Beloved

10

Zenobia looked down the table at Palmyra's Council of Ten, assembled five to a side. At the opposite end sat her son, the king. "It has been four months since the Romans appeared before our gates," she said, "and what I have learned this day has told me that if we do not get aid from another quarter we shall not be able to rid ourselves of them. Before our stores run out, before one Palmyran life is sacrificed, I must get aid!"

"What is it, Majesty?" Marius Gracchus asked. "What have you learned?"

"Aurelian was correct when he said that all the wells within our suburbs would not be destroyed. Less than half of our people obeyed, and of the other half most simply filled their wells with debris that the Roman soldiers have been carefully removing. They have more than enough water, and their lines of communications and supply are totally unfettered. They can hold out forever. We cannot."

"What must we do then, Majesty?" the venerable old councillor asked.

"I must ride for Persia. When my late husband beat Shapur, their king, in battle, it was for Rome. Perhaps Shapur will aid us. If he does, and attacks the Romans from the rear, and we attack them from the front, we can destroy them between us."

"Surely you do not propose to go yourself, Majesty?"

"I must. Our need is great, and I believe that only I can convince Shapur to join us."

"Who will you appoint regent in your absence, Majesty?" he asked.

Zenobia looked directly at her son, who sat unsmiling in his chair. "There is no need for a regent, Marius Gracchus. Palmyra has a king, and it is past time that he ruled in his own right. I have been fearful that perhaps my son was not mature enough to assume his full responsibilities, but his conduct during these months of siege has proved that he is more than ready. Vaballathus has my loyalty, and my full confidence." She smiled at him, and then bowing her head said, "I beg your Majesty's leave to ride to King Shapur of Persia."

"You have my permission, Queen of Palmyra," Vaba said, and then he stood and looked at them all. "I am your king, but she is the queen. Remember it!"

Afterward, when they had all been dismissed, he chided her, "You might have at least warned me what you were going to do, Mother."

"I wanted it to be a surprise," she answered.

"Do you really mean it, or will you take over when you return again?" he asked.

"No, Vaba, Palmyra is yours. But at least listen to my advice, and let us work together until the enemy has been driven from our lands."

"How will you reach Persia?" he demanded.

"The Bedawi," she said.

"Is that how you found out about the wells?"

"Yes. Your uncle Akbar and his sons have been camped just over the dunes, playing the desert nomads for the Romans. They sell them goat's milk, cheese, dates, and women. Indeed, they have become quite friendly with Aurelian himself."

"Where is Grandfather Zabaai?"

"With the main part of the tribe, several days to the east."

"When will you go, Mother?"

"Tonight. There is no moon, and I can safely slip out of the city without being caught. I must not delay, Vaba. We have barely three months' supplies left even with strict rationing."

"Will any of your men go with you?"

"Only Rufus Curius. I would prefer to go alone to meet Akbar, but he insisted that someone come with me, and Rufus Curius asked to accompany me." She shrugged irritably. "They are a pair of old women, both of them. They were afraid if a stray Roman caught me I might be assaulted. I am not so feeble that I cannot put a knife between some Roman's ribs."

He smiled at her. "I have no doubt that you could knife a Roman with ease, and butcher him without a sound, but I agree with them. It is better this way."

She laughed. "A fine opinion you have of your mother, Vaba."

"Have you any suggestions for me while you are gone?"

"Several," she answered mischievously, and then she grew serious. "Rely on Longinus first, and then Marius Gracchus. They are the best of the council. The others have a tendency to be too cautious, even my good Antonius Porcius. My absence must be kept secret for as long as possible, for once the Romans know they will come after me. I must reach the Euphrates River and cross it before they can catch up with me."

"We will offer the information that you have a mild fever," Vaba said, "and that you are keeping to your couch for a few days."

"I will need three days."

"You will have them, Mother."

She stepped forward and embraced him. "If I do not return, Vaba… remember that I have always loved you. Remember that, and remember the dream that your father and I always had for Palmyra. We wanted her free of Rome."

"I will remember," he said, and kissed her affectionately. "I do love you, Mother."

She laughed. "I know, Vaba, and I also know that it has not always been easy to love me."

He gestured helplessly, and laughing again, she left him.

In the darkest part of the night Zenobia left the city with Rufus Curius. Together they had mounted the walls on the eastern side of the city, and been lowered down in the darkness by two of Zenobia's personal guard. In silence they had skirted the city, carefully avoiding the Roman camp and their pickets, to walk quickly to the encampment of Akbar ben Zabaai. With a skill that amazed Rufus Curius Zenobia managed even to evade the Bedawis who guarded that campsite, and enter her brother's tent unseen.

Akbar ben Zabaai came forward smiling broadly. "You have not lost your touch all those years in the city," he said, chuckling with pride.

"This is Rufus Curius," Zenobia said. "He was commander of Qasr-al-Hêr. He is to accompany me. Are the camels ready?"

"They are, my sister. I am sending five of my men with you also."

"No!"

"Yes, Zenobia, my sister. You must be protected. Do not think you can keep this from the Romans. They have spies everywhere, and will know of your departure quickly."

"I only need three days, Akbar! Three days!"

"You will be lucky to get twelve hours. Then may the gods make your camels swift, for they will be after you! The Bedawi can make up a rear guard. Should the Romans get too close, they can slay your pursuers."

"Your brother is right, Majesty. I, for one, am grateful for the extra protection," Rufus Curius said.

"Very well," Zenobia replied. "I agree. Let us go now!"

Without another word Akbar led them out of the tent and to the edge of the encampment where his men and the camels awaited. "This is my sister," he said, "and her aide, Rufus Curius. Obey her, for she is far wiser in the ways of the desert than any of you. Should you be pursued protect her with your lives. Her mission is to get to Shapur of Persia, and gain his aid. Without it the Romans will again control this region, and we do not want that, my friends."

Zenobia mounted her camel and, leaning back in her saddle, kicked it into a standing position. "Thank you, Akbar," she said.

"The gods go with you, my sister."

The other men had mounted their beasts, and the little party left the Bedawi camp, traveling east toward the Euphrates River. Once they had crossed it they would be in Persia. Although the Palmyrans had beaten Persia in battle, there had been peace between the two lands for several years now. Zenobia thought that despite their past differences Shapur would aid them, for he hated the Romans. Besides, there were several valuable trade concessions she would give him in return for his aid.

The night began to give way to a gray dawn, and dawn in its turn to a rainbow-colored sunrise and a magnificent day. The sun slowly climbed up into the cloudless blue sky while across the seemingly endless desert the seven camels plodded onward. Finally, at two hours past noon, they stopped in the shelter of some tall dunes. The sun beat mercilessly down upon them as the camels knelt to allow their riders to dismount. It had been a long time since Zenobia had ridden across the desert under a midday sun. She longed to throw off her enveloping cloak, but to do so would be to risk severe sunburn, and dehydration. Instead, she made a small hollow for herself in the sand within the shadow of one of the dunes, and settled down to rest. After a bit she accepted some lukewarm water offered her by Rufus Curius and, digging her hand into a leather pouch hanging from her belt, she drew out some dates and two figs, which she began to slowly eat. Her hunger and thirst both satisfied, the Queen of Palmyra slept for the next several hours.

"It is time to go, my Queen," Rufus Curius's voice penetrated her wild and formless dreams.

Zenobia opened her eyes, suddenly aware of where she was. "I hear you, Rufus. Give me but a moment, and I will be ready." He offered her another drink, which she accepted, and then she rose and mounted the kneeling camel. Irritably the beast stood, swung his head around, and attempted to bite her foot. Quickly she escaped him, administering a smart slap to the camel's nose with her reins at the same time. "They are the most irascible creatures," she muttered to Rufus Curius, who then warily mounted his own camel.

It was late afternoon and still quite hot, but quickly night descended upon the desert, and Zenobia was glad for her long black wool cloak. During the long night they made but one short stop to rest the camels and to relieve themselves. The second day was an imitation of the first, but when they prepared to travel on the third night, one of the Bedawi announced, "We are being followed."

"How do you know?" demanded Rufus Curius, anxiously scanning the horizon and seeing nothing.

"I know," was the reply.

Rufus Curius nodded. "How far behind us?"

"Several hours," was the answer.

"Can we make the river before they catch up to us?" Zenobia spoke.

"With the gods' blessing, Majesty," the Bedawi said.

"Let us go then, Hussein, and pray that the gods are not fickle toward me now at the crucial moment." She clambered up onto her camel.

Throughout the night they rode relentlessly on toward the Euphrates, eventually exiting the desert and riding along through the lush farmland that was the great river's heritage. Ahead of them the skies began to grow gray with light, spreading slowly westward until they found themselves riding in a dove-colored gloom that allowed them to see the green of the land and the black outlines of occasional farmsteads and small villages.

The horizon was soon edged in gold, and slashes of crimson also spread westward as the great round of the blazing sun pulled itself slowly over the edge of the world and began to rise upward into the sky. The camels were tiring, but ahead of them they could just begin to make out the wide, greenish-brown ribbon of the Euphrates as it wound through the great and ancient plain of Sumer and Akkad.

Safety, thought Zenobia, heaving a sigh. Once they had crossed the river they were safe, for the Romans would not cross into Persia. Closer and closer they came to the river, and then suddenly Hussein turned and shouted, "Behind us! The Romans!"

Zenobia turned in her saddle, and saw with horror a troop of mounted men gaining on them. She glanced over at Rufus Curius, and heard him say, "Too many for us!"

"Can we reach the river?" she shouted to him.

"Possibly," came the reply.

"Stay with me," she commanded him.

"I will, Majesty!"

Zenobia leaned forward, and kicked her reluctant camel into a gallop. The poor beast was exhausted after the night's travel, and she had intended to rest him on the other side of the river for several long hours. Now the tired beast was forced to expend what little energies he had left. Bred for toughness, however, he responded, and the river came even closer. Behind her the Bedawi warriors dropped back to cover her flight, and soon she could hear the fierce sounds of a short battle. She knew me five tribesmen who had accompanied her would die in that battle. They were pledged to defend her, and mere would be neither surrender nor quarter given. The few minutes that they would give her, though, could mean the difference between escape and capture.

Then they were at the river bank, and flinging themselves from their mounts. The Euphrates stretched wide, and in midstream a small boat with a fisherman floated. Rufus Curius called to the boatman. "A gold piece if you will ferry us across! Hurry, man, we are pursued by the Romans!" He held the shiny coin up so the fisherman might see it and know he told the truth. The man began to pole quickly toward the shore. "Wade out as far as you can go, Majesty," Rufus Curius commanded. "We can't waste time."

"You aren't coming with me?"

"I must cover your retreat, Majesty. Now even the moments count. I will come if I can."

She looked searchingly at him. "Rufus Curius, I thank you."

"It has never been hard to serve you, or to serve Palmyra, my Queen."

Zenobia hoisted her cloak up and tied it about her middle before she began to wade out into the river. The water was sun-warmed, the bottom at first sandy, then muddy, squishing through her toes. She looked toward the fisherman, shading her eyes with her hand. and saw that he was getting closer. Suddenly behind her on the bank she heard shouts, and Rufus Curius's voice cried out, "Swim. Majesty! Swim!" Turning, she saw him surrounded by almost a dozen men, and then she saw him no more.

Frantically Zenobia flung herself into the water, and began swimming toward the fishing boat. Behind her she heard splashing, and knew she was being pursued. Venus! Mars! Jupiter for whom I was named! Help me now! Help me to escape them! she prayed silently, her arms moving rhythmically as she swam as quickly as she could. Ahead of her she could see the fisherman had stopped poling, and was watching curiously. Then suddenly a hand grasped her ankle. Furiously she struggled to escape, kicking out, but she quickly found herself surrounded by Roman legionnaires, and weighed down by her heavy, wet cloak she was powerless. They hauled her none too gently back toward the shore, and when it was possible to stand again they closed in about her, their hands moving roughly over her body in a "search" for weapons; but their real intent was quite clear. The sodden cloak was pulled away and her short tunic was torn from her; she was weaponless, powerless. One of the men shoved her backward onto the sandy beach, loosening his own clothing. In that terrible and short moment Zenobia remembered her mother. I will not beg, she thought. I will not beg!

"Halt, you men!" The centurion of the unit came hurrying forward, and taking off his long red cloak put it around Zenobia, who had quickly struggled to her feet. "I offer my apologies, Majesty," he said quietly, and then swung around to the men who had captured Zenobia. "This woman is the Queen of Palmyra, and a great warrior. She is entitled to the same respect as any male adversary of equal rank. She is not to be touched by any of you. Those are the emperor's orders. Do you understand?"

Grumbling, the soldiers nodded, and the centurion spoke again to Zenobia. "I am Gaius Cicero, Majesty, personal aide to the Emperor Aurelian. You are now a prisoner of the state."

She wrapped the cloak tightly around her and lifted her head proudly. She would not beg! "Where are my men?" she demanded in a voice that required a reply.

"I regret, Majesty, that it was necessary to kill them. They were all valiant fighters."

"I want to bury them," she said tonelessly. "I will not leave them to be picked clean by the vultures and the jackals. They were brave men, and deserve that courtesy."

"We cannot take the time, Majesty."

"You cannot begin your return immediately, Gaius Cicero. You, too, have been traveling all night, and need to rest your mounts. This place is far more hospitable than the desert, which we must cross again. Ask your men to bring me the bodies of my people and give me a digging tool. I will bury them myself."

"You cannot…" he began.

"/ can!” she replied fiercely, and he saw that she was not a woman to be dissuaded.

She was correct. They needed to rest after the three-day pursuit, and the fertile river bank was most pleasant. "Lucillus," he called to one of his men. "Bring the bodies of the slain tribesmen here for burial; and send several men to that nearby village to buy food."

"Thank you," Zenobia said.

"I will have my men help you," he said.

"No! Those who protected me are my responsibility, Gaius Cicero. It is my duty as Queen of Palmyra to help them to their final resting place. Never have I shirked my duty. I will not do so now."

He understood, and he admired her for such strength of character. Now more than ever he understood Marcus Alexander's great love for this woman. He didn't think that this was a particularly good moment to deliver her a message from him, and so he simply found a spade among their equipment, and gave it to her. Wordlessly Zenobia began digging, heedless of the long cloak that opened with her efforts, displaying her nudity to all. Desperately Gaius Cicero looked for the queen's tunic, but upon finding it saw that it was ripped beyond repair. There had to be an extra one among his hundred legionnaires that would fit her. He set off to find it, posting a guard near the queen, forbidding all others to come near her.

Methodically Zenobia dug one grave after another in the soft earth. She was tired but worked on, despite the blisters now swelling up on her hands. At first the legionnaires watching from a distance had been scornful and even amused by her efforts, but now as she completed the fifth grave their admiration was open.

The last grave was dug, and Zenobia stood over the bodies of her slain companions. Suddenly she looked up, and her gaze was fierce. "Who among you robbed these men?" she demanded furiously. "Come forth now, and return them their property. They will have little enough to take with them into the Underworld."

After a moment the shamefaced culprits came slowly forward and, checking the bodies themselves, returned what they had taken from the dead.

Again Zenobia spoke. "Tell Gaius Cicero I want six coppers. Charon will not ferry them across the Styx without payment."

A legionnaire detached himself from the crowd and ran to find Gaius Cicero. Returning a few moments later, he bowed politely to Zenobia and gave her the coins. Taking them, she placed one between the teeth of each corpse. Suddenly a legionnaire was at her side.

"I would consider it a privilege if you would let me help you to lower the bodies into their graves, and cover them, Majesty," he said.

Their eyes met, and she was touched to see in his honest sympathy, not for her plight but for the sorrow he knew she must be feeling over her fallen comrades. She graciously accepted his help.

At last the task was done and Zenobia stood just a moment, offering her silent prayers to the gods for Rufus Curius, and the Bedawi who had fallen in her defense. Suddenly Gaius Cicero was at her side, gently taking her arm and drawing her away to a secluded spot. Without speaking he handed her a linen tunic, turning his back as she removed his long cloak and put it on.

"I lost my sandals in the river," she said quietly.

"I will see if I can find you a pair," he promised. "Are you hungry?"

She shook her head in the negative. "No, just very tired, Gaius Cicero. I am suddenly very tired."

"We will camp here until nightfall, Majesty. You may sleep in safety. No harm will come to you while you are in my charge."

"Where do you want me?" she asked him tonelessly.

"Here would be satisfactory," he replied, "but before you rest I would speak to you. I bear a message to you from an old friend in Rome."

"I have no friends in Rome," she answered.

"I speak of Marcus Alexander Britainus," Gaius Cicero said.

"Don't!" was her sharp reply. "I do not want to hear even the mention of his name, Centurion."

"He did not betray you, Majesty."

Zenobia looked directly at Gaius Cicero. "Romans always betray those who trust them. I am your prisoner, but I do not believe I must listen to the pretty lies you have been told to tell me. I will never forgive Marcus. Never! Now speak no more to me of it."

Her voice had been strong and even, but he could hear a ragged edge to it, and he saw in her eyes the most terrible pain. She was close to tears, which she valiantly fought back, and ashamed, he lowered his own gaze. "It will be as you wish, Majesty," he said. Then he left her to rest.

Zenobia pulled the long red cloak about her and lay down upon the ground, curling herself into a ball. Her mind began to sort out all that had happened. She had failed in her attempt to escape the Romans, and gain help from the Persians. She had been so close to succeeding.

Through hooded lids she looked to the river bank, weighing the possibility of escape. The fisherman was long gone, and the river was broad here, but possibly she could swim it. If not, then at least the Romans would not have a hostage to hold over Vaba and the city. To her vast annoyance, however, Gaius Cicero had placed pickets at intervals of three feet for one hundred and fifty feet along the river bank. She smothered a particularly ripe curse and, unable to think of another way, sighed and put her mind to falling asleep.

When she awoke the sky above her was streaked in gold and peach and lavender; the narrow ruffled clouds were pale pink edged in dark purple. She could hear the soft sounds of the river as it lapped against the shore, and for a brief minute she experienced a feeling of incredible peace. Then reality quickly surfaced, and she remembered all that had passed. There was a faint breeze, and upon that breeze wafted the scent of lamb. Her stomach rumbled appreciatively, and with a small smile of amusement at herself she realized that she was hungry. Except for some figs and dates, she had not, after all, eaten in several days.

Slowly standing up, she stretched, spreading her arms wide and tensing her muscles for a moment, then relaxing again. Shaking the sand from the long cloak, she set off down the beach seeking the cook fire. She did not have to go far. She regally accepted a tin plate with two smoking-hot portions of lamb kabob from the legionnaire who was designated cook. The chunks of lamb had been skewered on peeled sticks and interspersed with small onions and pieces of sweet, green pepper.

"Would you like some wine, Majesty?"

"The privileges of rank, Gaius Cicero?"

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps," he answered her, holding out a tin cup.

She hesitated for a moment, then took it from him with a nod of thanks.

"Do you wish company?" he pursued her.

"No," she said shortly, not even bothering to turn around as she made her way back down the beach.

He sighed. What a pity, he thought. He would have enjoyed her company. She was a beautiful woman, and her reputation was that of an intelligent and witty woman. He could understand, though. This was hardly a comfortable situation for her. Zenobia of Palmyra had never been beaten before, and defeat was never a pleasant thing. At least her capture would serve one good purpose. The Palmyrans would certainly surrender once they learned that their queen was in the hands of the emperor. A frown crossed Gaius Cicero's face. He did not have to wonder what Aurelian would do with Zenobia. The emperor had been like a young boy from the day of their arrival before the gates of Palmyra. He could not stop talking of her. It was obvious that he had been quite smitten, and Aurelian had never been one to deny himself a woman who took his fancy.

Shortly after sunset they departed the shores of the River Euphrates, retracing their steps of the last three days as they traveled westward back toward Palmyra. Zenobia sat her camel stoically, never complaining at the brisk pace set by Gaius Cicero, who was determined to bring his prisoner before the emperor as quickly as possible. There was always the chance that the Bedawi would learn of her capture and seek to rescue her.

As they moved across the desert, the shock of what had happened finally began to sink into her very soul. Why had the gods deserted her so cruelly in her hour of deepest need? How was she to tell Deliciae and her children of Rufus Curius's death? And what of the families of the Bedawi? How many widows and orphans had been made? Curse the Romans! Curse them all! Yes, even Marcus, who had betrayed her! How she hated them, and the hate was the first thing that she felt as she began to rise, phoenixlike, from the ashes of her first defeat.

I will not be beaten again, nor will I beg, she thought fiercely. Even if they take me to Rome, I will escape them somehow and return to Palmyra to rebuild my empire, Odenathus's empire. As the banners of the Roman army came into view and their enormous encampment became visible, as she saw the walls of the city once more, she sat proudly upon her camel, her head held high, looking straight ahead. Finally they stopped before a large tent, set upon a platform deep within the encampment.

