraping of your courtiers!

"The Romans are not to be trusted. Your grandfather was loyal to Rome, and what was the result? His wife, my own sweet mother, raped and murdered by Romans! I loved Marcus Alexander more than I ever loved any man. Aye, I even loved him more than your father; but he betrayed me to marry an emperor's niece. I do not deny that I am bitter, but I have not gone to war with Rome out of that rejection. For many years your father and I planned to consolidate the Eastern Empire, and rule it ourselves. Now I have done just that. I have but one piece of unfinished business, and that is to defeat Rome once and for all. I shall do it, Vaba! On your father's memory I swear I shall do it! When I have, and there is once more stability in the region, you may rule alone and to your heart's content. I will have given you time to learn this business of kingship the way I have always given you time, Vaba. Do not be impatient with me, or with yourself. You will be a good king one day."

"You loved Marcus more than my father?" His face was a mask of shock, disbelief, and hurt.

She sighed, and wondered if he had heard anything else that she had said to him other than that. "Your father was the only man I knew until his death. Odenathus was chosen to be my husband. He was a good man. I loved him, for he was good to me, and he loved me in return; but with Marcus it was different."

"I don't know if I will ever understand you," he said softly, rising from the council table and walking to the door. At the entry he turned. "Good night, Mother," and then he was gone.

She sat for a few minutes longer, but she would not allow herself to think. She needed to free her mind.

"Mama?"

Startled, Zenobia looked up and saw her small daughter standing in the doorway to the council chamber. Her heart contracted at the sight, for the little girl was so like her father. Tall for her age of five and a half, Mavia was slender with a heart-shaped face, Marcus's startling blue eyes, and long chestnut curls. Her skin was lighter than Zenobia's, but still it held a golden tone.

"What is it, Mavia?" she answered the child. "Should you not be in your bed?"

"Mama, is it true the Romans eat little children?"

Zenobia felt anger well up within her. Who had been frightening the child? "No, Mavia, Romans do not eat children. Who has told you such silliness?"

'Titus says that the Romans eat little children." The little girl nervously twisted the side of her blue gown.

"Deliciae's son, Titus?"

"Yes." Mavia's eyes were very large and fearful.

"Come here to me, Mavia," her mother commanded, and the child ran across the floor on small, bare feet to climb into her lap. Zenobia cuddled her close against her ample breasts, and felt the little girl trembling. "Titus is a silly little boy, Mavia. Boys his age like to tease younger children, and you have made him very happy by being afraid. If he should attempt to frighten you again with such nonsense then tell him that the Romans particularly love to munch on nine-year-old boys."

Mavia giggled. "I love you, Mama," she said.

"And I love you, my darling. I love you best of all!" Zenobia rose up, her daughter still in her arms. "I am going to take you to your bed, my chick." She left the council room and carried her daughter through the palace corridors back to the child's own rooms. "You must not be afraid, Mavia," she said as she walked. "The sound of battle is noisy, and can sometimes be frightening; but the Romans cannot enter Palmyra, and they will not hurt you, I promise."

Mavia nodded, and whispered, "Yes, Mama."

Reaching Mavia's rooms, the queen handed her now sleepy child over to her nurse. Kissing Mavia's cheek, she said to the nurse, "You will remain in the palace until further notice, Charmian. Mavia is only to be allowed to play in the inner gardens."

"Yes, Majesty," the slave woman murmured.

Zenobia hurried to her own apartments, where Bab was waiting. "I have dismissed your butterflies," the old woman announced.

"How well you know me, old friend," Zenobia said. "I do want to be alone this night."

"What can I bring you to eat, my baby?"

"Anything simple, and something to drink."

"Wine?" the old woman inquired mischievously.

"Never again!" Zenobia said fervently. "Fruit juice will be quite nice, thank you, Bab."

Bab exited to return a few minutes later with a heavily laden tray, which she placed on a low ebony table. "The gods grant you sweet repose and a clear mind, my baby," she said as she left the room.

The queen shrugged out of her kalasiris and crossed the room out into her private garden. There, a pool warmed by the late-afternoon sun beckoned invitingly. Diving in, she swam for some minutes until her body grew tired and began to relax. Climbing out and taking a large linen towel, she began to dry herself off. As she did so, Zenobia carefully scrutinized her body and did not find it wanting. Her large breasts were as firm as when she had been a girl, her belly flat despite three children, her bottom rounded and not overly large. There was nothing that should be displeasing to a man. Why then had he left her?

"The gods!" she swore aloud. How deeply he had hurt her. He had probably returned to his own world, and seeing about him all those proper Roman wives had finally desired one of his own. He had been ready to marry and, unable to publicly claim Mavia, had longed for children of his own.

Sitting by the pool, she wondered once more why he had not written to her, and then she laughed ruefully. How could he possibly have explained his actions to her on dry parchment after all that had passed between them? Still, to find out in the manner in which she had was cruel, and she would not have thought him a cruel man.

Dear Longinus. It was he who had first learned of Marcus's betrayal in a letter from his former pupil, Porphyry, who now studied in Rome with Plotinus. Longinus did not wait for the gossip to reach her, but quickly joined her in Alexandria, leaving Prince Demetrius in the capable hands of Marius Gracchus. Longinus, her dear and good friend, her loyal councillor, had known how devastated she would be. Longinus, who had held her in his arms while she cried away the first hurt. What would she ever do without Longinus? She would never have to wonder, Zenobia realized, for Longinus was the one man other than her father and her brothers upon whom she might rely.

The afternoon became desert twilight, and then, quickly, night. The dark skies sparkled with thousands of bright stars, casting their lights upon Palmyra as they had for all the centuries since time began. She loved them for their beauty, and she loved them because they were constant and never-changing. Should not a relationship between lovers be a constant thing, or was she simply idealizing love?

Standing up, she flung the towel aside and walked back into her chamber where she put on a simple, long, natural-colored soft cotton gown. She then began to examine the tray that Bab had left her. Upon it were very thin slices of chicken breast and baby lamb alternating with equally thin slices of pomegranate. A woven round basket, a hot stone within its bottom, held small, flat loaves of bread. There was a salad of lettuce and tiny fresh peas that had been dressed in olive oil and herbed vinegar; and a footed silver bowl that held a small bunch of plump, green grapes and half a dozen fat apricots. A matching tall silver pitcher was filled with cool juice. Zenobia's appetite had never been a poor one, and she fell upon the meal, devouring it thoroughly.

Afterward she bathed her hands in rose water, and went again out into her private garden, where she once more began to think. The moonless night was unnaturally quiet, and she wondered if the Romans were already before her gates, or if they would choose to come by daylight. She somehow thought the latter, and knew that she would not have long to wait. It was a strangely comforting thought. She would be glad to begin this confrontation-the sooner to get it over with. The queen retired to her empty bed to sleep a dreamless sleep. For one night she was not haunted by his face with its deep blue eyes; nor the sound of his voice promising to return to her.

In the hour just before the dawn old Bab gently shook her mistress awake and offered a goblet of sweet pomegranate juice. Zenobia lay quietly, allowing her spirit to return to her body after its long night of roaming within the shadow realm. Finally she asked, "Are they here yet?"

"Not a sign, my baby."

She sipped at her juice. "Is the city calm?"

"For the most part," the old woman answered. "The people are like a virgin going to her wedding couch, a little frightened, but sure that all will be well."

"It is natural," the queen said. She put the empty goblet down. "Today I must dress like the queen I am, Bab. It will hearten the people, and the Romans will expect it. I will be on the walls awaiting them, and afterward I shall roam the city to assure my people."

Bab nodded. "I expected you would wear your finest feathers, my baby. All is in readiness for you this very minute. I have personally chosen your wardrobe. You have only to pick your jewels."

"Show me."