Gaius Cicero was quickly at her side, helping her to dismount and then escorting her into the tent. As her eyes grew used to the gloom she saw a tall man with blond hair and a long, elegant bearded face standing in profile by a map stand.

"Hail, Caesar!" was Gaius Cicero's greeting.

The man turned. "Ah, Gaius, you are back." His glance flicked to Zenobia, swiftly taking her in. "I assume this is our rebellious queen?"

"Yes, Caesar!"

"You may leave us, Gaius, but wait outside. I will have further need of your services."

Aurelian now turned back to look at Zenobia again, and their eyes instantly locked in a battle of wills. He felt his heart quicken at the sight of her, for close up he realized that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was filthy from her travels, and her dark hair was dusty and matted; but still she was beautiful. She stared boldly at him, making him a little uncomfortable, although he would not show it. Finally he said, "You need a bath, Queen of Palmyra. You stink of camel."

She never even blinked. Instead, her sultry voice replied, "I have always hated blue-eyed Romans, and you do nothing to change my opinion, Emperor of the Romans."

His narrow lips twitched faintly as he suppressed a smile. She was not beaten, and he was glad. He wanted to tame this wild creature himself, and by the gods he would! "You are now my prisoner, Zenobia," he answered.

"You speak the obvious," was her quick retort. "I am your prisoner, but it will do you no good, Aurelian. Palmyra will not surrender!"

"No? Why did you flee to Persia?"

"I wanted Shapur's help," she said irritably, as if he were an idiot child. "I needed an ally to attack you from the rear in a pincer movement. You disturb the economy of this entire region, in fact the entire world, by this stupid attempt at war on us. I want you, and your puny army gone back to where you belong so the trade routes may once more be open."

"You wanted to end this war because you are running low on provisions in Palmyra," was his answer.

"Palmyra is more than well stocked with provisions for a long siege, Aurelian, but I do not choose to play with you any longer. Had I reached Persia I might have ended this madness quickly. Now it is not to be. Very well," and she shrugged, "I bow to the wisdom and the will of the gods."

"Without you your son will collapse. Once he knows that I possess the Queen of Palmyra, he will open the gates of the city and we will march triumphantly in."

"The king will never give in. I am ready to die for Palmyra, Aurelian, and Vaballathus knows it. For me there can be no greater honor than to give my life for my city."

Into his eyes crept an admiring look he could not suppress, and he said quietly, "You are too intelligent and too beautiful to die so needlessly, Zenobia of Palmyra. I will not allow it!"

"You will not allow it?" Her mocking laughter startled him. "What I will, Aurelian, you cannot prevent! How can you understand? You are a peasant who has clawed his way up the ladder of the Roman military! I descend from the great Queen Cleopatra."

"Who was beaten by the Romans," he reminded her.

"You will have another Masada on your hands before you take Palmyra from my son," she threatened.

"We won at Masada, too," he said quietly.

"A victory over a fortress of corpses?" she replied scornfully.

"A victory nevertheless, Zenobia. But enough of this! Gaius," he called, and instantly Gaius Cicero re-entered the tent. "Gaius, take the queen to my sleeping tent, and see that she has a bath." His bold look told her what would come later.

Zenobia drew her breath in sharply.

A slow smile lit his features, and his light blue eyes danced with amusement for a moment.

"Come, Majesty." Gaius was at her elbow, leading her away.

She followed him down the line of tents, her mind quickly working. Aurelian lusted after her. She shuddered. He would have her, she knew. But if she must take the emperor as a lover then it would be on her terms, not his. He would expect resistance, she knew, and instinctively she realized that resistance would give him pleasure. Therefore she would not fight him physically, but with her mind. She would yield her body, but nothing more. Aurelian might be a peasant, but he was an uncommonly intelligent one. He would want all of her. He would not get it, and it would drive him mad. This was one Roman who would not betray her because he would not control any part of her mind and heart. Rather, she would control him.

Gaius Cicero stopped before a large tent and ushered her into it. "I will send some men with water and a tub for you," he said, and he flushed with embarrassment.

"Be sure the water is heated," she said calmly. "I dislike cold baths, and I will need warm water and soft soap to clean the desert from my hair and skin. I assume that you have soap in your encampment, Gaius Cicero? Of course you do. The camp followers would bathe, at least occasionally, wouldn't they?"

"I will see what I can find," he muttered, turning his flushed face away from her.

"Thank you," was her polite reply, and he was quickly gone. Zenobia sighed and gazed around the tent. It was divided into two sections. The larger section, in which she stood, was simply furnished with a low round table where, she assumed, the emperor must eat. There were several large seating pillows strewn carelessly about it. There were two chairs set up in another part of the tent and some trunks, but nothing more. The wooden floor was well worn from many campaigns, and spread with several sheepskins. There were a few brass oil lamps, nothing opulent. All in all, it was quite plain. A soldier's tent without a doubt.

Walking across the floor, she pulled aside the woven woolen divider. Behind it was a rather large and comfortable sleeping couch, but other than that the smaller section was empty.

"It certainly lacks the amenities," Zenobia observed softly to herself. She heard the sound of feet coming in and out of the main section of the tent, and turned to see a procession of straining legionnaires lugging large containers of water into the tent and emptying them into a round, wooden tub. "Is there a respectable woman in this camp?" she demanded loudly.

The legionnaires stopped, startled, at the sound of her voice. They stared openmouthed at her for a moment, and then one, braver than the others, replied, "There are several good women, Majesty."

"Have one sent to me then," she said. "I will need help washing my hair."

"Yes, Majesty," the brave legionnaire answered. "I will fetch a woman immediately," and he hurried from the tent.

Zenobia hid a smile as she stood watching her water bearers. The last of them gone, she saw a woman standing in the entry of the tent. Zenobia waved her into the room. "What is your name?" she asked.

"I am called Keleos, Majesty."

“What do you do among the Romans? Your speech is of Palmyra."

"I am Palmyran, Majesty."

"Then why are you not safely within the gates of the city, Keleos?"

"I am a widow, Majesty. I live with my aged father and my son, who is a cripple, just outside the walls. Neither my father nor my child could be moved, and so I was forced to remain in my home despite the Romans."

"Could your neighbors not help you, Keleos?"

"Majesty, they were terrified, and could not get themselves and their valuables into the city quickly enough. They had no time for us. I have a small bake shop. Normally I baked for my neighborhood, but now I am forced to sell my wares to the Romans. I still have my father and son to support. Please forgive me, Majesty," and Keleos fell on her knees, her hands outstretched in supplication.

"You are forgiven, Keleos," Zenobia replied. "You did what was necessary to survive, to insure the survival of your family."

The woman crawled the short distance between herself and the queen, and prostrating herself further kissed Zenobia's feet. "May the gods bless you, my Queen," she sobbed.

"Get up, Keleos!" Zenobia commanded, and when the woman had scrambled to her feet the queen said, "I would like you to help me wash my hair."

"Gladly, Majesty!" Within minutes Keleos had everything prepared, and was washing Zenobia's hair with some of the soap that had been brought for the queen's bath. They used one of the extra wooden buckets filled with warmed water that had been left. Zenobia could feel the sandy grit of the desert as Keleos soaped it free, and with another bucket of water rinsed it away. It took three latherings, but eventually Zenobia's hair was clean. Keleos wrung the queen's long mane of excess water, and then taking a towel rubbed and rubbed. The hair was quickly dry in the hot desert air. Thanking the woman for her aid, Zenobia dismissed her.

Quickly she stripped her filthy clothes off, and kicking them aside sat down in the round, wooden tub, laving warmish water over her shoulders. Taking a bit of soap, she washed herself and then settled back a moment to enjoy a small soak and the solitude. She wondered how soon he would come and demand her surrender. It would take everything strong within her character to give him her body without flinching. She hated the very thought of his touch, for instinctively she knew he would demand far more than she was ever going to give, and the ensuing battle would be exhausting. Finally she stood up, and with a little smile realized that she faced a predicament of sorts. She could not redress in her dirty garments, and there was no large and dry towel with which to dry and wrap herself. The small towel that had been used for her hair now lay in a sodden lump upon the floor.

Stepping from the tub, she reached for the towel and mopped herself damp. The air would quickly dry the rest of her, but there still remained the problem of what to wear. She looked about the room. There was nothing. She made a sound of annoyance, which was answered by a soft laugh. Furious, and quite heedless of her own nudity, she whirled about to face Aurelian.

"How dare you spy on me!"

"It is my tent," he answered.

"You ordered me placed here," she snapped. "I should as soon have had my own tent."

He walked across the floor to where she stood and, catching her face between his two hands, looked down into her angry eyes. "The wishes of a captive are never considered, Zenobia." Then, to her surprise, he released her. Slowly he walked around her, studying her from every angle, but not yet touching her. Finally he said, "You were once described to me as the goddess incarnate, but seeing you now I must say, with apologies to the beauteous Venus, that the gentleman was not generous enough in his praise. If I put you on the block there is not enough gold in the entire world to secure your purchase, Zenobia."

"Then I may assume you will not put me on the block," she answered him coldly.

He laughed. "Only because I cannot gain enough for you," he teased.

"I did not think you were a procurer, Aurelian. Your reputation is that of a warrior."

He laughed again. "You can fight like a guttersnipe, goddess, but it will avail you nothing. I am Aurelian, and I never lose a battle."

"You may have me, Roman, for I cannot hope to overcome your physical strength; but Palmyra's gates will still be closed to you!" She stood tall, glaring icily at him, totally unconcerned by her total nudity; and Aurelian was further intrigued and inflamed by Zenobia. This is a woman, he thought admiringly.

"You are a brave creature, goddess," he said quietly, "but you are still just a woman as I am just a man. My spies tell me that there has been no man in your life since Marcus Alexander Britainus left you to return to Rome." He was pleased to see her grow pale at the mention of Marcus's name, and he continued. "He was your lover, and I do not doubt that he was a magnificent one. My niece is already with child." Zenobia's eyes closed for a moment, and she clutched at the hanging divider to keep from swaying.

"You are a bastard!" she managed to hiss at him.

He laughed pleasantly. "You are beautiful, and I desire you, goddess." Now he reached out with gentle fingers to caress her creamy shoulder, stroking with a delicate touch, watching while she fought down the urge to shudder, which finally she was unable to suppress. "Are you beginning to understand what it means to be an imperial captive, goddess?" he asked her.

"I am not afraid," she said low.

"I know that," was his answer, "but you have caused me no end of trouble, goddess, and you must be punished for it."

"So you will force me to be your mistress? Yes, Aurelian, that will indeed be punishment," she replied. "I am accustomed to choosing my own lovers."

Again he laughed. "What a defiant goddess you are, Zenobia. You were a virgin when you married Odenathus at fifteen. Marcus Alexander Britainus has been your only lover. You are an appallingly moral woman, goddess. Half, nay, most of the women in Rome have had half a dozen lovers before they marry. You have known two men, and it shall be for me as if you were a virgin."

"Take me then!" she cried half angrily, half fearfully. "I will neither yield nor give you anything of myself!"

His light blue eyes glittered with anticipation, the tiny flecks of black and copper within them dancing wildly. His fingers closed about her shoulder, and he drew her to him. She stood perfectly still, neither resisting him nor accepting him, as his arm went tightly about her waist, molding her hard against him. The hand that had been on her shoulder took her face between thumb and forefinger, tipping it upward as his head came slowly down to claim her mouth with his. With frightening expertise he forced her lips apart, invading her mouth with a velvety tongue, exploring, taunting, demanding!

I will show no emotion, she thought, but it took every bit of control not to struggle, not to tear herself away from this man whose mouth was so insistent. She wanted to run, to hide from him, for he frightened her although she would never admit it. There was a look about him that said he would not be denied, and in her entire life she had never known that a man could be like this. She had always been loved gently as a woman, first by Odenathus, and then by Marcus. This man did not seek her love, he sought her very soul! She had to stop him, but without his knowing the terrible effect he was having on her. Pulling her mouth away from his, she said coldly, "Enough! If you wish to couple with me then let us get on with it!"

If she had hit him the effect would not have been any more jolting, but then he began to chuckle, and the chuckle grew into a rumble of pleased laughter. "Brava, goddess! Magnificent! And it almost worked, but almost is not good enough." He set her back from him and studied her once more.

Zenobia was shocked. She had expected to cool his ardor by her disdain, and she had instead aroused his admiration. The next move was up to him, so she stood silently sneaking a careful look at him from beneath her thick, black lashes while she waited. She had to admit that he was a very handsome man in a virile, rugged sort of way. He was at least an inch over six feet in height, with a powerfully built body. He had a surprisingly elegant head for one of low birth, she thought. It was oval in shape, with high, well-sculpted cheekbones, a straight patrician nose almost classic in its perfection, extremely sensuous lips, a square chin with a deep cleft that was fairly well hidden by his well-cropped, short beard. The beard, like his close-clipped curly hair, had only faint touches of silver to mar its beautiful golden-blond color. The well-spaced, round eyes were sky blue with their odd-colored flecks, and edged in short, sandy lashes. They were eyes that pierced, but never divulged what they thought.

He began to undress. "Help me with this chest armor," he said briskly as he undid the buckles that held his protective plating.

"Call a slave," she said.

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

"I am not your servant, Aurelian."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you all right?" he demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

"Not even Marcus Alexander Britainus?" he asked.

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

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

"They will not surrender," she insisted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Zenobia."

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

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

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

"Who are these women?" the emperor demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zenobia felt her anger rise. The cheek of the Roman! Over-proud, indeed! Then she heard the voice of Cassius Longinus.

"You say you will spare the queen, Emperor of the Romans, but surely you will not leave her here to rule in her city. What say you?"

"Who is that man?" Zenobia heard Aurelian demand of Gaius Cicero.

"His name is Cassius Longinus. He is the queen's chief councillor."

"Not the king's?"

"I do not know. He came to Palmyra from Athens many years ago to serve Zenobia. Possibly he also advises the young king. I can see the boy standing near him. You could answer him without losing your dignity, Caesar."

"Your queen, Cassius Longinus," Aurelian said, "will not be allowed to rule Palmyra ever again. She is now a prisoner of the empire. She will go to Rome to be marched in my triumph. Afterward, I do not know. It will be up to the senate, but if the citizens of Palmyra are once again loyal citizens of Rome the senate could be merciful."

"And who will rule Palmyra, Roman?" was Longinus's next query. "Will our king be allowed to keep his place if we surrender to you?"

"Possibly," Aurelian replied. "King Vaballathus has never shown disloyalty to Rome, only his mother has."

Liar! Zenobia thought furiously. I know exactly what you mean to do. Oh, Jupiter father, hear my prayer! Do not let my people be swayed by the silken tongue of this Roman Minerva, great wise one, grant my son the wisdom to see the truth.

"You claim to have our queen, Aurelian," came Longinus's voice once more, "but how do we know that you speak the truth? Show us Zenobia of Palmyra so we may know for certain."

Suddenly the tent top above her was pulled away and the body of the small enclosure fell away to reveal Zenobia to all those who stood upon Palmyra's walls. "Here is your queen!" Aurelian declared dramatically.

Zenobia knew that she would have but one chance, and so at the top of her lungs she cried out for all to hear, "Do not surrender, my son! I die gladly for Palmyra!"

At Aurelian's signal a legionnaire leapt forward to silence her by placing one arm about her waist while a hand was clamped firmly over her mouth. Zenobia did not bother to struggle. She had said what she had to say, and it had had its effect. Upon the walls of the great oasis city the populace began to chant her name softly at first, and then louder, and louder until it became a roar of defiance.

"Zenobia! Zenobia! Zenobia! Zenobia! Zenobia! Zenobia!"

"Take her back to my tent," the Roman emperor commanded angrily.

Zenobia pulled away from the offending hand over her mouth, and laughed mockingly at Aurelian. "We are even now, Roman. You won last night's battle by brute force, but I have won this morning's by better tactics." Then she easily shook off the legionnaire's grip. "Let go of me, pig! I am capable of returning to my quarters without your aid." To prove her point she walked swiftly away.

Gaius Cicero looked at the emperor. "Will they surrender, I wonder?" he said quietly. "You see how she holds the populace within the palm of her hand."

"The decision isn't theirs, but rather the young king's," the emperor returned irritably. "He will surrender if for no other reason than his mother told him not to. My spies tell me that he resents the queen and very much wants to be his own man. He will open the gates tomorrow. Wait and see if I am not right, Gaius."

"The men are restless, Caesar. What will your orders be for today?"

"I think it best that they drill for several hours beneath this charming sun. It will take the meanness from them. Afterward they will return to their quarters, where they will spend the rest of the day polishing their gear for tomorrow's triumphal entry into Palmyra. Only when they have completed these tasks may they have some time to themselves. Encourage them to visit the whores, for I want no rape tomorrow when we enter Palmyra. A city of resentful rebels is not to our best interests.

"I want to remove the government and replace it with our own people; but other than that it will be business as usual in Palmyra."

Gaius Cicero saluted the emperor. "It will be as Caesar commands," he said and, turning, hurried off to give the order.

Aurelian sat down, his legs swinging over the platform's edge. The hot sun felt good on his body, which might be lean and hard but was nonetheless the body of a man in his late-middle years. He chuckled to himself, remembering the old men in his Illyrian village sitting and gossiping together in the winter sunshine. Was he getting to be like them? he wondered. In his lifetime neither generals nor emperors were particularly noted for long lives, and so perhaps he would not have the time to find out.

He chuckled again. What strange thoughts he was having today. It was truly a sign of old age. Here he was on the day before his greatest triumph, and he sat like an old turtle atop a rock in midpond, philosophizing in the sunshine. He looked up at the walls of Palmyra, but the white-marble barriers told him nothing of the beauties that lay hidden behind them. It was said to be the Rome of the East; and there were some who said it was lovelier. Well, tomorrow he would find out.

A wolfish smile lit his features. Zenobia was going to be very angry at the boy. Now the young king of Palmyra would be making his first serious royal decision, and that decision was going to cost him his throne. Yes, Zenobia was going to be very angry, and he could not blame her, for as a ruler himself he understood. She and her late husband had worked hard to rebuild the Eastern Empire, and now he would take it.

Aurelian pushed himself off the platform and walked back into the heart of the encampment, noting as he went that the centurions were already drilling smartly.

It was not to his sleeping tent that he returned. Rather, Aurelian hurried to his main tent, where the business of the empire awaited him. Durantis, his secretary, was already hard at work opening the dispatches and separating them into piles according to their importance.

"Good morning, Durantis. Any emergencies?"

"No, Caesar. Nothing serious."

"Anything personal?"

"A letter from the Empress Ulpia. She writes that although she is well, your niece, Carissa, is not. The late months of the young lady's pregnancy do not seem to agree with her."

"Any mention of my niece's husband, Marcus Alexander?"

"No, Caesar."

"Well, let us get to work then on the correspondence," the emperor said. "I have plans for the afternoon hours." He settled himself in a chair and began to dictate rapidly to the wheezing scribe who sat at a side table, while Durantis murmured small asides and reminders into his ear.

In Aurelian's sleeping tent Zenobia was busily talking to Bab and Tamar. "What was his state of mind when you left him, Bab?" she demanded of her old nursemaid.

"He was very distressed by your capture, Majesty, and quite worried as to what he should do. The lady Flavia never left his side."

"Good for Flavia," Zenobia remarked. "She is stronger than her sweet appearance would tell. He must not surrender."

"He is not you, my dear," Tamar said with an air of finality, "and he is not Odenathus, either. If he does not surrender your life could be forfeit. Palmyrans would follow you anywhere, Zenobia. They would starve themselves to death and murder their children to please you; but you have not the right to ask them, my dear. You cannot repay their loyalty with death and destruction. You have lost this war. Do not drag Palmyra and all its peoples into the war you wage within yourself."

Old Bab drew her breath in sharply. Tamar's words had been a truth that no one else had ever spoken to Zenobia, but the beautiful queen tossed her dark head angrily and replied, "My only war is with Rome. From the day that they killed my mother Rome has been my enemy. If Vaba opens the gates to them he is no son of mine. I will fight the Romans till my death!"

"Is there no reasoning with you, Zenobia? Since you learned of Marcus's marriage this hatred of yours has been a burning spur to drive you onward toward your own destruction. No, do not glower at me. Everyone but you sees it. I am here with Bab because your father asked it of me. He will not live much longer, Zenobia, and his greatest fear is that you will ruin all that Odenathus worked so hard for, and by your own impetuous and stubborn acts steal Vaba's heritage from him. You are his favorite child, my dear, and all Zabaai ever wanted for his daughter was that she be happy."

"Happiness?" Zenobia's laugh was harsh. "There is no such thing, Tamar! There is survival, which goes to the victorious, to the wisest, the wealthy, the clever, the strong! With survival one may gain a measure of peace, but that is all."