Bab clapped her hands, and instantly a slave girl appeared carefully holding out for Zenobia's approval a kalasiris made of a cobweb-sheer linen cloth that had been interwoven with very thin strands of finely beaten gold. The sleeveless gown had been skillfully constructed in narrow pleats from its round, high neck to the ankle-length hem. Zenobia nodded her approval, and after bathing her face and hands in a basin held by a slave girl she rose from her bed, holding out her arms. Swiftly Bab removed her simple sleeping gown, and taking the kalasiris from the slave dropped it over the queen's head.

Zenobia walked across her bedchamber to stand before the enormous full-length polished silver mirror. "Adria," she commanded the slave, "bring my jewel caskets." The girl scurried off, and the queen said to Bab, "Your choice is a perfect one, old woman." Bab smiled broadly. Adria returned balancing several jewel caskets in her arms. "Fetch me the soft gold leather belt for this," Zenobia asked Bab as she began opening the jewel boxes. Carefully she studied the contents of each box, removing the upper trays in order to see what lay beneath. Swiftly she closed several lids down, and said to Adria, "Remove these boxes. I do not choose to wear silver today."

"Here is the belt you desire," Bab said, carefully fastening it about Zenobia's slender waist. The wide belt was made of soft kidskin overlaid with twelve layers of gold leaf over which were sewn tiny beads of fine gold and pale-pink rock quartz. The front of the belt rose up to a narrow peak that ended just below her breasts.

The queen now began to choose her jewelry. From one jewel box came two wide gold armbands with raised designs which Bab fastened about each of Zenobia's upper arms. Around her wrists the queen slipped on several gold bangles, some plain, some with blue Persian lapis, some with rose quartz. Into her earlobes she fastened enormous diamonds, pale pink in color, which had come to her from mines located far to the south. They dangled, sparkling, from their thin gold wires.

"Rings?" Bab asked.

"No," was the reply. "They will not be close enough to see them." She thought a moment as Bab made to close the ring casket. "Wait! Perhaps just a ruby on this hand, and the matching pink diamond on the other. If I use my hands to punctuate a point, they will sparkle and add effect."

"Necklaces?" Bab inquired.

"No, but I think one of those marvelous jeweled collars. Adria?"

"Majesty?"

"Do we not have a gold collar inlaid with rubies, and rose quartz, and small diamonds?"

"Yes, Majesty. Shall I fetch it?"

Zenobia nodded, and Adria quickly complied, returning to fasten the exquisite collar about the queen's neck. It lay flat upon her chest, the alternating jewels just above her full breasts. Zenobia smiled with satisfaction. "Brush my hair out, Bab, and then let us place upon my head that elegant small circlet of beaten gold vine leaves that has the long gold ribbons sewn with brilliants."

Bab nodded vigorously, and instructed Adria where the circlet might be found. When Zenobia's long black hair had been brushed silken smooth, Bab placed the wreath of golden vine leaves atop her mistress's head, and carefully arranged the ribbons out behind her. Then she stepped back, and nodded again. "It is perfect, my baby. You are a queen!"

"Come now, old woman, I must hurry. I would be on the walls to greet our visitors."

Giving her old nurse a quick hug, Zenobia hurried from her apartments and through the palace to its main courtyard, where her magnificent gold chariot with its four coal-black horses waited. She could see Vaba and Flavia coming down the path from the tiny palace within the larger palace gardens. She had given them the house that Odenathus had given her as a wedding gift those long years ago. Since his death she had been unable to live in it again, and she believed that the newly married couple would enjoy their privacy as she and Hawk had enjoyed theirs. Flavia, of course, had accepted the gift in the spirit in which Zenobia had intended it; but Vaba had sarcastically asked if she was attempting to keep him from his palace. Only sweet Flavia's quick intervention had saved the bridegroom from his furious mother.

"Good morning, Aunt Zenobia," Flavia said, going to the queen and giving her a loving kiss on the cheek.