"Do not be cynical with me," Tamar snapped, her good nature and patience coming to an end.

"You are a disciplined woman. Use that self-discipline now, if not for your own sake men for the sake of those who love and care for you." She put a loving arm about Zenobia, and for a brief moment it was as it had been so long ago in that other time when everything had been so simple and there was no Marcus Alexander Britainus.

Then Zenobia shook Tamar's arm from her shoulders and said, "I can promise nothing, Tamar. Go back to my father and tell him that I love him. It is the best I can offer."

With a sigh Tamar kissed Zenobia upon the forehead, and with Bab to escort her safely through the encampment back to the tents of her son, Akbar, she left the queen to her solitude.

Furious, Zenobia looked for something to throw, but Aurelian's spare quarters offered nothing, frustrating her further, and she burst into tears. She was horrified at her own actions, but she could not stop the copious flow that poured from her eyes and down her cheeks, streaking them with hot salt. It was as if all the sorrow, the pain, and the disappointment of the last months was finally purging itself.

In the heat of the afternoon Aurelian returned to his own quarters with the idea of pleasuring himself once again with his beautiful captive. He was hardly prepared for the sight that greeted him. Zenobia lay upon her back on the couch; her exquisite golden body gleaming temptingly through the sheer black silk of her kalasiris; one arm flung protectively over her eyes, the other by her side, the hand curled into a fist. One leg was up, the other stretched straight. The evidence of weeping was plain upon her face, and for the briefest moment Aurelian felt pity for the brave queen she had been, but this was a woman as he liked them: pliant and helpless. He sat beside her.

She opened her silvery eyes with their black and gold flecks, and the hatred leapt forth to scald him. "What do you want?" she hissed venomously.

In an instant Aurelian's compassion vanished, and reaching forward to hook his fingers into the neck of her gown, he ripped it in two with a swift motion. "I wouldn't think after last night, goddess, that you would have to ask me that question," he replied mockingly; and when she attempted to rise he held her down, a cruel arm across her throat, effectively pinning her while his other hand began a leisurely exploration of her magnificent breasts.

She lay mutinous, her fury quite evident, while he played with the full silken orbs. Zenobia's nipples had always been sensitive, and now she quivered as he rolled first one and then the other between his thumb and his forefinger. "You will soon bore me if you are so quick to passion, goddess," he mocked her, and then he laughed, for if looks could slay men he knew he should lie this minute cold and lifeless upon the floor of his tent.

"Pig of a peasant," she snarled at him. "Is force the only way you can have a woman?"

"You were quick enough to beg for release last night," he countered, looking down into her angry eyes.

"Did you not teach me that it was lust, Roman?"

He chuckled. "Lust may generate your desire, goddess, but the results are the same as if you loved me. You yield!"

With a shriek of outrage she began a struggle against him. Quickly he removed his arm from across her throat, and catching her hands, yanked them above her head as he bent to kiss her. She tried to bite him, but he only laughed, and bent again to kiss her passionately, his warm lips pressing hungrily upon hers, and forcing them apart so that he could run his tongue across her clenched teeth and murmur against her mouth soft entreaties all the while seductively fondling her breasts. She fought, desperately trying to avoid the tingle deep within her that now began to fight its way to the surface of her consciousness regardless of her struggle to avoid it. She fought, desperate to avoid this strange emotion that he called lust, an emotion that seemed to control her very thoughts.

He was enjoying their battle, for he understood the war that she now fought within herself. He knew that he had simply to persevere, for she was by nature an extremely passionate woman; and she would not give up at the first breach in her defenses. She would fight on until he plunged deep within her warm, wet body; until she climaxed beneath him, a curse upon her lips for him. And strangely, the prospect excited him more than if she had yielded to him without a struggle. He would never really tame her, he knew now; but eventually she would stop resisting him.

Beneath him, Zenobia fought to free one of her hands. If she could just get one arm loose she might use it in her defense. His big, hard body pressed down upon her, forcing the breath from her until, tearing her head from him, she gasped for precious air. He used the opportunity to release her arms and catch her face between his two hands. "Look at me!" he demanded of her in a voice she found she was powerless to resist. Her anger-blackened eyes confronted his sky-blue ones. His knee forced itself none too gently between her thighs, and then he was slowly, deliberately entering her. With a gasp of shock, and a terrible fear she could not explain rising up almost to suffocate her, she attempted to turn away. "No!"

His voice whipcracked sharply. "I want you to look into my eyes when I enter into your body."

"No!" Her voice had become a desperate whisper.

"Yes!" His hands held her head so tightly that she thought he might easily crush her skull. She trembled, mesmerized like a small bird caught before a snake, unable to look away as he slowly pushed himself into her helpless body. With deliberate and provocative movement he took her. His blue eyes bore deep into her soul, and the last thought Zenobia had before she fainted dead away was that he was somehow taking over her entire being and she had not even the strength to protest. Instead, she gave way to the rich, warm darkness that enfolded her and took away all need for thought.

"Zenobia! Zenobia!” Through the mists she could hear someone calling her name, and with a small protest she struggled to return to the sweet darkness; but the voice persisted. "Zenobia! Open your eyes, goddess! Open them!" Still protesting, she finally opened her eyes, although the effort was a mighty one, for her eyelids felt heavy. Before her foggy gaze Aurelian's face loomed, and to her surprise he appeared worried. Now as she focused and he became clearer, she could see relief etched upon his handsome face, even tenderness.

"I hate you," she managed to say weakly, and he laughed, elated.

"I thought I had killed you," he said, "and a dead queen is of no value to me."

She struck at him futilely, and with a growl of delight he gathered her into his arms and held her close. "Be quiet, goddess. I'm not going to hurt you. Just be quiet now." Because she was too ravaged to do anything more she lay quiet within his embrace; then reluctantly she began to relax. Soon she was dozing against his chest, and a lovely warmth began to penetrate her chilled frame.

When she awoke she knew that several hours had passed, for she could tell through a loose place in the tent that it was night. Carefully she eased herself out of his embrace. Her body ached in every joint. More than anything else in the world she longed for a hot bath, sweet-scented and soothing to ease her tired and sore mucles. With a sigh she knew that it would have to wait.

She looked over at Aurelian. He lay quiet, his breathing soft and even. Zenobia studied the emperor carefully. Her first brief impression of rugged handsomeness still held. He was surprisingly youthful-looking despite the fact that she knew him to be in late midlife. About his eyes and very gently etched into the skin on his upper cheekbones were the telltale signs of aging. Still, she thought, a touch bitterly, he was a damned satyr below the waist. He hadn't bothered to remove his short red military tunic during this last assault upon her, so she could see little of his body, but where the tunic rode high she could see the beginnings of a scar along his left thigh. From the width of it she suspected it was probably a spear wound. There were several other smaller scars upon his legs and arms, enough to show he had done his battle time, but not enough to say he was careless.

Even in sleep the line of his mouth indicated that he was a tough, stubborn man rarely given to softness or compassion. She shuddered remembering their battle of that afternoon. Never had she felt so… so possessed, or less in control of her own body and mind. When he had forced her to look at him she had come totally under his control, and she knew that he had reveled in her weakness. Zenobia vowed that she would not let that happen again. The next time he demanded she look into his eyes, she would appear to give her complete concentration, but in reality she would unfocus her eyes.

Quietly she rose from the bed and stretched slowly, easing some of the tension from her battered body. She was unaware that he watched her through slitted eyes, for not once had his breathing altered to warn her that he was awake. She had a fine body, he thought, despite the fact that she was over thirty. He liked her long legs, sleek flanks, barely rounded belly, and particularly her full but firm breasts. He liked women with big breasts, but often with age those fine breasts sagged. Ulpia's certainly had.

As he watched Zenobia raise the lid on her small trunk and pull forth a robe in which to clothe herself, he wondered about Carissa. She would have had her child by now. Was it the male child she had been so sure she carried? He also wondered whose child it actually was. Oh, there was always the possibility that he had finally fathered a child, but he seriously doubted it. People liked to believe that his lack of sons was poor Ulpia's fault, but he knew that it was not.

Before his marriage he had occasionally kept a mistress, and none had ever presented him with a bastard child. Since his marriage he had kept a steady stream of minor courtesans, and certainly none of them had borne him children. Only Carissa had ever claimed that he had fathered her child. He was dubious, but since he had never intended divorcing Ulpia to marry his venal little niece, he did not argue with her. Possibly the child was his. He had to admit that he was curious.

Aurelian opened his blue eyes and watched Zenobia as a cat watches its prey. He certainly felt sorry for Marcus Alexander, but then to the victor belonged the spoils, and he, Aurelian, was the victor.

11

"Please, Carissa, please help yourself and let us be done with this birth." Ulpia Severina, Empress of the Romans, leaned over her niece and tried to encourage the girl.

"It hurts," Carissa whined petulantly.

"I know, dearest, but you must push the babe out."

"How could you know? You are barren, aunt," was the cruel reply. Carissa turned her head away from Ulpia, and groaned.

"Come, Ulpia," said Dagian's soothing voice, and her strong, kindly hands gently pulled the empress away from the bedside. "Come and have some wine with me; The midwife will care for Carissa quite well."

Dumbly Ulpia nodded and allowed herself to be led from Car-issa's bedchamber and back into the sunny atrium. Two slaves hurried forward bearing comfortable chairs, which they placed by the pool. A third slave placed a tray with a decanter of wine and two chased silver goblets upon a low round table. Dagian waved her servants away, then poured out the sweet golden wine and handed Ulpia a gobletful.

"Marcus should be with her," the empress murmured. "This is her first child."

"Ulpia, you cannot keep up the pretense any longer. Theirs was not a love match. If you do not know the truth then I will tell it to you now. The emperor forced this marriage upon my son. He was contracted to a lady in Palmyra with whom he is deeply in love. I know that however much you may love Carissa you do not for a moment believe the baby she is about to birth is my son's. They have been married four months, and he has been back in Rome just over that time."

"She thinks her child is Aurelian's," the empress whispered low, and Dagian's eyes widened slightly. "She does not know," Ulpia continued softly, "that my husband is sterile. Never once in all the years we have been married have I conceived; nor have any of his women." Her faded brown eyes grew wet with tears. "I had a baby once, Dagian. He was a beautiful little boy. They took him away from me. That is why I was married to Aurelian. He knew my shame, and threatened to expose it if my father did not allow the marriage."

She sighed and wiped the tears that had strayed to her cheeks. "You must not think badly of him. He has always been a good husband to me; respectful and kind. He is a weak man where women are concerned, though, and Carissa is ambitious. I doubt even she knows the child's father."

"Does the emperor know you know all this?" Dagian asked.

"Of course not. In the tradition of this family, I have all these years been the perfect Roman wife. I have ignored his women as beneath my notice."

"But your own niece?" Dagian was somewhat taken aback.

"I am well into my middle years, Dagian. I did not want to lose my husband, and by keeping silent I have kept him all this time."

Dagian smiled in spite of herself. There were those who thought Ulpia Severina stupid, but she was really quite clever. "But how can you love your niece when you know that she has betrayed you so disgracefully?"

"I cannot stand the little bitch," was the reply. "But I will never give Carissa the pleasure of knowing she has hurt me."

A terrible shriek rent the stillness of the house, and the two women rose and hurried back to Carissa's bedchamber. They were joined by Marcus, who had come from the study where he now spent most of his time. Within the room was a sweet, unpleasant smell, and the two women wrinkled their noses slightly. Marcus strode to the windows and flung open the shutters, allowing in some fresh warm air.

Upon the bed Carissa writhed, moaning and praying for release. "Help me, Mother Juno! Help your daughter to birth an emperor!"

"The pretensions of the vixen," Ulpia murmured.

The midwife took the three aside for a moment while her assistant aided the straining woman. "There is something wrong, noble master and ladies. The child was not positioned properly, but I turned it. Still, it did not feel right, and the mother will not help herself. The longer the birth takes, the harder on both her and the baby. She has lost too much blood already, and I am truly worried."

"Can I be of help?" Marcus asked.

"Sit by your wife, and encourage her." The midwife looked apologetic. "She is not an easy patient, sir," she explained.

"I don't imagine she is," he answered. "Carissa likes things easy, and instantly. It must have come as quite a shock to her that the child has not leapt fully clothed from her womb."

"Marcus!" Dagian was scandalized, but Ulpia put a gentle hand upon Marcus's arm.

"We have all suffered by Carissa's actions, Marcus," she said.

He looked long at her, and then with a sigh he sat down next to his wife. "You are going to have to push, Carissa," he said quietly. "The longer you delay doing your part the harder it is on your child."

She turned her face to him, but seeing concern in place of his usual mockery, she relaxed. "Will you stay with me?"

"Yes, I will stay until the child is born."

"And you will accept the child as your own?"

"No," he said. "I will not."

"You must!”

"No one in Rome believes for an instant that I fathered your child, Carissa. I will support you both, but that is all!"

"My uncle will punish you," she whined, and then she cried out again with her labor.

"Push!" he commanded her, and she obeyed him, for the child was precious to her. It would guarantee her wealth and power for her lifetime. It was the beginning of a new line of imperial Roman Caesars. Gritting her teeth, she bore down. She would be the mother of a race of kings! Rome would be at her feet, and even this proud patrician who was her husband would eventually desire her; but when he finally did she would scorn him.

Soon! Soon she would hold her baby in her arms. Another pain clawed at her, and she bore down, elated to hear the midwife's cry, "I can see the child's head!" Carissa was greatly encouraged now, and from that moment on she strove to deliver her baby. Through the mists of pain she could hear them all driving her onward to her ultimate victory. The pain was becoming worse as the child pushed itself forth with her help. Finally with a mighty effort she expelled the infant with a shriek, and then she panted eagerly, "Give me my son! Give him to me now!"

They were silent. Why were they so silent? Despite her devastating weakness she struggled into a sitting position. "Give me my baby!" she demanded.

Why wasn't her son crying?

Marcus Alexander sighed, and there was a look of pity upon his handsome face. "The baby is dead, Carissa," he said quietly. "I am sorry."

"No!" They were lying to her. The baby couldn't be dead! "Give me my son!" she screamed.

Marcus nodded to the midwife's assistant, and the woman handed a swaddled bundle to Carissa. Eagerly she unwrapped the white linen stained brown with birthing blood to reveal-her watery blue eyes bugged in horror. 'This isn't my baby!" she whispered in a tight, little voice, a voice that quickly rose to an hysterical scream. "What have you done with my child?!"

"You are holding your child," he said tonelessly.

Carissa looked down for several long moments at the thing in her lap. It had a head, a head with a flatfish top, and a face with a grotesquely twisted mouth. At the base of the neck the thing's body divided itself into two sets of shoulders, which sprouted between them three arms, three legs, and two sets of fully developed genitals. The umbilical cord was wrapped tightly about the unfortunate infant's neck, and its whole body had a bluish cast. With a horrified shriek Carissa flung the thing from her lap, and screamed at Marcus, "It is your fault! You cursed me! You cursed me!" Then she gasped twice, and suddenly a stream of rich, red blood began to pour from her mouth while at the same time she began to bleed heavily from between her legs.

It was over so quickly that the spectators hardly had time to realize what was happening. Carissa fell back. She was quite obviously dead; and with an oath Marcus rushed from the room. Ulpia Severina stepped forward and closed her niece's eyes before turning to the midwife and her assistant to say, "You must disregard my poor niece's ravings. She was not herself in these last days of her pregnancy. Marcus Alexander was a fine husband to her, and she was fortunate to have him."

The midwife and her assistant nodded. "We have seen it happen before, lady. The sweetest-natured girls become totally deranged when told a child is dead. Poor girl. But, 'twas the will of the gods." She began gathering up her instruments. "We will leave you to prepare her for burial, lady."

The empress smiled graciously. "You will, of course, be paid double your fee for your trouble; and we may rely upon your discretion with regard to the matter of my niece's unfortunate infant."

"Of course, lady," was the smooth reply. The midwife bowed respectfully, and then departed the room with her assistant.

"Lady," Ulpia said quietly, "call your slaves and let us prepare my niece's body as quickly as possible. With your permission I should like to put her in our family's tomb rather than yours."

Dagian nodded gratefully. "It would be better," she said, "and I thank you, Ulpia."

"Call the slaves," the empress repeated, "and then go to Marcus. Now, perhaps, he may marry his true love. Aurelian will soon have Palmyra safely back within the fold. He is totally dedicated to reuniting the empire. Once Palmyra is subdued, your son may travel east and wed with his lady."

"I do not know if that will now be possible," Dagian said. The woman to whom my son was betrothed is Zenobia, the Queen of Palmyra."

"Oh dear," Ulpia murmured. "That does put a different complexion upon the matter, doesn't it? Aurelian would be very angry with me if under those circumstances I allowed Marcus to leave Italy." She sighed, perplexed, and then her face brightened. "Well, Marcus will simply have to wait for his queen to come to him. I know that Aurelian plans to march her in his triumph when he returns to Rome. The queen will, of course, be an imperial captive, but I shall see that my husband gives her to Marcus. Aurelian is always very generous with me, for I ask little of him and I have always been discreet." She smiled at Dagian. "Go to your son, and tell him that everything will be settled soon. I will help to prepare Carissa for her last journey."

Dagian left Carissa's bedchamber. She wondered if Zenobia would survive her war with Rome. Was she already defeated, or had she surprised imperial Rome once again by defeating them? News took so long to get to Italy from Syria. Marcus's mother said a quick prayer to the gods that they protect Zenobia of Palmyra.

The gods, however, had chosen to be fickle toward the mortal who until recently had always been their favorite. She had spent another night of unrelenting combat in Aurelian's bed, and she wondered why Venus had left him so long upon the earth. The man was insatiable and apparently inexhaustible; but then, Zenobia thought with the barest hint of a smile, even the goddess had to rest. It was a pity she could not. The dawn had barely broken when they were engaged in battle of another kind.

"You will walk behind my chariot," he had announced to her as they rose from the bed.

Shocked, she had taken a moment to comprehend him, and then she had spun about, shouting, "Never!”

"Or I can drag you behind my chariot," was the choice offered next.

"Then you will drag me," she declared dramatically. "I will never enter my city in defeat! You have not defeated me, Aurelian!"

"Yes, I have," he mocked her, his sky-blue eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "What a stubborn goddess you are, Zenobia. I have defeated you honestly, both in the field and in my bed. If you do not play your part today in my triumph then I shall not allow you ever again to set foot within your city. How will you then spin your webs, my adorable spider? More important, how will you guide your son?"

Her teeth bared at him and her fists clenched angrily, she realized how securely she was entrapped. She knew that he would not relent once his decision was made.

"You will come meekly?" he demanded.

"I will come."

He chuckled at the fine disjunction between his question and her answer.

A slave brought them breakfast, and he noted with some amusement that her irritation had not affected her appetite. She neatly peeled and sectioned a small orange, which she then placed in a little bowl and covered with yogurt. A thick slice of freshly baked bread was lavishly spread with honey and set upon the red Arrentine pottery plate with two hard-boiled eggs and a handful of plump, ripe black olives. Totally ignoring him, she proceeded to consume this bounty, washing it down with a goblet of pomegranate juice. Then, without so much as a word to him, she rose up and left the tent. He wanted to laugh, but Zenobia's dignity was already worn thin and the emperor needed her cooperation.

To drag her shrieking into Palmyra would not win the city's sympathy, and even the young king might think differently about cooperating with Rome under those circumstances. He was, after all, her son, for all her usurpation of his office. He wanted her walking under her own power behind him, in a gesture that all of Palmyra would understand. Seeing her acceptance of Rome, the citizenry would then bow their own necks to the imperial yoke. Let her walk off her bad temper and come to terms with herself before his triumph. Had their positions been reversed she would, he knew, have treated him no differently. Let her be aware of that. Having settled it in his own mind, Aurelian proceeded to eat his own breakfast.

When he had finished he called for Gaius Cicero. "You are responsible for the queen," he said quietly. "I do not believe you will have any difficulty with her. We have spoken this morning, and she understands my wishes completely. You will see that she is in her place behind my chariot as I enter into Palmyra."

"Yes, Caesar!" came the dutiful answer.

At the appointed hour the Roman army was drawn up in full formation before the main gates of Palmyra. At their front was Aurelian in his battle chariot, looking eminently powerful and regal. His gold breastplate, with its raised design of Mars, the god of war, in various victories, gleamed in the morning sunlight; his long red military cloak blew gently in the faint breeze; but his elegant helmet could not hide the stern features of his face. He stood tall, erect, quiet. Behind him his waiting legions shuffled nervously.

The emperor turned to see Zenobia, in her place behind his chariot, turning away from his gaze. The gods! he silently cursed. Just to look at her aroused his desire. She wore no mourning this day, but rather was dressed as she had been the first day his army had arrived at Palmyra's gates those months back. In her golden kalasiris she looked no more like a beaten adversary than a bird of paradise. Her collar of rubies, rose quartz, and diamonds glittered brightly, its brilliance echoed by her golden circlet of vine leaves with their ribboned brilliants. She was in truth a golden goddess incarnate, and she had managed by her dress to change the lesson he had intended to teach the people of Palmyra.

A tiny smile twitched his lips, softening for a moment his stern features. She had somehow turned another defeat into a victory for herself. He would remember that. He had once accused her of being overproud, and by the gods she could give lessons in it! He turned back to face the gates of Palmyra, and as if his look were a signal, they began to slowly open.

Aurelian felt tense. He wondered if they would choose to fight at the last minute. Usually the walls of the city were crowded with spectators, but this morning not one person was to be seen upon them. He could plainly hear the creak of protest from the gate's hinges as it yawned wider and wider. Once open, the entry to Palmyra resembled a gaping mouth void of teeth.

Then from out of the entry came a man in a simple white linen tunic and a red-and-white-striped toga bordered in purple. In his hands he carried the symbolic gold keys to the city. With great dignity the man made his way forward to stand before Aurelian's chariot. "Hail, Caesar!" he said in a loud voice. "I am Cassius Longinus, the king's chief advisor. On His Majesty's instructions I present to you the keys to Palmyra."

"Where is the king?" demanded the emperor.

"His Majesty awaits you at the palace, Caesar. The young queen was ill this day, and as they are recently wed, the king would not leave her side."

Aurelian raised an eyebrow. No wonder Zenobia was loath to let the boy rule. A king who put his woman before his position was certainly doomed. "Walk beside your queen, Cassius Longinus, as I enter the city. I assume your main avenue leads to the royal palace."

"It does, Caesar." Longinus moved behind the chariot to where Zenobia stood. "Majesty," he said low. "Thank the gods you are safe!"

"By rights, Longinus, I should be dead now but that my son has forgotten his duty."

He put a comforting hand upon her. "We will talk later," he said, and then they moved forward.

The Roman legionnaires jogged along nervously, facing straight ahead, their eyes shifting from right to left. The streets were quiet and empty, the shops closed, the people seemingly nonexistent. An unnatural silence hung over the city as Aurelian and his army made their way down the main avenue.

It was a wide avenue, fully able to accommodate four large chariots. The avenue was paved with interlocking blocks of black and white marble, and lined with magnificent white marble pillars that supported the roofs over the walkways in front of the shops and houses. Driving his chariot at a sedate pace, Aurelian was able to take it all in. He was impressed by the city's cleanliness and its graffiti-free statues, quite unlike Rome's.

Behind him Zenobia spoke quietly to Longinus. "Where are the people, Longinus?"

"At the council's suggestion, Majesty, they decided it would be better not to show themselves when the Romans entered the city."

"Not the king's suggestion?"

He hesitated, and that hesitation told her all she need know. The king fears for the city's safety," Longinus attempted to excuse Vaballathus.

"Please thank the council for me, Longinus. I must assume that I will be kept from them."

"Has he said what he means to do about the government, Majesty?"

"Government has not been the main focus of our discussions," Zenobia said somewhat wryly.

Cassius Longinus flushed. "Majesty…" he gestured helplessly.

"I know, Longinus. It is the way of war, and for all my rank I am nought but a woman in the eyes of the victorious general from Rome."

"He has not hurt you?" Longinus looked concerned.

"Only my pride, old friend, and that, as you are well aware, is great. I expect I can spare a small piece for Aurelian to play with." She chuckled. "Despite my status as the defeated queen I seem to continue winning small battles." She gestured gracefully, and he smiled back at her.

"The city would have died for you, Majesty!"

"I know that, Longinus. Perhaps, however, I have been wrong. I have been told that I have not the right to ask that of my people. In the end what is important? That Palmyra survive! I took my chance with Rome, and I lost." She sighed sadly, and had he not known her better, he would have sworn that he saw a tear in her eye.

"They will probably exile you, Majesty."

"I know, Longinus, but if Vaba can remain here to rule, then Odenathus's dynasty continues. There will come another time, another age, another Palmyran king, and we will finally be free!"

"Do you really think that the emperor will leave Vaba here?"

"Vaba is hardly a threat to Rome. His ploy of not coming to give Aurelian the keys to the city because of the young queen's indisposition was a brilliant stroke. He has made himself look like a lovesick young fool who puts a woman above duty. That should give Rome a solid feeling of security."

Ahead of them Aurelian suddenly stopped his chariot and, turning about, called to Zenobia, "Come, goddess, and ride with me. We both know it does no good for you to walk behind me in defeat if no one is looking to see your defeat. You, too, Cassius Longinus. Perhaps you can enlighten me as to why Palmyra appears so deserted." He reached down to her and, taking her outstretched arm, pulled her up, sliding an arm about her waist as she reached the chariot floor. Longinus was left to draw himself up by means of the handhold.

Once they were all safely within the chariot, Aurelian let the reins loosen a bit, and his cloud-white horses pranced forward again. The emperor turned his blue eyes upon Cassius Longinus. "Well?" he said. "Why is the city in hiding?"

"Palmyra loves its queen, Caesar. We will not be party to her shame."

Aurelian smiled coldly. "Palmyra has no queen," he said, and felt Zenobia shiver in his tight grasp. But when he looked over at her, she was staring straight ahead, seemingly unperturbed. Leaning over, he murmured against her ear, and the heady hyacinth fragrance she always wore battered his senses. "What sorcery is this, goddess, that you can arouse me without even seeming to try to arouse me?"

"You imagine it, Roman," was her cold reply.

He laughed low, and his laugh was intimate and insinuating, implying things she didn't even want to think about or consider. "You are the most intriguing captive I have ever taken," he said. "Fight me all you wish, goddess. I know how to defeat you."

Zenobia laughed scornfully. "You know how to overcome me physically, Roman, which is not surprising considering your height and girth."

Aurelian pressed his lips together, making his face appear even more severe. She had stung him successfully.

The royal residence came into view, and Aurelian had to admit to himself that the beautiful marble buildings easily rivaled his own official palace on the Palatine Hill in Rome. The entry stood open, and the emperor's chariot swept through into the courtyard, the men of his own legion positioning themselves about the palace in prearranged order. Not all of the army had entered the city, although part of each of the four legions had come; and as they had marched through me city toward the palace, centurias, maniples, and even full cohorts had dropped from each legion, taking control of government buildings, the great merchant houses, the university. Rome was quickly in control.

In the courtyard of the palace the first signs of life were visible as slaves rushed forward to catch the heads of the emperor's horses. Then upon the portico of the palace the Council of Ten appeared, surrounding the young king almost protectively. Cassius Longinus leapt from the rear of the chariot as soon as it had stopped, and reached up to lift Zenobia down. Without so much as a backward glance at Aurelian she walked swiftly toward her son.

The Council of Ten, the attending soldiers, and the slaves all bowed before the queen, parting to allow her a path to the king. Mother and son looked at each other, and then Vaba said with honest emotion, "Praise be to the gods that you are safe, Mother!"

For a moment Zenobia closed her eyes, and then a deep sigh rent her slender frame. "I would have given my life for the city, Vaba," she said quietly.

"It would have been a needless sacrifice, Mother. We both know that, don't we?"

How can I be angry with him? she wondered quickly. He has done his duty toward Palmyra as he has seen it, and I was the one who gave him the king's power. It is not my way, but he is as steadfast as I am.

Zenobia held out her arms to her son, and he quickly stepped into her embrace. "I know that you are angry with me," he whispered, "but they would have had the city no matter the cost. I could not let you die, Mother. I could not!"

Without warning the tears appeared and spilled down her cheeks. "Perhaps they will let you rule still," she whispered back, hugging him tightly. "I shall take all the blame, Vaba. I will not allow you to be punished for me, and I will have no more gallantry from you!" She stepped back from him, her beautiful face serious in her intent.

Gently Vaballathus brushed the stray tears from his mother's cheeks. "For my father's sake?" he gently teased her.

"Yes," she smiled at him, and then suspiciously, "Why are you suddenly so amenable. Flavia has indeed wrought a miracle if she has matured you in six short months of marriage."

"I am beginning to realize what it is not only to be a king, but a parent as well, Mother," was the quiet answer. "Flavia is with child."

"Then she really was indisposed?" Zenobia was pleased, but at the same time a tiny voice said that she was too young, too beautiful, too sensual to be a grandmother. She was but thirty-four!

Then a sharp voice destroyed her reverie. "If this is your son, goddess, I should like to be presented." Aurelian was at her side.

Zenobia looked up, faintly annoyed. "Vaballathus, my son, here is the mighty Roman conqueror, Aurelian." Her gaze flicked insolently to the emperor. "My son, the King of Palmyra," she said.

The two men stared coldly at each other, and men Aurelian said mockingly, "Will you not bid me welcome to Palmyra, Va-ballathus?"

"I did not think it necessary," was the quick reply. "You Romans seem not to mind if a city welcomes you or not."

Aurelian looked carefully at the young man. "There is a lot of your mother in you, boy," he replied.

"Thank you, sir." Vaba was totally unruffled, and Zenobia was quite proud of him.

"We will talk inside," the emperor snapped. "All of you," he continued, including the nervously waiting Council of Ten with a wave of his hand. "Cassius Longinus, lead the way. Gaius Cicero, attend me!"

At the door of the main council chamber, Aurelian stopped and said to Zenobia, "Not you, goddess. This is men's work."

Longinus saw the furious retort rising to her lips, but before he might intervene the king spoke. "The queen is a member of the council, Caesar. Without her we cannot legally meet."

"And we will not," put in the white-haired, elderly Marius Gracchus.

"If you would treat with us," Antonius Porcius contributed, "then the queen must be with us, Caesar. We mean you no disrespect, but these are our ways. We know that, understanding them, you will be fair."

Aurelian looked at the council and, seeing that they were adamant, relented. He had hoped to humiliate her with the government, but, by the gods!, she certainly commanded loyalty. He felt almost envious of such devotion.

"If it is your custom," he said casually, "then the queen may partake of this meeting." He entered into the council chamber and seated himself at one end of the long table.

"You sit at the other end, Mother," Vaba said softly, and Zenobia knew that her son was giving his permission for her to take a leading role in the negotiations to come.

Regally she settled herself, nodding as she did so to Vaba and the council to sit down.

Aurelian noted all of this. It seemed almost a shame to break her, but as much as he admired her, she was a dangerous enemy; an enemy Rome could not afford. She wanted the entire Eastern Empire, and she had taken it. Left in Palmyra, she would rise again. He looked down the table at the faces turned to his, and said, "Palmyra is no longer a client kingdom. It will return to province status effective immediately."

Then the emperor sat back, expecting the uproar that followed. The Council of Ten was speaking all at once, their voices raised in strong protest against what seemed to them an arbitrary decision. They had expected negotiations, the removal of Zenobia, even trade sanctions and heavy fines; but not this. They had opened their gates allowing the Roman emperor inside their city and this is the way he responded.

"Be silent!" Zenobia's voice stilled the cacophony. She looked down the table at the emperor. "You are overly harsh, Caesar." He noted with amusement that it was the first time she had used his proper title, and without sarcasm. "It is I who am at fault, not Palmyra. Do not punish the city, nor my son; rather, punish me. Vaballathus will serve you well. He is his father's son before he is mine, and my husband was always loyal to Rome. It was he who kept the eastern boundaries secure for the empire against the Persians. Surely you will bear this in mind before you make a final decision."

It was as close to begging as she was going to come, and Aurelian knew it. "Why should I heed your words, Queen of Palmyra? Your son has not proven himself, as did his father, and he is young besides. Give me one good reason why I should listen to you?"

Zenobia stood up and gave the emperor a long, slow look. "Because I am Palmyra," she said quietly.

He was frankly astounded by her words, but a quick look at the others confirmed that she had spoken from truth not vanity. 'I will think on it," he said. This was a far more dangerous woman than he had realized. Better he spend a little time assessing the situation before making a final decision. "The council is dismissed," Aurelian concluded. Then he rose and walked from the room.

"Go with him, Antonius Porcius," Zenobia begged. "You were the last imperial governor before we were freed of Roman control. Plead for my son! For your daughter, the young queen, for our unborn grandchild who will be Palmyra's rightful heir!"

Antonius Porcius arose dutifully and followed after the emperor. He had not changed a great deal over the years, but Zenobia noticed that he moved more slowly than she remembered and that silver was beginning to streak his remaining hair.

"What are we to do, Majesty?" Marius Gracchus asked.

"Wait," was the reply. "He is not an easy man. I suspect that he truly wants Palmyra to return to province status, but we must prevent that at all costs. Vaba must be allowed to remain king. Perhaps not in his lifetime, but one day we will again rise, and the inheritors of Odenathus's dynasty must be ruling the city when the time comes! To this end I expect you to all work, and if the people really love me then they will work toward this goal, too."

"But what will happen to you, Majesty?"

"I shall go to Rome, Marius Gracchus. Aurelian has already told me that much. He will not, I fear, trust me out of his sight, and he is wise not to." She smiled at the elderly councillor. "Given the chance, I should do it again, old friend."

Marius Gracchus chuckled. "With you will go our greatness," he replied.

"Do not say that," was her quick answer. "Vaballathus is a young man now. Who knows what miracles he will accomplish in his time. And what of those who come after him? This city has stood since the days of the Hebrew king, Solomon, its founder, and it has seen its share of greatness. It will again." She stood up. "I am tired," she announced. "I have not slept well these last months, but now I think I might." She looked over her council. "I do not know if we will be allowed to meet again," she said. "I thank you for your loyalty to Palmyra, to me, and to my late husband. I know you will give that same loyalty to my son, the king. Long live Palmyra!" Then she was swiftly gone from the council chamber.

There was not one member of the Council of Ten who did not unashamedly wipe the tears from his eyes; and then slowly each one of them moved forward, kneeling before Vaballathus to pledge fealty to him as they had done upon his father's death those long years ago. Then each departed to his own section of the city to do the queen's bidding. It was not an easy task, for the Romans were everywhere and public gatherings had already been forbidden; but slowly the council members moved, in some cases from house to house, spreading Zenobia's words. The city must rise behind their young king in order to preserve the dynasty. The queen's day was done, but the Roman emperor must feel the weight of public opinion behind the House of Odenathus.

Zenobia had retired to her own apartments, where she had a long, leisurely soak in a hot bath scented with oil of hyacinth. The queen's long hair was washed and brushed dry so that it floated about her like a veil. A soft Egyptian cotton robe was slipped over her head, and then she lay down upon her couch to sleep.

Sleep came quickly. The last thing she remembered was the bright sunlight of midday streaming in a blazing shaft across the marble floor of her room. When she awoke a single lamp burned in the darkness of the room and in the gardens outside she could hear the crickets singing their evening song. Slowly she stretched herself, one leg, one arm, then her entire body, feeling the tension entirely gone. She sighed deeply, and then started at the sound of Aurelian's voice.

"You have slept long, goddess. Are you feeling better?"

"What are you doing here, Roman?'" but her voice lacked any anger.

"Watching you," he replied. "I like watching you in sleep. It is one of the few times you are not spitting and snarling at me like a wild thing."

"We cannot be friends, Roman," she said quietly.

"Perhaps not right now, goddess, but I enjoy looking at you. You are extravagantly beautiful."

"Like the ladies of Rome?"

"Great Jupiter, no! You are exotic; they are…" he thought a moment, and then he said, "they are not exotic, goddess, as you are. You are as fair as a dawn, and as elusive as a soft desert wind."

"Why, Roman, you are quite poetic."

Aurelian arose, came across the room, and seated himself on the edge of Zenobia's sleeping couch. She tensed, and he said, "You are not afraid of me, and yet-" He looked piercingly at her. "What is it, goddess? Why do you grow stiff when I but sit by your side?"

"Because I know what your sitting by me portends, Roman. You will force yourself upon me once again, to impress once more the imperial victory upon my body and soul." Her voice was bitter, almost raw in its tone.

"You still love Marcus Alexander, don't you, goddess?" She said nothing, and so he continued. "He is my niece's husband, and already they are parents. It is a futile love you hug to your heart, goddess. Let me love you."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You?" The scorn in her voice was fierce. "I shall never give myself into the keeping of any man ever again, Roman; but you? You love me? What madness is this? What of your poor wife who waits for your return? I am a queen! No matter I am a defeated queen, I am still a queen. I am not some poor innocent to be honored by the position of mistress! You insult me!"

"Your illustrious ancestress, Cleopatra, was honored to be the mistress of two Romans," he said.

"It cost her her life," was the cold reply. "She put herself into the keeping of Romans, and in the end it destroyed her! I will not be destroyed by you-or any other Roman!"

"I cannot destroy you, Zenobia-only your own bitterness can do that," was his reply. "You will be my mistress because I make that decision, and not you." He reached out for her, but Zenobia drew back.

"And now," she said angrily, "now you will once again rape me to prove the truth of your words."

"I have not once raped you, goddess. Each time I have made love to you, you have wanted me to do so. The only one you have been fighting is yourself!"

"I despise you," she whispered half fearfully. "I hate you! How can I want your lovemaking when I detest you so?"

"Lust, Zenobia. Did I not tell you that first night? You may not want me, but your beautiful body does. You are a woman; you have known a man's love and you have known a man's passion. Neither of these things have frightened you. Why then should a man's honest lust cause such a turmoil within you, goddess?"

"It is wrong," she said firmly. "Lovemaking without affection or caring is wrong."

"Who has told you these things, goddess? You are young yet, and certainly your small experience with but two men cannot qualify you to make such a judgment."

He reached out for her again, and this time his arm slid about her waist and drew her resisting body close to his. "I have never experienced love, and yet I enjoy lying with a beautiful and passionate woman. None have ever complained to me before, goddess. This foolishness is but in your mind. If you would simply enjoy the feelings I can engender within your body, you would see that I am right."

"You are a wicked man," she said softly. "I will not allow you to destroy me."

"I will not destroy you, goddess," he murmured, and his breath was warm against her ear, the little puffs of his words causing her to shiver slightly. "Let me love you, Zenobia. Don't fight me." A hand began a slow, gentle caressing of her breasts. "Ah, goddess, my beautiful goddess," Aurelian whispered, his lips moving against her soft, fragrant hair.

Zenobia felt his hands and his lips tenderly questing. She heard the restrained passion in his voice, and her soul seemed to draw back deep within her where she might watch him in safety. She was, despite her long nap, still so very weary, and she had no strength left to fight him. Opening the delicate silver filigree fastenings of her sleeping robe, he pushed it back and off her shoulders. He was being very careful, very gentle. For several long moments he simply sat and stared at her firm golden breasts as they rose and fell with her breathing.

Then he tenderly pressed her back among her pillows, and began to place delicate kisses upon her chest and breasts. His lips touched lightly, quickly, moving here and there, never lingering very long in one place. "I am a soldier, goddess," he said low. "A rough soldier, and I have never had the time to make proper love to a beautiful woman; but here in your perfumed palace I shall linger, and adore you until it is time for us to depart for Rome." Then his lips returned to her flesh, this time moving slowly and sensuously, coaxing alive within her tiny flames of pure desire.

She did not fight him-whether from simple exhaustion or because she was admitting her surrender to Rome even Zenobia did not know. What she did know was that his lips, his hands, his seductive words all combined to vanquish her. She had lost Palmyra to him, and whatever she said, or did, he would take her body, for, as he had said, he was the victor. Perhaps by yielding she might regain some measure of control over the situation. Briefly she thought of Deliciae. Was this what it had been like for her in the days before Odenathus had given her in marriage to Rufus Curius? Forced to barter her body in order to survive. How scornful Zenobia had been; but then she had not known. Still, she had sworn to herself that she would survive; and if to survive she must use her body, then by the gods she would do so!

Zenobia focused her silvery eyes upon Aurelian, and said simply, "Love me."

Startled, he looked up at her, and when she repeated those two words he groaned like a starving man being offered a fine feast. She would have sworn that his hands trembled as he bared her completely. Gazing at her passionately, he ran his hands over her silken skin, moving upward to cup her large breasts, then sliding down across her thighs; his fingers hesitant at first, then surer, probing tenderly between the plump lips of her Venus mount. She wasn't really quite prepared when his blond head dipped quickly and his tongue touched the tiny secret, sensitive flower of her womanhood. She gasped, but then his fingers were gently spreading her nether lips, and his tongue was caressing her expertly, forcing the liquid fire to flow, and she realized she didn't care. There would be no escape from this man, and so, uncaring, Zenobia allowed herself to be swept up in the whirlwind of pleasurable sensations that Aurelian aroused within her body.