Zenobia couldn't help but smile. Her new daughter-in-law, the child of her two friends, Antonius Porcius and his Julia, was a dear girl, and she had to admit, the perfect wife for Vaba. "Good morning, my dearest," she answered Flavia. "Good morning, Vaba."

"Good morning, Mother. Have the Romans been sighted yet?"

"If they have I have not been told, Vaba. Come, my son. Let us hurry to the walls, and be prepared to greet our guests, unwelcome though they may be. Flavia, would you come with us?"

"May I?"

"Of course, child. You are Palmyra's queen."

"Oh, no, Aunt Zenobia! You are Palmyra's queen. I am only Vaba's wife, and it is all I seek to be."

Zenobia threw her son an arch look, and then put a loving arm about Flavia. "We are both Palmyra's queens."

"Let us go if we are going," Vaba said impatiently.

"Very well," his mother replied, climbing without any help up into her chariot. "I will drive, Vaba. Your hand is too heavy on my horses' mouths. Besides, I think Flavia would enjoy being held by her husband rather than clinging to the handhold for dear life."

For once Vaba did not disagree with his mother, and Flavia colored becomingly. Zenobia smiled to herself, remembering how it had been to ride with Odenathus's arm tight about her. She looked over at the pair as she started the horses off, and thought how pretty Flavia was. She was a small girl, her delicate build belying her great strength of character. Her eyes were a clear amber in color, her hair a lovely golden brown, her skin tones peachlike. All of her features-a round face with well-spaced eyes, a turned-up nose, and a coral-colored, generous mouth- had combined to form a most pleasing appearance. Her neck was slender and graceful, and she had a way of holding her head that gave her a presence usually associated with taller people. She was intelligent, and had a kind heart, both of which Zenobia thanked the gods for, because had Vaba chosen simply a pretty but vapid girl, the results would have been disastrous.

As it was still early the broad streets of Palmyra were empty, and it was but comfortably mild in temperature. A light wind teased at both Zenobia's gold kalasiris and Flavia's pale-blue tunic dress. As they reached the walls of the city the activity increased, the military in control of the streets leading to the walls. The populace cheered Zenobia and her family as the chariot thundered by them, and a faint proud smile touched the queen's lips.

Reaching the walls of the city, Zenobia brought her vehicle to a halt, and leapt out without waiting for Vaba and Flavia. Striding to the narrow steps built into the thick walls, she began climbing. At the top she was greeted by a captain in her personal guard, and her younger son, Prince Demetrius. "Good morning, Demi, Captain Tigranes," she said. "Any sign?"

"Not yet, Mother."

"Longinus is here?"

"Over there, Mother."

The king had reached the ramparts with his young wife. Zenobia moved down the ramparts to stand with Longinus.

"Here I am again rousing you early in the morning," the queen teased her chief councillor.

"One of the hazards of being in your employ, Majesty," he chuckled.

Together they stood looking out across the desert that surrounded the oasis city of Palmyra. The wind had blown the sands into small wavelike ripples so that the city appeared to be an island amid a vast golden sea. Behind them the sky flung out dawn streamers of scarlet and coral, mauve and pink, burnished copper and narrow bands of dark purple edged in palest green. To the west it was yet dark with one lone and cold star gleaming ominously down upon all. There was no wind. All was very still. Looking about her, Zenobia saw that the ramparts along the walls were now crowded not only with soldiers, but with Palmyra's citizens, who had come to see the arrival of their unwelcome guests.

The sun began to spill over the horizon, and suddenly very faintly from the distance came the sound of drums and marching feet. Zenobia turned to Longinus and her sons. "Did I not tell you?" she said. "They are exactly on time-sunrise-with their booming drums and stamping feet, all calculated to put abject fear into the hearts of the citizenry."

“You cannot blame them for lack of originality," Longinus said wryly. "This has always worked for them, and the Romans are not a people easily persuaded to try something new."