He was a lover of incredible stamina, and having suffered these last nights from his brutality, she was quite surprised that he was capable of such sensitivity and gentleness. His hungry mouth was beginning to wreak havoc with her senses as he sucked sensuously upon that tiny morsel of tender flesh, yet she was unready when the first starburst exploded within her, and she cried out still fearful of the feelings that this man could arouse within her.

Aurelian understood, and pulling himself back level with her, he smoothed the tangled hair from her forehead and placed a kiss upon it. "You are so beautiful in your passion," he said softly.

"Hold me," she whispered in a shaking voice and, turning, clung to him, her whole frame trembling.

He was instantly protective of her, enfolding her within his strong arms. "Here," he said quietly, "within the privacy of your chamber, I am with you as I have never been with any woman. I know that I stir your senses, goddess, but do you know how much you stir mine? It is with me as it has never been before. I do not think that I shall ever get enough of you!" His voice was thick with his emotion, and she felt his staff, hard and eager against her thigh, yet he made no move to force her this time.

Suddenly Zenobia realized that if Cleopatra's Roman lovers had destroyed her, it was surely because her ancestress had loved and trusted them. I will never love or trust this man, she thought, but if I can please him, and obviously I can, then perhaps I shall yet save my son's inheritance. She shifted her body so she might see his stern face, and freeing her hands from her sides, she reached up, drew his head down, and kissed him sweetly, her soft lips moving against his almost shyly. "You are right, Roman," she said low. "Lust is a powerful thing, and not altogether unpleasant. Would you be very much shocked if I said I wanted you?"

Looking down upon her, his blue eyes searched her face for signs of mockery, but finding none he said, "No, I should not be shocked, goddess."

"Love me," she answered him, her lush body beginning to move provocatively beneath his.

Aurelian needed no further encouragement, for his manhood felt close to bursting with his desire. Feeling her long legs parting to encourage him, he pushed his aching weapon deep within her warm, wonderfully willing body, a groan of pleasure escaping his tightly clamped lips. The long and lovely legs wrapped themselves about him, and he had the fleeting thought that she was really the goddess Venus herself, come to earth to give sweet pleasure to him. Her hands ran smoothly down his back, then caressed his taut buttocks; her touch was more exciting than anything he had ever known. She was making love to him!

Zenobia quickly realized the effect that her boldness was having upon Aurelian. It roused him more than anything she could have done, and his excitement communicated itself to her. Together they fanned the flames of their desire, their bodies writhing passionately, both seemingly inexhaustible as he drove again, and again, and again into the lush and lovely woman panting beneath him. Her movements encouraged him onward. Never had he felt so strong, so manly, so immortal as within the throbbing sheath of this magnificent creature.

Then suddenly Zenobia cried out, "Ah, sweet Venus, I die!" and Aurelian, with a low growl of triumph, waited but a moment to assure himself that she had attained Olympus before releasing his own boiling offering to the goddess of love. He was shaken to the core of his being, and he could see that Palmyra's queen lay in a deep swoon, her beautiful body covered in a faint silvery sheen of dampness that highlighted the pale-golden color of her skin. He would have believed her dead but for the pulse that fluttered in a tiny, provocative hollow at the base of her throat.

She soared upward, floating free and happy, seeing below her the mountainous home of the gods; and then as suddenly she plunged downward into a whirling, light-filled abyss that battered both her body and her soul. Something was wrong, but she could not understand what it was. With a low moan she tried to escape the sinking feeling. Slowly, almost painfully, she fought her way back to consciousness, her first realization of returning feeling being the firm kisses being placed upon her lips. Zenobia opened her eyes, and Aurelian smiled down at her before his lips took charge of hers once again.

His mouth demanded and she acquiesced, kissing him back with equal fervor, opening her mouth to receive his questing tongue. The tongue touched the sensitive roof of her mouth, and she shivered. It rubbed against her tongue in a sensual gesture, then sucked, attempting to draw her very spirit from between her lips. She eluded him, and attempted to imitate his actions. She was pleased when he shuddered against her, and then he drew away from her. "Goddess, you will destroy me yet," he murmured against her ear, and for the first time in months Zenobia felt genuine amusement bubbling up within her. Her laughter sounded warm and mischievous in his ear, and he was forced to chuckle himself.

They lay together for some time, and then she realized that he had fallen asleep, and so Zenobia slept, too. In the morning he made no attempt to hide from her servants the fact that he had slept with her, and Zenobia wisely refrained from comment. She desperately wanted to ask him what, if anything, he had decided for Palmyra; but she believed to ask such a sensitive question after their extraordinary night together would make it appear as if she had deliberately set out to use her body to influence him. She had, of course, but although she was willing to be totally honest with herself, she would not, could not be with Rome's emperor. He would ever be her enemy, though she be his mistress. He would tell her when he was ready to tell her, and then, if necessary, she would try to soften his terms and see that Vaba remained Palmyra's ruling king.

She helped to bathe him, and then bathed herself. When young Adria, Bab's assistant, attempted to brush Zenobia's long hair, Aurelian took the brush from her hand and did it himself, reveling in the silken swath that fell to the middle of her back. His big hand smoothed it after each passage of the brush, and when Bab, scandalized, clucked her disapproval he mildly ordered her to be silent. Then, on reflection, he said, "Bring your mistress a kalasiris the color of flame. I want to see her gowned in the bridal color." Then he bent and whispered in Zenobia's ear, "For you are my bride, goddess. You are the only woman who has ever made me feel. I believe that I am falling in love with you."

"Is this how you treat all your captives?" she half-teased him.

"Do not jest with me, goddess. I mean what I say."

Zenobia sighed. "Do not fall in love with me, Roman. I have warned you that I shall never again give myself into any man's keeping. You are my enemy, yet in this I cannot hurt you. I am being honest with you."

"You have been hurt," he answered her. "In time you will come to trust me, goddess."

"Will you call the Council of Ten into session today?" she asked him, attempting to change the subject.

"The meeting is already arranged for the midday hour, goddess. While you slept yesterday afternoon I gave orders that Gaius Cicero see to it."

She turned her head to look at him, and could not resist asking, "What have you decided, Caesar?"

"As you come to know me, Zenobia," he said slowly, "you will learn that the secret of my success is always to keep my private life and my public duty separate. We will never discuss the business of the empire within the walls of our bedchamber." He then bent and kissed her mouth lightly. "I am ravenous, goddess. Do you think we can persuade that disapproving old crone who serves you into bringing us something to break our fast?"

The reproof had been a gentle one, but nonetheless Zenobia felt a chill of premonition. Forcing it down, she called to Bab, "The emperor is hungry. Why have we not been fed?"

"Can I do several things at once?" Bab snapped. "First there was the bath, then the overseeing of this useless wench that you insist aid me, though the gods know she is more trouble than help, then he commands that I fetch a flame-colored gown for you! When am I supposed to have the time to get your breakfast?!" With a snort she turned upon the hapless Adria. "You, girl! Go and fetch breakfast for the queen-and him! I must remain and see to flame-colored garments. Humph!" Still grumbling under her breath, Bab waddled off into the queen's wardrobe while the flushed Adria hurried off to see to the food.

"How can you put up with that sour old woman?" the emperor asked.

"She raised both my mother and me," Zenobia said. "She is very dear to me even if in her old age she becomes impatient and frequently oversteps her place. I love her, Roman, and she loves me.

He smiled. "I had an old grandmother like that. She was fierce and gruff, but somehow she always had a sweetmeat for you." He reached out and pulled her into his arms. For a long moment they stood together, their nude bodies touching, his warmth and male scent suddenly familiar and almost comforting in her nostrils. They broke guiltily apart as Bab bustled back into the room, still grumbling beneath her breath about flame-colored draperies.

"Here!" She almost flung the natural-colored chamber robes at them. "That foolish girl, Adria, is deeply shocked by your immodesty, and for once I am in total agreement with her. Are you athletes to run about in public as naked as the day your mothers birthed you? Put these on at once! Your meal will be here shortly, and unless you wish to display each other's charms to the slaves you will clothe yourselves immediately."

Meekly they obeyed her, but Zenobia's lips twitched her suppressed amusement, especially as she could see that Rome's mighty emperor was completely chagrined by the severe tongue-lashing he had just received.

"Is she a slave?" he demanded.

"No," Zenobia whispered. "She was a freedwoman of Alexandria when my grandfather employed her to nurse my orphaned mother. She has always been a part of my life. She always will be."

"She is elderly, goddess. I wonder if she can make the trip to Rome. It is a long way."

"I cannot leave her behind, Roman."

The arrival of their morning meal forestalled further conversation. Adria had brought a tray containing a pitcher of freshly squeezed juice, a mixture of oranges, lemons, and limes, a round red Arrantine bowl with hard-boiled eggs, freshly baked bread, a honeycomb, and another bowl filled with ripe apricots.

They sat facing each other across a round table, eating together as if it had been a habit of long standing between them. Zenobia reached for an apricot and, pulling it apart, removed the pit and popped half of it into her mouth. Chewing it, she changed the subject, asking, "What will you do until it is time for the council to meet?"

"I will have to ride through the city checking upon my men, goddess. I want no friction between your people and mine. We want a return to business as usual here in Palmyra."

She stifled the angry retort that sprang to her lips. It would do no good, and if she were to convince him to allow Vaba to remain as Palmyra's king, she must remain pleasant. They finished their meal with a modicum of small talk, then Aurelian quickly dressed and made to leave her, stopping as he went to place a passionate kiss upon her mouth.

"I should rather remain with you, goddess, than attend to this dull business." He smiled down at her and then he was gone.

Alone! At last she was alone again, if only for a few minutes. She would go out in her garden and walk among the calming flowers and fountains. It was not yet too hot to do so.

She did not know how long she wandered amid the fragrant blooms; but suddenly Bab was there, fussing at her about changing from her chamber robe into what she scornfully called "those flame-colored draperies that he wants." Zenobia's amusement eased some of her apprehension, and she dutifully followed her elderly servant back into her bedchamber. Standing quietly, she allowed Bab and Adria to dress her in the crimson gown, but seeing her reflection in her large oval silver mirror, Zenobia suddenly tore the garment off with an oath.

"No! I will not wear this! Rome's emperor will not dictate to me in even so small a matter as my clothing. Today, I expect, will be the last time my council meets-at least with me. I shall therefore be their queen this last time, and I shall dress like a queen-not like the emperor's favorite whore!"

"Ha!" A smile split old Bab's face. "Now you speak like Palmyra's queen! All this morning you have sounded like the Roman's pet bird, all soft and cooing. What shall I bring you, my baby?"

"I will wear Tyrian purple, the royal color. Adria, fetch me the proper kalasiris, sleeveless please, and a matching cape; and Bab, get the jewel cases. It is Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, who will head this Council of Ten meeting, not Aurelian's mistress."

For a few minutes Zenobia stood amid the shredded wreckage of her torn gown while her two servants hurried back and forth doing her bidding. When the jewel cases were brought, the queen opened them all, staring down at their contents. Already upon her bed lay a gossamer spun kalasiris of Tyrian purple, its embroidered and fitted bodice replete with golden stars that tumbled down amid the narrow pleats of the skirt, glittering and twinkling like the very stars in the night sky.

Carefully, she considered her jewelry. A jeweled collar would have been a simple choice, but she closed the cases containing these pieces and waved them away. The collars were neat, and she wanted to be opulently magnificent. Finally her eye lit upon a necklace of irregularly shaped amethysts, some set within yellow-gold settings, others hanging from their settings by web-thin yellow-gold wires. Smiling, Zenobia lifted it out of its case and handed it to Bab. "This one," was all she said, and then she pulled a rather barbaric pair of matching earrings from the jewel case. "And these." The box was closed, and Adria proffered another leather case, this one filled with bracelets. Zenobia selected two armbands, fashioned like snakes, each golden scale perfect, their flashing eyes of small but choice purple sapphires. The last box offered contained rings, rings of every size and shape, with gemstones of every sort known to the world. Zenobia chose but one: a huge purple scarab beetle into whose back was carved the seal of Palmyra.

The door to Zenobia's apartments opened, and Vaba and Flavia entered. The queen turned to her son and his wife, holding her arms out to Flavia. "Dear child, I should indeed scold you. I am far too young to become a grandmother." She hugged Vaba's wife, and then inquired anxiously, "You are well now?"

"I tend to be sick in the early afternoons, and sometimes in the mornings," Flavia smiled with a little shrug. "Both quite normal, my mother assures me." Then the girl's face grew worried. "What is to happen to us with the Romans in the citv, Aunt Zenobia? Will they kill us? Will my child be safe?"

"So many questions, Flavia! Dear child, I do not know what will happen, but I am certain that Aurelian means this family no harm. I believe what he wants is to restore Roman rule to this city again, but that we shall try to prevent for Vaba's sake."

Flavia's face became less fearful. "You have always been a favorite of the gods, my lady."

"Of late," murmured Zenobia wryly, "I have begun to wonder." She motioned to a chair. "Sit down, Flavia. You must not tax yourself." Then she sat down herself.

Vaba, however, remained standing. "What is happening in the city?" he demanded.

"We do not know," Zenobia replied. "Each district in the city has been cut off from all the others so the people may not mix freely. It is impossible to get from one area to another without a pass, and precious few are being issued."

"Then we must wait for the council meeting," Vaba said quietly.

"Yes," his mother answered, and then, "Where is Demi? I have not seen him since the Romans entered the city."

Vaba frowned. "My brother disagreed quite violently with my decision to surrender to the Romans. He left the palace two nights ago, and I have no idea where he is. I do know, however, that he has banded together a group of young patrician hotheads like himself, and they are considering a guerrilla-type warfare upon the Romans."

"No!" Zenobia's voice was sharp. "We must find him, Vaba. Such behavior could endanger your position. I will not allow him to do that!"

"I have people out looking, but if the city is as tightly closed as you say, then it will be more difficult for them."

"The gods take the young fool!" Zenobia muttered.

"He is your son, Mother," Vaba could not resist saying.

"If you mean he is impetuous," was the calm reply, "then you are right."

"It was not just the surrender," put in Flavia. "We had only just told him about the baby."

"He was jealous," Vaba said.

"No, Vaba," Flavia defended her brother-in-law. "It is not easy for Demi to be the younger son. It is never easy for a younger son. Now Demi is to be upstaged by our child, and he had not the time to adjust. He will come around."

"What Flavia said is true, Vaba," Zenobia spoke. "I know that for some time Demi has chafed from having little to do. He is a natural soldier like your father, and a good leader. I had planned to send him to Alexandria to act as our governor. His thirst for power is not overly great, and that would have satisfied him well."

"I am not angry at him, Mother," Vaba replied. "Believe it or not, I understood how he felt. But now he endangers not only me but Flavia and our unborn child as well."

"He endangers Palmyra," Zenobia said. "He must be found!"

"We are doing our best. Can you not speak to Aurelian?"

"What? Are you mad? What should I say? Should I tell Aurelian that I cannot control my family? Please, will the Romans help to find my bad boy? They would execute him on the spot as a troublemaker! Do you want Demi's death on your hands, Vaballathus?"

"There have been no executions, Mother."

"That is no guarantee that there won't be," Zenobia said ominously.

"Oh!" They both turned to see Flavia white and swaying in her chair.

"Darling! What is it?" Vaba was kneeling at his wife's side.

"What if they kill you, Vaba?" Flavia began to sob piteously.

Zenobia could have bitten her tongue. "Do not fret, Flavia. The Romans will not kill this family, I am sure. They will execute a few unimportant people in order to impress their rule upon the masses. There will be messy affairs in the public squares, but we will not be involved. They will go after potential troublemakers, accusing them of things like hoarding and profiteering. Do not fear. Vaba will not be harmed."

"You are sure?"

"Quite sure," Zenobia said with far more certainty than she was feeling. Then she said, "Vaba, take Flavia to your apartments and stay with her until the council meeting. If I get any word before then I shall send to you."

The king stood up, nodding in agreement with his mother, and then he escorted his trembling young wife from the room.

"Now," Zenobia said, "I am ready to dress." Bab and Adria quickly aided the queen, pulling the exquisite kalasiris over her head, fastening her jewelry about her neck and in her ears and about her upper arms. Zenobia slipped the ring upon her fingers while Adria helped her into delicate golden sandals.

The queen then sat at her dressing table, and Adria brushed her dark hair until it shone. Then, taking a section of hair from each side of Zenobia's head, Adria braided it and drew the thin braids back to fasten them high on the back of the queen's head with a jeweled enamel pin. The rest of Zenobia's black hair flowed free down her back, and Bab dusted it with gold powder before placing the vine-leaf crown upon her mistress's head. The queen stood and walked to her polished silver mirror, smiling in satisfaction at what she saw.

"Bab, find me Cassius Longinus!"

Longinus came quickly, sprawling into the chair lately vacated by Rome's emperor. Helping himself to an egg, he dipped it into the salt and took a healthy bite. "Your secret garden gate is unguarded, Majesty. The council advises you and your family escape while there is yet time."

"To what purpose, Longinus?"

"You would be a rallying point for our people."

"There is no point in it, Longinus. Rome is already in full possession of the city. The army is as trapped as I am. There is no help for us. The king made the decision to open Palmyra's gates to Rome that the city and her people might be saved. He was right, and I can only hope Aurelian will let my son remain this city's ruler. To that end alone I will work, Longinus."

Longinus bowed his head in acceptance of her judgment, then standing, he said, "I will go with you to Rome, Majesty."

"It is time," Bab said. "It is midday."

"You have seen to my guard?"

"Need you ask, my baby? They await you outside the door."

Without another word Zenobia walked through her bedroom, through her antechamber, and out into the hallway through doors opened swiftly by her slaves. Instantly the one hundred men in her guard came to attention, and cried out, "Hail Zenobia! Hail, Queen of Palmyra!"

A small smile touched Zenobia's lips as she said, "Good afternoon, Captain Urbicinus."

"Majesty!" The captain saluted smartly.

The queen seated herself in her waiting litter, an opulent affair of solid silver, its raised designs all of a botanical nature. The cushions of the litter were of purple velvet. Immediately the four coal-black slaves in their cloth-of-silver breechcloths lifted the litter, and began moving down the corridor. Before them, behind them, and on either side of them inarched the queen's guard.

It was not a long trip to the council chamber, and with much ceremony-the wide double doors to the chamber were flung wide, the waiting trumpeteers played a flourish-the queen's guard marched into the room with the litter. The litter was carried to the head of the table, where the emperor and the young king were already waiting, as was the entire council. Dismounting the litter with Captain Urbicinus's aid, Zenobia caught Longinus's eye and saw secret amusement in it. As she seated herself opposite Rome's emperor the royal guard once more shouted, "Hail, Zenobia! Hail, Queen of Palmyra!" Then they positioned themselves along two of the walls of the room, facing some of the men of Aurelian's own legion, who lined the other two walls.

"The council is called to order," Zenobia said. She looked to the emperor.

By the gods, Aurelian thought admiringly, she yet has the courage to defy me, even now in the hour of her defeat. He almost regretted the decisions he had made regarding the city. Almost. The emperor stood and looked around the table at all the upturned and expectant faces before facing Zenobia. Then he said, "You are banished, Queen of Palmyra, from this city-state that you led to rebellion against your masters, the imperial Romans."

The room was deathly silent. No one's face showed any emotion, for it was as they expected, as Zenobia had led them to expect. What they waited for was his decision concerning Oden-athus's dynasty.

"Vaballathus, King of Palmyra, Roman law demands the death of a client king who rebels against Rome; but you were a child when you came into your inheritance. Your mother has ruled for you, and so in fairness-and contrary to what you have been raised to believe, we Romans are fair-I cannot hold you responsible for this rebellion. I therefore grant you your life, but you and your wife and whatever family you have are banished to the city of Cyrene."

“No!" Zenobia's voice was ragged.

"For how long?" asked Vaba.

"For life," was the reply.

"No!" A low and desperate cry.

"Be quiet," Aurelian said almost gently. "I have not finished." She was amazing, he thought. She cared only for her husband's life. If she might transfer that loyalty to him!

"Roman law will be served in the case of Palmyra's rebellion," continued the emperor. "Your king was scarcely a child, your regent a woman, a woman who was advised in all her plans by you, the Council of Ten. I have spared both your boy king and your queen regent. I will not, however, spare you. I must hold this council responsible for Zenobia of Palmyra's acts. You are men. You could have prevented all that has happened between Rome and Palmyra, but you did not. You allowed a woman total control, and her emotional and unbridled ways, her fierce pride, her ambition, have led you to your own destruction.

"Accordingly, I must mete out punishment to all. You are sentenced to death in the name of the Senate of Rome and the peoples it represents. The Council of Ten will not be allowed to re-form. Rome will rule Palmyra henceforth by means of a military governor. You have six hours in which to put your affairs in order. You will be executed just before sunset. Rest assured that your families will not be harmed, nor will your possessions be confiscated."

There was not a sound in the room. The members of the Council of Ten could not believe what they had heard. Zenobia sat wide-eyed. Clutching at the table's edge, she pulled herself up to a standing position.

"Mercy, Caesar," she rasped, for her throat was tight. "Kill me! Make me your example, but in the name of all the gods, spare these good men!" Her voice grew stronger. "My day is over. I will die willingly for Palmyra. It is not fair that the council be killed. They are not responsible for my actions! I alone am responsible! I willingly, nay gladly, accept my responsibilities."

"A woman could not have accomplished what you have accomplished, Zenobia, without the cooperation of her council. The boy was too young to rule, I grant you; but had this council not gone along with your precipitous behavior, you could not have come so close to succeeding in your foolish rebellion. My sentence is just."

"I will kill you," she said clearly, and the men of the emperor's legion put their hands to their swords. "Someday I will find a way to repay you for this terrible Roman injustice. You have placed the burden of guilt for the murder of ten good men upon my conscience, and I shall never forgive you for it."

"This council is disbanded," Aurelian said coldly, and quickly the men of his legion surrounded the unfortunate members of the Council of Ten. "Each of you," the emperor said, "may return under guard to your homes. You will be escorted back to the palace before sunset." Then he turned on his heel to leave the room.

"Wait!" Zenobia's voice resounded throughout the council chamber. Aurelian turned. "Give me leave, Caesar, to bid these faithful friends farewell." She spoke carefully, in a toneless voice. He nodded curtly. "Without their guards?" she pleaded. Again he nodded. "Thank you," she said simply.

When the room had emptied, and only Zenobia, Vaballathus, and the Council of Ten remained, she spoke. "I will try when I am alone with him to get him to reconsider; but he is a harsh man. I know not with what I may bargain now. I have nothing left."

Marius Gracchus spoke. "He means to separate Palmyra entirely from her past, Majesty. He believes that once this is done the people will be easy to manage, and in truth they will be. Whatever their loyalties to the House of Odenathus, Rome has not penalized them for this war. Nor, I suspect, will Rome penalize them. The royal family will be gone, the council will be gone, and there will be but one authority: Rome. The people's loyalty will not be torn, and the city will remain as Rome wants. Productive and calm. I admire this emperor for all he has condemned me to my death, because he is clever and ruthless. Do not grieve, Majesty. We of the Council of Ten are mostly old, and the gods know that we have lived good lives. We are proud to die for Palmyra!"

There were murmurs of assent from the others, and Zenobia knew that there was nothing left to say. They were all powerless, and they had all bravely faced that fact. "I will try," she said. "I must try! We all know that you could not have stopped me even if you had desired to do so. Aurelian knows it, too! It is not fair!"

Cassius Longinus chuckled. "You are correct, Majesty," he said with a twinkle. "Although it embarrasses us to admit it even now. we could not have stopped you at any time. Nonetheless the emperor needs a blood sacrifice. We are that sacrifice. Let it be. Do not humble yourself before Aurelian again. You may not realize it now, but your lot is far harder than ours. He can kill us only once, but you, Majesty, must live on to take part in the emperor's triumph, and then afterward-who knows. You are Palmyra! You will show the alien Roman world Palmyran courage and loyalty; and by doing that, all we have done in our battle for liberty will live on, and we shall never really be dead."

Zenobia felt the tears well up, and then unashamedly she let them roll down her face. There were no arguments left. "I will bid you farewell now," she said quietly, attempting to gather her dignity about her. Each of the council came forward, placing his hands first in hers and then moving on to their young king to bid him farewell. Zenobia said only their names, for there were no words with which she might thank them now for this ultimate sacrifice.

"Antonius Porcius. I fear for Flavia when she learns of your fate."

"My daughter is stronger than she appears, my Queen. My main concerns are for Julia and our son, Gaius."

"I will do everything I can, old friend. Perhaps they will want to go to Cyrene with Vaba and Flavia. My future is so uncertain."

"Cyrene!" Antonius Porcius made a face. "The armpit of the empire," he said scornfully. "A decaying city on the sea with the desert on the other three sides and nothing else for hundreds of miles. Aurelian chose Vaba's place of exile well. The gods help them. They will be bored to death within a year."

Zenobia was forced to laugh, even in the midst of such tragedy, and the sound of her laughter heartened everyone in the room. She and Antonius Porcius, Rome's former governor and Palmyra's loyal servant these many years, embraced, and then he was moving on and speaking in low, urgent tones to Vaba.

Cassius Longinus stood before her, and for a very long moment they looked at each other. "You," Zenobia said, "you I will miss more than the others, even my children. You are my friend." Quick tears sprang to her silvery eyes, and she amended, "My best friend."

Longinus smiled a strangely sweet smile at her, and took her hand in his. "You think that your life is over," he said quietly, "but dearest Majesty, it has barely begun. Palmyra is just your beginning. I am sixty years old, Majesty, and if I have any regrets it is that I was not with you from the very beginning. It is the will of the gods that your life be spared, as it is their will that we ten die. Remember us, Majesty, but do not grieve." He drew her close to him, and gently kissed her forehead. "You are my best friend also," he said, and then he moved away from her to speak with Vaba.

Zenobia stood quietly, tears streaming down her beautiful face. Finally the room was empty, and Vaba came over to put a comforting arm about his mother. "I do not think I can bear it," Zenobia said. "I cannot believe that Aurelian means to go through with tins slaughter. It is so unfair!"

"When were the Romans ever fair?" he replied bitterly. "It is as Longinus said. Their honor can only be satisfied by a blood sacrifice."

"Oh, Vaba," she half-whispered, "I am responsible for this. It is my fault that the Council of Ten is to die. If I had not declared you Augustus, and myself Queen of the East, Aurelian would not have descended upon us."

"In the short time I have known this emperor, Mother, I have reached the conclusion that he never does anything precipitously. Each move he makes is well thought out in advance. I believe that in his quest to reunite his Roman Empire he sought to regain full control of Palmyra again. He did not want Palmyra to be ruled by its own king. He would have found some excuse, however flimsy, to conquer us. You cannot-must not-hold yourself responsible for the fate of the council."

His words were comforting, but Zenobia was not sure that she entirely believed them. After all, had not she-had not they all said that she was Palmyra? As queen, a queen who ruled for her son, they had all been her sole responsibility. She had failed in that trust.

Vaba escorted her litter back to her apartments and left her. Slowly Zenobia entered her rooms, her mind deep in thought. She suddenly felt very tired, and decided that she would rest until sunset. It would be necessary for her to attend the execution of her council members. They had always supported her, and she owed them this final courtesy no matter how painful it would be for her.

"Why did you not wear the flame-colored gown I wanted?" Aurelian's voice cut into her concentration.

"Red is the color of joy," she said dully. "I did not expect I should be joyful this day, and so I chose to be who I am, the Queen of Palmyra. Tyrian purple is a royal color."

"You are no longer Queen of Palmyra, goddess."

She turned to look directly at him, and then she said in a quiet voice, "I will always be the Queen of Palmyra, Aurelian. Your words, the edicts of your seriate, they cannot alter who I am. Perhaps I shall never see my homeland again, but I will always be the Queen of Palmyra."

Seeing her standing there, he understood for the first time in his life the word "regal." He knew that he should never possess such presence, such dignity. She almost made him feel ashamed, and it angered him. Why should this beautiful rebel make him feel guilty for doing his duty?

"May I go with Vaba and Flavia?" she asked. "May I take my other children with me?"

"You will come to Rome with me," he said in a voice that suggested she not argue. "You have two sons, but I have only seen one. Where is the other?"

"I do not know where my son, Demetrius, is, Caesar. Perhaps he is with his grandfather."

"And perhaps he is sneaking about the city like a jackal with a group of his angry young patrician friends causing trouble," the emperor said, his eyes narrowing.

"What have you heard?" She tried to keep the fright from her voice.

"It is reliably reported that they have been inciting the people to riot and other such seditious acts. I would suggest that you find him, and warn him that any further such nonsense could incur my displeasure."

She nodded, too tired to argue with him now. He looked at her and felt a surge of pure desire. Suppressing it, he realized she was not beaten, simply in shock over his harsh judgments. "Go and rest, goddess," he said in a kinder tone of voice. "It will not be necessary for you to be at this evening's sad event."

"I will be there, Caesar," she replied in a fierce voice. "Cassius Longinus said that you must have your blood sacrifice, but I shall never forgive you for the guilt you have placed upon me."

"Never," he replied, "is a long time, goddess. When you are in Rome with me you will forget."

"I will never forget."

"Go and rest," he repeated.

Zenobia brushed past him and entered her bedchamber. There, Bab and Adria sat awaiting her return. They quickly rose to their feet at her entry and, hurrying toward her, wordlessly began to remove her jewelry and clothes.

Although she did not believe that she could sleep, she did. Shock had taken its toll, and she could have easily slept for hours, but Bab gently shook her awake in the hour before sunset and helped her to dress, again in royal purple. Her numbed mind began to function again.

She was alive. Her children were alive, and they would remain so unless Demi did something foolish. As long as they lived there was hope; hope of returning one day to Palmyra. How long would Aurelian last? Emperors came and went in these days with remarkable rapidity. In a few years what had transpired between Rome and Palmyra would be forgotten; and if she was in favor with a future emperor in Rome, she could possibly regain Vaba's inheritance.

"You are ready," said Bab, who recognized her mistress's mood and had been silent all during the dressing.

"Come with me, old woman," Zenobia said.

"Did you think I would not?" came the quick reply. "You are strong, my baby, but no one is strong enough to bear alone what you must now face. I will always be with you; as long as these tired old legs can move."

"I would come too, Majesty," quiet Adria said, and Zenobia turned in surprise to see the firm, resolute look in the slave girl's brown eyes.

"Yes, Adria," she answered her. "You may come."

Together, the three women left the queen's rooms, and walked slowly along the corridor leading to the main courtyard of the palace. Zenobia silently noted that her own personal guard had been replaced by Roman legionnaires. Though she felt sure that her men had not been harmed, she resolved to inquire of Aurelian what had happened to them.

The Roman legionnaires guarding the entry to the central courtyard snapped smartly to attention as Zenobia passed through with her women. The sight greeting her outside almost made her falter, but old Bab hissed softly, "Courage, Queen of Palmyra!" Zenobia moved regally forward to mount with her women the raised platform that had been erected at one end of the courtyard. Aurelian already sat sprawled in a chair.

"I told you that you did not have to come," he said.

"I told you," she replied half angrily, "that these men you slaughter have served me faithfully, and I would come!"

Aurelian signaled to one of his men. "Bring a chair for the queen," he said.

"I will stand in respect," she quickly replied.

He ignored her. "Whether you stand or sit, goddess, is your choice, but the chair is there should you need it."

Zenobia looked out over the courtyard. The day had been a hot one, but now with sunset fast approaching the courtyard was in shadow.

Zenobia turned to Rome's emperor. "Will it be quick?"

"Yes," was the short reply.

She wanted to cry, but she forced the tears back and swallowed down the lump in her throat. There were ten baskets lined neatly up in a long row at the center of the open courtyard. Realizing their significance, she shuddered with revulsion, then froze as the condemned men came from a side door of the palace. Each was flanked by two Roman guards, one of whom would act as headsman in the execution. The council members had chosen to wear pure white tunics that came to their ankles and somber black togae pullae, mourning garments. They walked proudly, their heads held high. As they turned to face the raised dais where Zenobia stood rooted, they raised their right arms in salute and cried out loudly, "Hail, Zenobia! Hail, Queen of Palmyra!"

She drew herself up proudly then, and said in a voice for all to hear, "The gods speed your journey, my friends, for you are surely Palmyra's greatest patriots! All hail to you, Council of Ten!"

"Enough," Aurelian snapped, and he signaled with his hand.

Each member of the council was forced to kneel before a hateful reed basket, his bare neck bowed, easily accessible to his executioner. Each headsman raised his sword, and as they did Zenobia called out, "Longinus, farewell, my friend."

"Farewell, Majesty," came his dear voice, and then the executioners struck with well-drilled precision, and the ten severed heads fell with a distinct thump into their waiting containers.

She swayed, and Aurelian stood up and reached out to put a strong arm about her. "I do not need your help, Roman!" she snarled at him.

"Death to the Roman tyrants!" The cry suddenly echoed about the courtyard, and in a hail of arrows the legionnaires in the open courtyard fell, some dead instantly, some mortally wounded by the poison-tipped arrows unleashed at them by the kneeling archers upon the palace roof.

A tall young man stood up and looked scornfully down upon the stunned dignitaries on the platform. "Hail, Caesar," he said mockingly, "and welcome to Palmyra! Were the queen not in your grasp at this moment, you and the other Roman dogs with you would now be as dead as your execution squad. The people of Palmyra do not like what you have done. It was our craven king who opened the city's gates to you, not the people. Nevertheless we prefer King Vaballathus to a Roman governor. Reinstate him, or this will be just the beginning of our war with you!" Then without waiting for an answer, he and his archers disappeared from the rooftops.

Gaius Cicero leapt from the platform, but Aurelian's voice was knife-sharp. "Don't bother, Gaius! They are long gone back into their rodent holes, and we will never find them." He turned to Zenobia. "The youth who spoke was your younger son, I presume?"

She pushed his offending arm from her waist then, giving him a long look, smiled. With her women trailing behind her, she walked from the platform and disappeared into the palace. Once safe within her rooms, she said furiously, "Find Demi, Bab! There must be someone who knows where he is hiding."

The doors to her bedchamber opened, and Vaba rushed in, his face dark with anger. "He is your son, Mother! Your son!”

"He is also your brother," she snapped back at him. "I have ordered Bab to seek Demi out, for I do not agree with his methods any more than you do, Vaba. You might know where he is. Who are his special friends now? We must find him!"

"Why?" countered Vaba. "So you may save his miserable life? I hope to the gods that the Romans catch him and kill him!"

Zenobia's hand shot out and made firm contact with the cheek of her older son. "Don't ever say such a thing again. I want Demi found because I do not want him to throw away his life needlessly. I want Demi found so that he does not ruin your future, and that of your children."

"What future?" he demanded scornfully. "There is no future for me in Cyrene. There is no future for my descendants. Best Flavia miscarry of the unfortunate babe she now carries. Better we never have any children at all!"

"You fool!" Zenobia almost shouted. "You only see what is in front of you! Why can you never see ahead?" Almost absently she reached out, and rubbed at the red imprint of her hand on his cheek. "Vaba, listen to me. Aurelian will fall like all of Rome's emperors in these past years; and the emperor to follow him will fall. I will be in Rome making friends, building my connections, always supporting the right faction. In five years, ten at the most, you will return to Palmyra as its rightful king. I promise you this, my son! I swear it! Have I ever broken a promise to you, Vaba?"

He looked at her wonderingly, and shook his head. Then he said, "Do you never stop scheming, Mother?"

"Will you trust me, Vaba?"

"I have always trusted you, Mother."

"Good! Now, think! Where can Demi be hiding?"

"It has to be at Cassius Longinus's house in the city. Longinus's little friend, Oppian, has been giving Demi and his friends occasional shelter, although I doubt that Longinus was aware of it. He left the boy alone as he did not want him here at the palace, and Oppian was lonely for the company of other young men. I am sure that Longinus willed the house to him, and equally sure you will find Demi there. Or at least Oppian will know where he is."

Zenobia turned to speak to Bab, but the old woman forestalled her, raising up her hand, and said, "I am already gone. I shall bring him back when I find him."

Zenobia sent a message to Aurelian asking that she be allowed the traditional mourning period. To her surprise, he sent back an immediate reply by his personal secretary, Durantis, agreeing to her request, but stipulating that she keep to her own apartments and own garden. She assented. She knew that he acquiesced because it suited him, not her. He probably needed the time to consolidate his victory. With Vaballathus deposed, the Council of Ten dead, and the queen out of sight, Palmyra would naturally turn to Roman authority.

It was late that night when old Bab returned, and she was alone. "He is mere," she said, "but he will not come to the palace. He fears a trap."

"He said that?" Zenobia was furious.

"He does not distrust you," Bab quickly assured her, "but he fears a Roman trap. There is no one left you may rely upon, he says, now that the council is dead."

"Did you use the secret gate in the garden?" Zenobia asked Bab.

"I did, and I was seen by no one. I am not so old that my eyes and ears cannot see or hear properly."

"Then if you can get out, so can I," Zenobia said.

"That is just what Prince Demetrius said!" Bab replied. "He said that you must come tonight, however, for after tonight the Roman is sure to put a watch on you. Tonight he will assume you too devastated to take any kind of action. We will have to walk, my baby, but at this very minute two of Prince Demi's men are waiting for us outside the palace to escort us in safety."

"Adria!" Zenobia called, and the young slave girl came instantly.

"Majesty?"

"You heard?"

"Yes, Majesty."

"I want you and Bab to remain here. You will sit outside my bedchamber door as if keeping watch. Bab will sit inside my chamber by my bed; a bed that will appear to have a sleeping woman in it. Should the emperor come you will do your best to prevent his entering my room, but should he ignore you, then Bab will handle it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Majesty." Adria smiled. "It will be a pleasure to deceive the Roman dogs!"

Zenobia looked with new eyes upon her young servant. Until recently she had not given the girl a great deal of attention, but of late Adria had shown intelligence and loyalty more worthy of a freed woman than a slave. "From this moment on, Adria, you are no longer a slave," Zenobia said quietly. "Tomorrow I shall have the papers drawn up freeing you."

"Majesty!" Adria's usually plain, round face was suddenly pretty with her joy, and her brown eyes were filled with tears of happiness. Dropping to her knees, she caught at the hem of Zenobia's gown. Raising it to her lips, she kissed it fervently and said, "I will never leave you, Majesty! I would not want to leave you, for you are goodness itself! Thank you! Thank you!"

Zenobia gently touched the girl's strangely beautiful brown-gold hair, and said, "Get up, Adria. I must go."

"I do not like you going alone," Bab fretted.

Zenobia did not argue with her. She simply said, "I can move far quicker without you," and Bab was forced to agree. Without another word she swaddled Zenobia in a long, totally enveloping, hooded black cape, and watched with worried old eyes as her mistress went swiftly through the bedchamber door, out into the darkness.

Zenobia picked her way through the blackness of her garden, for there was no moon this night. She could not be quite sure where the little hidden door lay, and so she carefully felt her way along the vined wall until her hands made contact with the smooth, ancient wood. Reaching up, she found the key upon its hook. She unlocked the door, slipped through, and relocked it from the other side before returning the key to her robes. Turning, she stood very still and listened, her sharp ears attuned to the desert night. To her right she could hear faint breathing. Turning, she followed the small sound.

"Majesty?" tame the voice in the darkness.

"Lead on," she commanded softly, and then followed the two retreating shadows down the street. Together, the three moved swiftly through the back streets of the city, carefully avoiding the watchful Roman patrols. They did not speak until at last they stood before a garden wall. "We will have to scale it, Majesty," one of the shadows whispered.

"Very well," she agreed, and the first young man leapt upon the shoulders of the second, and reaching down slightly pulled Zenobia upward until she was even with him. Then he carefully placed her on the top of the wall, joined her, and leaning down again pulled the second man up. "I can get down myself," the queen said, and leapt down into the garden of Cassius Longinus's house, landing in, from the smell of it, a bed of tangy herbs. The two shadows upon the wall joined her quickly, then led her through the garden and into the darkened house.

Once inside the house, she was taken down a flight of stone steps into the catacombs beneath it. There, in a torchlit underground room, she found herself among a large group of young men, many of whom she recognized as coming from the city's greatest patrician and commercial families. Seeing her, they instantly came to attention, their right arms raised in salute as they cried out, "Hail Zenobia! Hail, Queen of Palmyra!"

She graciously acknowledged them, and then the group parted, and Demetrius came forward to embrace his mother. She was amazed by the difference in his appearance from when she had left Palmyra several weeks back. His face was suddenly more mature, his stature positively regal. "Welcome, my Mother. Welcome to the Brotherhood of the Palm."

Zenobia did not choose to mince words: "If you think to please me or the King by your futile rebellion, you do not."

"What?" Demi demanded imperiously. "Have you become the Roman's champion as well as his lover, my Queen?"

A hundred pairs of young eyes swung to look upon Zenobia.

"You are as impetuous as your brother, Demi," Zenobia said in an amused tone, though she was feeling far from amused. She turned to allow her gaze to encompass them all. "Surely you do not really believe you can force the Romans from Palmyra? What is it you hope to accomplish?"

"We want Vaba reinstated," Demi said in a loud voice. "He may not be the best of kings, but he is a Palmyran king. We want no Roman governor, Mother."

The young men in the room nodded, and murmured their agreement.