All along the walls the citizens chattered busily, not at all impressed by the distant noise, for had they not been told that this was how it would be? Now they watched curiously to catch the first glimpse of the enemy. It was like some vast show presented in the arena.

The queen strained her eyes. Upon the horizon she could see the sun reflecting off a veritable sea of spear tips. Fascinated, she was unable to tear her eyes away as the spear tips became soldiers, marching soldiers, soldiers dragging great war machines and battering rams across the shifting sands of the western road, thousands of infantry urged on by officers mounted upon a variety of prancing horses.

"How many legions do you think there are?" Longinus asked.

"I cannot tell yet," was the reply.

Closer and closer the Romans came to the city walls, until at last they stopped, and Zenobia breathed softly, "I count four full legions, Longinus. Aurelian wants us very badly, but he shall not have my city." Boldly she stared down upon the army amassed below, and suddenly the ranks opened to allow a war chariot through. In the chariot was a driver and one man. The vehicle stopped before the walls, and in the great silence that followed the man in the chariot began to speak.

"People of Palmyra, I am Aurelian, Emperor of the Romans."

"I believe the archers can get him from this distance, Mother," said Demetrius.

"No," Zenobia said. "Let him speak. I wish to hear what he has to say."

"I come in peace. I have no quarrel with the people of Palmyra. It is the woman who calls herself your queen who has rebelled against the empire. Give her over to me, accept my governor, and we will live in peace as we always have."

From the ramparts of Palmyra came shouts of outrage, and almost at once the spectators began hurling the remains of their morning meal at the Romans. The emperor's chariot was forced to move backward. The queen nodded to her trumpeter, and a clarion call rang in the still air, silencing everyone. Zenobia stepped up on the walls so that she might be visible to the Roman army and its emperor. Behind her the sun blazed, and with the blue sky above her as a background, her golden garments and jewelry sparkled and gleamed impressively. Below, the Roman soldiers murmured superstitiously at the sudden appearance of this golden woman. There were murmurs of "The goddess Athena!" "Venus!" "No, fools, 'tis Juno herself!"

"I am Zenobia of Palmyra, Queen of the East. Aurelian of the Romans, you are unwelcome here. Go while you still have the opportunity, else the desert become your final stop on the road to Hades."

"Woman! You have rebelled against Rome! Give yourself over to me for judgment, and I will spare your city."

The answer to Aurelian's impertinence was a spear that sang swiftly through the air to bury itself in the ground before his chariot. Startled, the horses reared, but were quickly brought under firm control by their driver. No one, even the queen, had seen who threw the spear, but its message was far more eloquent than words.

"You have the answer, Aurelian of the Romans. My people have spoken, and as always I am an obedient servant of my people."

A small smile played upon his lips, and he nodded almost companionably at her. "As am I, Zenobia of Palmyra," he said.

"Then it is war between us," she answered.

"It is war," was the reply.

"We have the advantage, Roman, safe here behind our walls. We are prepared to hold out for months. Are you?"

"We are."

"Without water, Aurelian? You have no water. I would have no innocent lives on my conscience, so I give you fair warning that the wells serving the suburbs surrounding this city have been poisoned."

"Can you be sure, Zenobia?" was the mocking reply. "Do you really think that those who expect to return shortly to their homes have poisoned their own wells? What would they use for water then upon their return?"

"Unlike Romans, Palmyrans are loyal, Aurelian, and they follow orders."

"Palmyrans are people like any other, Zenobia. Perhaps most of your people have obeyed, but there will be some who have not, and we need only one well to survive."

"Do you really think you can water four legions and all your livestock on one well, Aurelian? Do not be a fool! You will have not enough water, and without water you will die! Go while you still have the opportunity. Were not all the wells at Qasr-al-Hêr destroyed?"

"They were indeed."

"Does that not tell you something?" she demanded.

He smiled up at her, looking a long moment uponher incredible beauty before he spoke again; and then he said quietly, "Remember Masada!"