"I want Vaba reinstated, too, Demi, but the Romans cannot be forced from Palmyra, and the city is going to have to endure a military governor for the next several years. In time I will return Vaba to Palmyra as its king. It cannot be done overnight, but I will get it done! Trust me, all of you!" The queen held out her hands in appeal, and the young men in the torchlit room looked as if they might waver.

Then Demi's voice sounded, fierce and angry. "No! I will not have you prostitute yourself to the Romans, Mother! Vaba must be reinstated now. If he leaves Palmyra they will never let him back, and this city will not endure foreign rule!"

"What do you know of foreign rule?" Zenobia demanded furiously. "Since before your birth the city has been free, but before you and Vaba the Romans ruled here for over a hundred years and Palmyra survived: as did our family. Do you think this city suffered under Antonius Porcius, Demi? We will bide our time again, and in the end we will win again; but you cannot drive the Romans away!"

"They will go! We will fight them in the streets unto the last man, but we shall not let them have the city!"

"Your actions will destroy Vaba's chances, but perhaps that is your real motive. Perhaps you believe that if you cannot have the city then your brother will not, either. Is this how I have raised you? To be a betrayer of your family, of Palmyra?" The room was deathly silent now, and Zenobia looked upon the eager faces before her. "I appeal to you, my sons!" she said, her look sweeping them all. "Have patience, and Palmyra will be ours again."

"They slaughtered the Council of Ten," a voice said, and the crowd parted to reveal young Gaius Porcius. "My father lies dead this night, my Queen. My mother might as well be, for she has not spoken a word since sunset. She stares into space and there is no feeling or expression in her eyes. How can we simply sit back and accept this injustice?"

"Your father would have agreed with me, Gaius Porcius," was Zenobia's reply. "Though he was born a Roman, he was a loyal Palmyran. He would want what is best for Palmyra, and he trusted me to make that decision. There is a time for quick action, and there is a time for patience. Now is the time for patience. Sending Vaba into exile, taking me to Rome, destroying our council- these were all planned by the emperor as object lessons to our people. He will do no more. There are to be no fines, no new taxes, nothing. It will be business as usual in Palmyra under a Roman governor. But in the end we will win!"

"How can you be so sure?" Demi persisted. "Has your Roman lover assured you of it?"

"You are a fool!" Zenobia snapped at her son. "I thought that you had more sense than Vaba, but you are just as bad. Aurelian forced me, but I realized quickly I might turn that experience into an advantage for Palmyra. You may scorn me for it if you choose, but what I do I do for Palmyra! When Vaba is restored how many of you will be here to help him? You will all be dead of your own foolishness! Do not rebel any further, I beg you! Palmyra needs her strong and intelligent young men!"

"Go back to your Roman lover, my Queen," Demetrius said coldly to his mother. "If you are suddenly weary of defending our homeland, we are not. Palmyra will rise up against these tyrants!"

"Will you not be satisfied until you have destroyed the city, my son?" Zenobia demanded.

'Take her back," Demi commanded the two young men who had accompanied Zenobia to the meeting, and before she might speak further they hustled her quickly up the stairs, through the quiet house, and back into the garden. Zenobia sighed sadly. Demetrius had become a fanatic. She silently prayed that Demi's followers would fall away, and that he would come to his senses. She could only hope that he was not caught, for Aurelian would not be kind. He would want to make an example of Demi, and that would mean his death. She sighed again before she once more scaled the garden wall and dropped into the street below. There were times in her life when she felt terribly alone.

Slowly the tears began to slide down her face and Zenobia was glad for the darkness that allowed her her privacy. She was not one for weeping in public.

Then they were back at the royal palace, and Zenobia turned to thank her escorts, but they had quickly melted into the night. Slowly she opened her secret door and stepped back through into her private enclave. She blessed whomever it was that kept the hinges of the little door well oiled, for it made not a sound as it swung wide. Relocking it, she hurried through the garden and back into her bedchamber. Old Bab nodded by a bed in which it appeared a sleeping woman lay. Zenobia tiptoed across the floor and gently shook the elderly servant awake.

"Wh-what?" Bab opened her eyes, and Zenobia saw the relief in them. "Praise the gods, you are back safe!" She slowly rose to her feet. "Will the prince cease his rebellion?"

"No," Zenobia said. "He prefers to think of himself as a great patriot, and he has enough of a following to cause trouble. I do not doubt that when they do they will obtain additional followers. Perhaps, however, I have swayed some of those fiercely loyal young Palmyrans this night. If I have and they desert Demi with his ideas of violence, then maybe he will come to his senses."

"This Roman emperor will kill him without a drought if he continues," Bab noted.

Zenobia nodded her agreement, and then said, "We had best get some rest, Bab. Help me to undress, and then you and Adria go to bed."

Bab quickly helped Zenobia undress, then offered her a melon-colored sheer cotton chamber robe.

Slowly Zenobia put the garment on, and then, walking to a table, she poured herself a goblet of pale rose-colored wine and sat down in a carved wooden chair. "Go along, old woman. It has been a long night." She heard the door close behind her, and knew that she was alone again. She was worried. Why could Demi not see reason? Then she laughed softly at herself. He was exactly like she had been at his age, but she had had Odenathus's loving and kindly influence to temper her rashness. The difference was that she had listened to her husband. Why would their son not listen to her? Because you are a woman, said the little voice in her head. It matters not that you are the greatest queen upon the earth in many centuries, you are still a woman, and your son, barely a man, thinks that his sex gives him greater knowledge of what is right and what is wrong.

I am failing you, Hawk, she thought sadly. I have failed bom our sons. I simply could not do it all alone. I needed you. I needed Marcus. Ah, if only Marcus and I had been married, things would have been different. The wine was beginning to make her maudlin. Why did I not marry him when he first asked me instead of insisting we wait?

She drained her goblet, but did not refill it. Instead, she rose up, walked over to her bed, and lay down. Getting drunk was not going to help her, and she did not need a headache. She was needed. Her sons needed her even if they might not admit it. Flavia would need her, for she would be terribly grieved by her father's death. With Antonius gone, and young Gaius behaving like a fool, Julia-Flavia's mother and Zenobia's oldest friend- would need her doubly.

She was awakened at midmorning by Adria, who brought her a large goblet of fresh fruit juice. Between sips Zenobia gave her orders. "I am supposed to be in mourning, but I want you to fetch the lady Julia and her son, Gaius Porcius, here to me as soon as they can come. Also, I will need a scribe so that your papers may be drawn up. Go to the emperor's secretary, Durantis, and say that I have need of his services."

"At once, Majesty," Adria said.

"Where is Bab?"

"With the lady Flavia. She is most distraught, and begged that Bab come to her."

Zenobia nodded. "Run along, Adria."

"But who will dress you. Majesty?"

"It should not detract from my dignity as Queen of Palmyra if I dress myself," Zenobia said with a smile.

A small smile turned Adria's lips up, and bowing to the queen she hurried off on her errands. Zenobia sat in bed sipping at the juice for a few moments; then rose to bathe and dress. She did not dally in the bath, for she had much to do, but the steam, the scraping, the perfumed water and soap, and lastly the massage with the fragrant oil made her feel a new woman. Re-entering her bedroom, she was somewhat surprised to find Aurelian awaiting her.

His eyes widened with appreciation at her nudity, but, choosing to ignore it, Zenobia asked, "What do you here, Roman? You granted me the nine days of mourning. Surely you do not mean to break your word?"

"Why do you want the use of my secretary?" he asked, ignoring her questions.

"Because I am setting my slave girl, Adria, free. My own scribe will draw up the papers of manumission, but I wish your good Durantis to read them, and be certain that everything is correct according to Roman law."

"Why are you freeing a valuable slave?" he persisted.

"Because she is loyal to me; because she is far too intelligent to be a slave; and because she deserves it. Fear not, Roman, I do not plan to do away with myself. I am not setting my house in order prior to my death. There are too many people who need me. My ancestress, Cleopatra, took a coward's way out. I shall not. I will outlive you, I suspect," she finished mockingly, and her eyes caught his and held them. He wanted her! She almost laughed aloud. There was simply no subtlety in the man.

He took a step toward her, and her look challenged him. "I am in mourning, Roman," she said softly. "You promised."

Aurelian visibly gritted his teeth, and said in a tight voice, "You may have the use of Durantis."

"Caesar is gracious," was the reply.

He flushed a dull red and, turning, almost ran from the room. He had recognized the scorn in her voice, and somehow he felt powerless in light of his desire for her to reciprocate in kind. He was falling in love with her, the gods forbid. Better his old friend, pure lust!

Zenobia felt the thrill of triumph run through her as she watched him go. For the first time since she had set eyes upon the Roman she felt good! Suddenly she realized it was because she had the upper hand!

That might not be entirely to her advantage, she thought as she opened a trunk and began to take out a garment to wear. She chose a deep-blue kalasiris of silk that had been woven here in Palmyra. The dress had a wide belt of silvered kid that fastened about her waist with a silver buckle that had a large blue topaz set within it. Zenobia slipped her feet into matching sandals, and sitting down at her dressing table set about brushing her long blue-black hair. When she had freed it of its tangles she carefully twisted it into a single, thick braid that hung down her back.

A knock on her door roused her, and she called, "Come in."

The emperor's secretary entered. "Good morning, my lady," he said.

"You will address me as Majesty, Durantis," Zenobia said quietly.

He nodded politely. "I stand corrected, Majesty. How may I serve you?"

"I will have my scribe draw up papers of manumission for my slave girl Adria today. I want you to see that these papers are correct according to Roman law so that there will never be any doubt about Adria's status."

"I will be glad to serve you thus, Majesty," Durantis said.

"Thank you. You may go now."

He bowed politely, and then backed correctly from the room. Zenobia stood up, walked out into her antechamber, and instructed the waiting scribe as to her desires. Then she began to pace slowly about the room as she waited for Adria to return with Julia and Gaius. As she walked, her mind went back to the thread of thought she had been spinning when Durantis had interrupted her. To enjoy an open triumph over Aurelian could anger him, embarrass him, even turn him from her. To pretend great passion for him was an equal danger, for he might grow tired of her if she appeared suddenly docile. She would have to tread a very fine line. She would gradually begin to pretend affection for him while resisting him still. That should keep him interested, for she knew that he desperately wanted to conquer her completely, body and soul. If she could make him believe long enough that victory over her might yet be possible, then she would win.

The door to the antechamber opened and Adria entered, leading Julia Tullio, the wife of the late Antonius Porcius. Young Gaius, looking rebellious, yet a little frightened, followed his mother. Zenobia was shocked by Julia's appearance. Her hair was snow-white, her crying-reddened eyes were blank of expression, her slender shoulders were stooped as if from pain.

"Julia!" Zenobia held out her arms, and the woman walked into them. But the queen realized that her friend did not know her. Anyone might have offered the distraught woman sympathy and she would have accepted it. Zenobia's arms closed around her friend and held her close. Over Julia's shoulder she looked incredulously at Julia's hair, and then questioningly at Gaius.

"It had turned white when I went in to her this morning," he said quietly. "She has still not spoken."

The queen loosened her embrace, then led her friend into the bedchamber and sat her down in a chair. "Julia," she said, raising up the woman's face and looking down into it. "Julia, I know that you hear me. Antonius is dead, and you grieve. When Odenathus died, I grieved too, but I had my children to live for, and you have yours."

Suddenly Julia's eyes focused. "My children are grown," she said. "They do not need me."

"Flavia needs you!" Zenobia persisted. "Did you not need your mother when you were first with child? Gaius needs you. He is involved in a group led by my younger son, Demi, who would continue to fight the Romans. Would Antonius Porcius approve of this? You know he would not! The father is dead, but the children need their mother, Julia. You cannot desert them. Flavia could miscarry of Palmyra's future heir should you destroy yourself. Gaius will most certainly be killed if he persists in following my son. Then Antonius Porcius's family will be gone from this earth, and it will be your fault for not accepting the responsibilities your husband left you. Antonius Porcius never shirked his duty in his entire life. He understood duty, and so do you, Julia."

"You are a hard woman, Zenobia," Julia said, her voice quavering. She began to weep bitter tears. "Never in his life did he harm anyone or anything intentionally. Why did the emperor order him executed? Why? It is not right!" Julia cried angrily, and Zenobia was glad to see color coming back into her friend's pale face.

"No, Julia, it is not right, but it is a fact! Do not let the Romans have a further victory, my friend. You and your children must live, for in living you keep alive a great man's memory, you keep alive his line."

Julia brushed the tears from her face. "You are right, Zenobia; the gods damn you for it, but you are right! It would be so easy to give up, but I will not give up! / will not!” She drew a deep breath, then turned her face to her son's. "I forbid you io have anything further to do with Prince Demetrius and his band of rebels! Do you understand me, Gaius? I have lost your father, and almost died from the pain of that loss. Your death will surely kill me! There will be another way to avenge your father, and together we will find it, but do not carelessly throw your life away. I will not allow it!"

The boy flushed, and protested, "But what other way is there? I am the man in this family now, and the decision should be mine." It was, however, a feeble protest.

Gaius needed to save face, and so Julia said quietly, "You are only fifteen, my son. Under Palmyran law you are not yet of age, and if you go against my wishes I will be forced to act in a way you will not like." She held out a hand to him, and when he took it she drew him near. "There is no shame in youth, Gaius, but your judgment is not yet fully developed, and you must yet rely upon your only parent."

Zenobia came and stood next to the boy. "Even my own Demi," she said, "lacks judgment, Gaius, and he is eighteen this year. What you all did following the execution of the council was magnificent, and a great victory for you all. Your group killed twenty-seven legionnaires! Not only that, but you took the Romans completely off guard!"

"We did?" Gaius was quite surprised and, Zenobia could see, rather pleased.

"You did," the queen returned with a smile. "Be satisfied for now, Gaius, and do as your mother asks. You have been so wrapped up in your own loss that you have given no thought to your mother or your sister. If you would be a man then you must be strong, and let them lean on you. How can they if you are running about with Demi and his foolish friends?"

She had made it appear as if the choice were actually his, and that was a wise tactic. Gaius responded as she had expected. "You are right, Aunt Zenobia," he said. "I have great responsibilities now as the eldest male in the Porcius family. I cannot afford to jeopardize my inheritance, and I promise you and my mother that I shall no longer involve myself with Demi and his Brotherhood of the Palm."

Julia heaved an audible sigh of relief, and said, "Thank the gods that underneath your youthful exuberance you have your father's common sense!"

The bedchamber door opened without warning, and Aurelian strode into the room. "You say you are in mourning, goddess, and yet here I find you merrily entertaining your friends," he accused.

Zenobia's first urge was to hit him, but she quickly controlled herself and said sweetly, "I do mourn, Caesar. I mourn the murder of my good friend and loyal councillor, Antonius Porcius. I mourn with his wife, Julia, who is my oldest friend. I mourn with his only son, young Gaius. Julia is my daughter-in-law's mother. We fear for the young queen's health. We are but two grieving mothers, Caesar."

"I think you plot at mischief, goddess."

"No, Caesar, I prevent it. Though you say I am no longer Palmyra's queen, I am, and I fear for my people."

"The city is quiet," he said.

"For now," she warned, then added, "I did not give you permission to enter my chambers at will, Caesar."

"Again I remind you, goddess, that you are a captive. I do not need your permission."

Julia looked between the two, amazed. The emperor was obviously not only taken with Zenobia, but in love with her, and jealous of anyone else in her life. Zenobia, however, was playing with him as a cat with a mouse. I would be afraid of him, Julia thought, shaken. She reached out and pulled her son closer.

"Go to Flavia, Julia. You also, Gaius. Your sister will be much reassured by your visit," Zenobia commanded regally. The two rose without a word to the emperor, and quickly left the room.

"Has that youngster been involved with your younger son?" Aurelian demanded.

"I do not know what you mean," Zenobia countered. "I have no idea if my son Demetrius is with those young men who rebel against your rule."

"I don't know why you bother to protect the boy," the emperor said. "He is making no secret of his identity." Aurelian reached into his tunic and drew forth a small parchment, which he handed to her. "These are appearing all over the city today," he said drily.

Zenobia took the proffered parchment, and began to read:

People of Palmyra! The battle with the Roman tyrant is not over! They have deposed our queen, exiled our king, and slaughtered the Council of Ten; yet we will fight on! Join us in our resistance to these tyrants!

Prince Demetrius and

The Brotherhood of the Palm

"Anyone might use his name in order to gain followers," she said with more conviction than she was feeling.

"Then where is he, goddess? It is no secret that your elder son and your younger son quarreled violently the night before I entered this city. Prince Demetrius left the palace in a rage. He has not been seen in public since that night." Aurelian took her by the shoulders and looked down into her face. "Zenobia, I cannot protect the boy if he persists in his behavior. Yesterday I will forgive. What your son and his friends did is understandable to me, but now they must cease this very futile rebellion. Find the boy and reason with him."

"He will not listen," she said.

"You have seen him?"

She nodded. "Last night. He chooses to be a martyr. He thinks it is what his father would want of him."

Aurelian smiled a rueful smile. "Your sons have a great deal of their mother in them," he said. "They are both as stubborn as you are, although in different ways. Try again, goddess. Try to reach him before he steps over the line between the accceptable and the unacceptable. You understand me, don't you?"

She nodded dumbly. He was being unbelievably kind, and she wondered why. Obviously he was trying to win her over, but when he bent to brush her lips with his she turned her head away, refusing for a moment to give any quarter. He could have easily forced her, but instead he laughed softly and released her, then turned and left the room without another word.

In her confinement Zenobia ate, slept, and lived without worry for nine days and nights. At the end of that time she felt renewed, more certain of herself than she had in many years. The city remained quiet. She had not sought to see her younger son again, for she had said what she had to say to him. He would either come to his senses or he wouldn't. She prayed daily that he would, and should he not, she prayed he might escape Aurelian. One thing she did know. He could not possibly succeed. The important thing now was Vaba; his wife, and the expected child; their exile and their eventual return to Palmyra. She was almost anxious for the trip to Rome to begin.

12

On the morning of the tenth day after the council's death Zen-obia found Aurelian waiting for her when she came from her bath. The sight of her after his voluntary absence made his heart quicken. Her golden skin was rosy and dewy, and she seemed to be enfolded in a cloud of hyacinth. Herkalasiris was a delicious bright crimson, her first gay color in many days. "How fair you are," he said almost without thinking, and she smiled.

"Good morning, Roman. Have you given orders to free me now?"

"You are free to roam the palace, and have guests," he answered, "but you may not leave the grounds."

"Why not?"

"Because I want to keep the peace. I need no demonstrations, goddess."

"When do we leave for Rome?" she asked him.

"Are you anxious to go?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I want to get on with my life, Roman, and you tell me that my life is no longer here."

"How coolly logical you are, goddess," he smiled, amused. "Well, you should be happy to learn that we leave here in just a few more days. First your eldest son must leave with his wife for Cyrene. I am sending an entire legion with him as escort. His young brother-in-law and mother-in-law will go with them. It is their choice-at least until little Flavia delivers her child."

"Is it safe for Flavia to travel now?" Zenobia asked. "Please do not endanger her or my grandchild."

"Her own physician has examined her, goddess, and has pronounced her most healthy and fit to travel."

"And how is my son to live in Cyrene, Caesar?"

"He will be given a most generous allowance, Zenobia."

"And after they are gone, we shall go?"

"Yes. You, and your younger son if we can find him, and your little daughter. She is a most charming child, goddess. I like her, but she certainly does not resemble either you or your sons."

"She resembles my mother's people," Zenobia said quickly. "Mama was quite blond and fair, but tell me, Roman, you have been seeing my child?"

"She was quite worried about you, goddess, and needed reassurrance. I was able to offer that reassurance. Iam very good with little girls. You must remember that I raised my niece, Carissa."

"You might have allowed Mavia to be with me," Zenobia said sharply.

"No, goddess. I felt you needed the nine days of mourning to reflect upon your situation. The child would have distracted you." He was telling her once more that it was he who controlled her life.

"As always, Caesar, you are most kind and thoughtful," Zenobia murmured.

Aurelian laughed. "Why is it that even when you are thanking me, goddess, I get the feeling that you are slinging missiles at me?"

Zenobia looked at him, eyes wide, her whole expression one of innocence. "I do not understand," she said, "I thought I was being most polite to you, Caesar."

"The hell you did," he muttered thickly, reaching out and pulling her against him. "You continue to fascinate me and defy me at every opportunity, goddess!" A hard arm was tight about her slender waist, and now his free hand cradled her head as his mouth came down on hers in a brief but burning kiss. "I am tired of sleeping alone," he said. "Your mourning is over, Zenobia, and tonight I intend returning to your bed. Have you missed me, goddess?"

"No," she said, smiling up at him, her gray eyes looking directly into his blue ones.

He laughed, but she could see the anger hidden deep in his eyes. "One day you will regret your defiance, goddess. One day I will grow bored with it, and find a more comfortable mistress."

"I did not choose to be your mistress, Caesar."

"It is not up to you to choose," he said cruelly. "Remember that when I grow tired of you I may pass you on to anyone it pleases me to, goddess. Perhaps I shall give you to some Gaulish or Germanic chieftain. I wonder how long you would last in the wet, cold, dark forests of the North?" He bent once more and plundered her lips savagely, bruising them this time, forcing his tongue into her mouth where it darted about, first stroking the sensitive roof of her mouth then sensuously caressing the sides of her tongue.

How I hate him! Zenobia thought. But by Venus and Cupid he can rouse my senses! She shivered as she felt a large, warm hand upon her breast, and struggled to get away from him, but Aurelian lifted his head, saying, "I desire you now, goddess, and I shall have you!" Then he swiftly kicked her legs out from beneath her, and together they fell to the thick rugs strewn upon the floor. She gasped for breath as his greater weight knocked the wind from her.

Maddened by his own passion now, Aurelian hurriedly pushed her gown up and yanked it over her head, flinging it across the room. His hands caressed her possessively, slipping over her smooth, cool body, setting her to quivering as the strings of a lyre might vibrate with a sensitive touch. Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed the sensations to sweep over her. She hated him! She absolutely hated him, but the gods! He knew how to pleasure a woman!

Seated upon her hips, Aurelian watched the passion creep slowly into Zenobia's expression. A cynical look swept into his eyes and etched smile lines at the comers of his mouth. She was using him, and he was tempted to get up and walk away. Unfortunately he desired her far too much at this moment to salvage his pride. Why could he not make her love him? He was kind and thoughtful of her and her family and close friends. He was even willing to forgive her rebellious younger son, yet she still scorned him. His one satisfaction was that she did not scorn his body as much as she might want to.

Angry now, he pulled her thighs none too gently apart; then drove immediately into her body, which was already honeyed and awaiting him. She gasped and her eyes flew open with surprise, for of late he had been gentle with her. In and out, in and out, in and out, he moved with increasing rapidity; and Zenobia cried a soft protest. "I only use you as you use me, goddess," he said, mocking her.

"I can't love you," she whispered brokenly.

"Then at least give me some kindness, Zenobia," he said softly, his anger draining away at the tone in her voice. "I have tried to be kind to you. At least give me that." Bending now, he began to murmur softly into her ear, "You are like a wild rose, my sweet and vulnerable goddess. You are the first star of evening, glittering and alone in the night sky. You are as elusive as the south wind, as beautiful as Palmyra itself, and I am forced to admit that I adore you totally; but, I will not be ruled by you, Zenobia." Gently he began to move within her again, and she moaned softly with open pleasure. 'Tell me," he whispered to her. "Tell me what you feel, beloved."

She shook her head in the negative, but he persisted, and at last she was forced to speak. "I feel possessed, and I do not like it. I feel consumed, and it frightens me. Why can you not satisfy yourself with a woman who wants you?"

"You have never given yourself totally to any man, goddess, and if you are afraid it is because you are closer than you have ever been in your entire life to complete and sweet surrender. Give me that surrender, goddess! Give it to me!"

"No!"

Unable to wait any longer, the emperor poured his loving libation into her resisting womb, and Zenobia shuddered beneath him, suddenly lost in her own passion. They lay together upon the rugs for several long minutes, neither willing to be first to break the silence. Then Zenobia said in a shaky voice, "Someone may come," and struggled to her feet. Picking up her kalasiris from where it lay, she put it back on, careful to keep her head averted from his gaze.

"Perhaps you will never love me, goddess," he said quietly, "but I do desire you. You, too, desire me, although you will not admit to it. Let us at least be kind to each other. I am not ready to let you go, and perhaps I never shall be." He rose and pulled down his tunic, then moved across to where she stood and put gentle hands on her shoulders. "Be kind to me, goddess, and let me be kind to you."

"I will try," she promised, "but it is all I can do. Try."

He sighed, knowing that for the moment it was the best he might expect from her. "We will eat together from now on, Zenobia. I dislike eating alone almost as much as I dislike sleeping alone."

"Is there anything that you particularly like?" she asked him in an effort to be amenable.

"I will leave the choices to you," he said, and then he turned and left the room.

She sat down and, staring at the shadows in the rug where they had but recently lain, shivered. There was something unwholesome about making love without love; and yet though it repelled her, it also fascinated her. Aurelian, she thought, was a strange man. He had a peasant's shrewdness and he was harsh, but he could also be kind.

She suspected that he fancied himself a latter-day Julius Caesar, and she was to be his Cleopatra. Well, Zenobia considered somewhat wryly, Cleopatra had survived her Caesar, and she supposed that she might survive Aurelian. He wanted her to be kind to him. Interesting, she mused. Would a pleasant and even relationship keep him content? Perhaps it would. He was a man who liked his personal life smooth and calm, in contrast to his turbulent military and political careers. It was possible he would not be bored with her if she became more domesticated a creature. After all, even if Demi would not come to his senses she had her little Mavia to consider.

Mavia. Mavia, her daughter who was half-Roman, and now, it appeared, was to be raised in Rome. Would they see Marcus? Could she bear it if they did? Marcus had recognized his child at her birth, and even if it had been done in secret she and Bab lived to testify to it. Would he still accept Mavia as his own? Will he provide for her should anything happen to me? Zenobia wondered. Mavia! The little girl's name rang again and again in her head. She must see that Mavia was safe whatever happened!

On reflection, she decided that the child would not go to her father. In fact, no one should ever know that Mavia was not the posthumous daughter of Odenathus Septimius. Zenobia decided to make her will and testament before she left Palmyra, and she would ask Durantis to write it for her. She would leave her daughter, Princess Mavia of Palmyra, in the keeping of her elder brother should anything happen to her. Her personal wealth would all belong to Mavia, thereby assuring her of a respectable marriage. It was the best that the queen could do. Why should Marcus have her? Had he not deserted them? He did not deserve Mavia.

Preparations for the departure of Palmyra's king and young queen moved quickly forward. Aurelian was determined to stop Prince Demetrius and his Brotherhood of the Palm by removing Vaballathus and Flavia as swiftly as possible. As long as the young monarch and his wife remained in the city there lived the possibility of rebellion. Gone, they offered no hope. The people of Palmyra were not going to rise up and retrieve their ruler from distant Cyrene.

Zenobia knew that the journey for her eldest son and his family would begin at night, for Aurelian wanted no one to see their departure lest someone try to take them from Roman custody. He dreaded that a popular demonstration would be started by the sight of the young couple, the lovely girlish queen pregnant with Palmyra's heir. At dawn their departure would be a cold, hard fact.

The queen sent Adria for Demetrius. The servant girl slipped through the secret gate in the wall and hurried through the busy streets to the house of the late Cassius Longinus. The haughty servant who opened the door sought to shoo her away, hardly giving her time to state her business.

"Fool!" Adria hissed. "I am the queen's messenger."

"You?" The man looked down his long nose, then again attempted to shut the door in her face.

"Very well," Adria said. "I shall return to Queen Zenobia and tell her that I was sent from the house of Oppian Longinus without even being allowed to state my business to the master. My mistress does not suffer fools at all, and you are a fool!"

"Oh come in, come in!" the major-domo sniffed, "but if I find you've lied to gain entry to this noble house, I shall beat you through the streets myself."

"What is all this noise? How can I compose my poetry when a constant cacophony reigns within my own house." Oppian Longinus came forth from his garden, his long pale-peach silk robes swaying.

"Greetings, Oppian, adopted son of Cassius Longinus," Adria said politely. "I am Adria, second waiting woman to Queen Zenobia. I have a message for Prince Demetrius."

Instantly a wary look came into Oppian's eyes. "I cannot imagine why you have come here then," he said nervously. "I have no idea where Prince Demetrius is. I am sorry." He turned to go, but Adria's voice stopped him.

"No one accuses you of anything, Oppian Longinus. The queen, having met here with her younger son several weeks ago, believes that you might be able to pass along a message. It is very urgent."

"Well," Oppian Longinus reconsidered, "there is a faint possibility that I might see the prince tonight. Give me the message."

Adria smiled. "The queen wishes Prince Demetrius to know that his brother Vaballathus and his wife will shortly be leaving forCyrene. If Prince Demetrius wishes to bid the king and the young queen farewell he is to come to the secret gate in the queen's garden at midnight tonight. They and the queen will be waiting for him. He must not be late, for the emperor will be returning from a dinner shortly after midnight, and expects Queen Zenobia's company when he does. Please tell the prince, Oppian Longinus."

"I will tell him," Oppian Longinus said, and then with a rather incautious curiosity he asked, "Is it true that the queen sleeps with Rome's emperor?"

Adria laughed scornfully. "For a man with the instinct for survival that you possess, Oppian Longinus, you are bold to question the queen's actions. I shall tell my mistress that you will pass her message on to the prince," and with a swish of her skirts Adria left the house of Oppian Longinus.

They could not be sure that he would come, but a few minutes before midnight Zenobia, Vaba, and Flavia all waited in the darkness by the queen's secret gate. It was Flavia who first heard the soft scratching, and unlocked the little door to admit Prince Demetrius.

"Brother," she said softly, kissing him on the cheek.

"Flavia, you bloom," was his answer.

In the faint light from the garden torches they looked at each other, and then Demi said, "Mother, Vaba. How are you both?"

"We are all well, my brother, but we fear for your safety. I feel fortunate that we are all still alive."

"I wonder if you will feel glad to be alive after a year in Cyrene," Demi said.

"As long as I am alive, as long as Flavia lives, and our children beginning with this baby, there is hope, Demi. Mother is right. Why can you not be patient, my brother? Go with Mother and Mavia to Rome. I need you there to look after them."

"Look after Mother?" His voice was bitter. "Mother does not need looking after. She does quite well by herself, and as long as she does Mavia is safe."

"I will need someone in Rome who can travel back and forth between Mother and me," Vaballathus entreated. "Who better can I trust but you, Demi?"

"I remain in Palmyra. At least there will be one of King Odenathus's sons here."

"If the Romans capture you, Demi, you will be killed," Zenobia said. "Aurelian will allow you your life if you come with us."

"There is no one in Palmyra who will betray me," was the proud reply.

"There is always someone who will betray you, you young fool!" said Zenobia impatiently. "If it is not for gold, then it will be for Roman favor; but mark my words, Demi, someone will betray you, and it will be he whom you least expect."

There was a rustle among the bushes, and Adria appeared. "The emperor is just returning, Majesty. He is already in the outer courtyard."

"Demetrius!" Zenobia's voice was impassioned and pleading. "I beg of you, please, my son, come with us!" She pulled him so that he faced her in the dim light.

For a brief moment Demi softened. "Mother, I must stay," he said quietly. "As long as I remain in Palmyra our people have hope. They will know we have not deserted them. If I am your son then I am my father's son, too. Please try to understand."

"You will throw your life away needlessly," she said brokenly. Where was her power now? This was but one more thing she had to thank the Romans for! She huddled in her son's arms for a long minute, alternating between anger and despair; and then she stood straight. "Demetrius, Prince of Palmyra, may the gods go with you, my son, and keep you safe until we meet again." Pulling his head down, she kissed him on the forehead. "Farewell, my son."

"Farewell, my Mother," he answered her.

She looked at him a long minute, committing his face to memory, then she turned and hurried back to the palace.

"You have hurt her terribly," Vaba said quietly.

"She will survive, my brother."

Vaba realized that there was to be no reasoning with his younger brother. The king knew that every minute they now remained in Zenobia's garden brought them closer to discovery, and so he said, "We must go, Demi. You have Mother's blessing, and I give you mine also. I think that you are wrong, but your sacrifice is a great one. The gods go with you, brother." He embraced his sibling a final time.

Flavia hugged him also, saying in her gentle voice, "Mars protect you, dearest brother; and Athena give you wisdom."

"The gods go with you both also," Demi said softly. He kissed her tenderly upon her lips, then saluting his older brother a final time slipped through the little wall door and into the darkness of the sleeping city.

Slowly they closed the door, locked it, and carefully replaced the key. Then together Vaba and Flavia returned to the palace.

In Zenobia's bedchamber the emperor lay back looking up at her. "You are sad tonight, goddess. Have you seen your younger son?"

"Yes," she said.

"He persists in his foolishness?"

She nodded. "You will have to kill him," Zenobia said low, and a single bright tear rolled down her cheek.

Gently he brushed it away with one finger, and reaching up gathered her into his arms. "Perhaps we shall catch him before he does something too unforgivable, goddess. I will give orders, I promise you."

"How can you be so kind on one hand, so cruel on the other?" she asked.

"I don't want to make you any sadder than you are already, beloved, and I know the wrench it is for you to leave Palmyra, be parted from your family. I understand these things, and I can afford to be generous under the circumstances."

She almost wept then and there, but instead she pulled away and looked him in the eye, saying, "I thank you, Roman, for your kindness."

"What a little fraud you are, goddess," he chuckled. "All right, don't weep upon my neck as you really want to do at this moment. I understand pride." He pulled her back into his arms and covered her lips with his in an almost tender kiss, pressing gently, nibbling teasingly. "You silver-eyed sorceress," he murmured against her mouth. "One day you will yield fully to me!" Wisely the queen refrained from an angry retort, closing her eyes in seeming surrender.

The following evening after a busy day of packing-for the royal Palmyran couple were to be allowed to take all their furniture and personal possessions with them to Cyrene-Zenobia found herself bidding most of her family farewell. In the main courtyard of the palace, where only a short few weeks ago the council had been executed, a fair-sized caravan prepared to leave. There were over two hundred laden camels, each with one of the king's slaves walking by its side. All the royal slaves and free servants would walk with the caravan, as would the legionnaires of Rome. Only the young king, Gaius Porcius, and the military officers would be mounted. Julia and young Queen Flavia would ride in their own litters, each big enough for sleeping.

"We will write you, Mother, as often as possible," promised Vaba.

"Wait until you have reached Cyrene to send me your message," Zenobia replied. "The emperor is leaving to return to Rome in another day or two, Vaba. There will be no place you can send the message to me until I reach their capital."

"Will you too be hastened from the city under cover of darkness, I wonder, Mother?"

"No. Aurelian sends you from Palmyra this way in order to keep his Roman peace. He will march me from the city in plain view of all our people, a captive queen, a lesson to any foolish enough to reconsider rebellion."

"Mother…" The worry showed plain upon his face, and she was touched by his caring.

"Vaba, my son," and she put a hand on his shoulder, "do not be afraid for me. Save your caring for Flavia and your unborn child. Aurelian is nothing more to me than a lustful man with whom I can contend quite successfully." She laughed softly at the shock in his eyes. He knew of her relationship with the emperor, of course, but he did not like to admit to a truth that embarrassed him. "It is never easy to be a woman, Vaba," Zenobia said soothingly, "even a woman who is a reigning queen as I have been. What the gods give with one hand, they take back with the other. Remember that always, my son."

"I am a king, and yet I was unable to aid you, Mother. I will never forget that, and it will haunt me always," Vaba declared.

"No, no, dear one!" Zenobia protested. "The Roman had more power, that is all, and that is what I tried to gain for you, my son-power. That and wealth will always protect you."

"When will I see you again?" he demanded.

"When the emperor tires of me, enough to allow me to travel to Cyrene from Rome. Not until then, my son." She took his face in her hands and kissed him on both cheeks, then quickly upon the lips. "Farewell, my son. Farewell, son of Odenathus. Farewell, rightful King of Palmyra. Until we meet again may the gods watch over you and care for your safety."

Quick tears sprang into his eyes, but he forced them away. "Farewell, my Mother," he said in a tremulous voice. Then his voice grew stronger. "No man has ever had a mother as wonderful as you, Zenobia of Palmyra. May the gods watch over you until we meet again! I love you, Mother!" He quickly returned her kiss and then as quickly turned away, leaving her to say her good-byes to Flavia and Julia.

"I will look after him as if he were my own," Julia quickly said, seeing her old friend's face begin to quiver. She lowered her voice. "For goodness' sake, Zenobia, do not give way to tears now! The children have all they can do not to cry themselves."

Zenobia breathed deeply, and replied, "I'm all right now, Julia, it's just that I cannot remember the last time that Vaba told me that he loved me."

Julia laughed. "You are a sentimental woman for all you deny it, Zenobia. I will write to you, and I shall tell you all."

Zenobia nodded. "Thank you, Julia. I know I may rely upon you. You are so fortunate. You shall see the baby long before I do. Be sure that he knows of his great heritage, and of me."

"I will, Zenobia! I most asuredly will." Julia hugged her friend and then gave way to her daughter.

"Oh, Majesty," Flavia said, openly teary, and clung to the queen.

"Flavia," Zenobia admonished her daughter-in-law gently, "I am relying upon you to watch over Vaba and see that he does nothing foolish. Dear girl, what a joy you are to my son, and I am so grateful to you for that! Take good care of yourself, and of the child." Zenobia kissed the girl then stepped away from her. "The gods protect you, and my grandchild." The queen turned and walked from the courtyard and back into the palace. She would not stand mere painfully watching until me vast caravan was out of sight. Instead, she returned to her gardens and walked amid the torchlit paths. Beyond the high garden walls she could hear the soft plod of the camels' hooves, and me tinkle of their harness bells as they wended their way down me back streets toward the gate to the western road.

The sound beat itself into her consciousness until suddenly she was aware that it was gone, and the night was silent. Only then did Zenobia sit down on a little marble bench in the most secluded part of me garden and weep bitterly, unaware that Aure-lian, hidden in the shadows, observed her. When she returned to her apartments he awaited her, greeting her as if nothing unusual had happened, making passionate love to her in the deepest part of the night, holding her until she slept, exhausted with the emotion of her son's departure.

The next day was a busy one, for Bab and Adria had begun to pack all me queen's belongings for the trip to Rome. Zenobia was anxious to leave now. Palmyra was no longer hers, and the pain of that knowledge was too great.

She was granted permission by Aurelian to leave the palace and visit her father. She was carried through the streets in a closed litter so that the people might not see her. Aurelian had no fear that she would try to escape. Where would she go? Besides, he had Zenobia's daughter with him at the palace.

Zenobia was conducted to her father's bedchamber by Tamar. Zabaai ben Selim was close to eighty now, and seeing him propped up in his bed, Zenobia realized that her father did not have much more time to live. Yet he was sharp and fierce in mind even if his body now failed him. In his time he had fathered forty sons and a daughter. He had one hundred fifty-two grandsons, and forty-three granddaughters, over three hundred great-grandchildren, and ten great-great grandchildren. His own people often likened him to the Hebrew patriarch, Father Abraham.

"It is Zenobia, Zabaai," his elderly wife said. Tamar was seventy-five.

"I can see her!" the old man snapped. "Come closer, my daughter. Come closer so I may feast my tired eyes upon your fresh beauty."

Zenobia bent to kiss her father. "As always, you spoil me with flattery, Father."

"I hear stories about the Roman, about you. Are they true?"

"Would you have me plunge a dagger into my breast in remorse, Father?"

The old man cackled. "By the gods, my daughter, you are a survivor! Good for you! Follow your own instincts, and do not be led by the opinions of others. Do you love him?"

"I detest him, but if I can outlast him then perhaps I may get Vaba restored to his rightful place, Father."

"Hmm," the old man said. "You are wise, Zenobia. When do you leave for Rome?"

"Tomorrow, Father. Mavia goes with me, but Demetrius will not come. Instead, he skulks through the alleys of the city with a group of young men who call themselves the Brotherhood of the Palm. They claim to work for Vaba's restoration, and the total annihilation of the Romans."

"He is a foolish boy," Zabaai remarked, "but then at his age you were as stubborn. If Odenathus had not been your husband, who knows what mischief you would have gotten into, my daughter. Well, do not fear. The Bedawi will keep an eye upon the boy. We will try to save him from himself."

"Thank you, Father."

The old man looked closely at his only daughter. "I am near death," he said bluntly.

"I know," she answered.

He nodded. "Soon I shall be reunited with my beloved Iris. Do you think she will have forgiven me for the manner of her death, Zenobia?"

The memories rushed back in as they had not in so many years. They rose up to batter and assail her, and she felt the tears starting. Reaching out, she put a reassuring hand on his gnarled old one. "You were never responsible, Father. If anyone was, it was I." Her voice shook with remembrance. "When you again meet with my mother, tell her it is I who need her forgiveness. I have never forgotten, and I do not believe that I ever will."

"I grow tired," the old man said. "Kneel, my daughter. Kneel, and let me give you my blessing."

She knelt, and felt his hand, heavy upon her head, as he intoned the ancient words of blessing of their tribe. When he had finished Zenobia rose and, bending, kissed her father a final time. He smiled up at her reassuringly. "Another door closing, my daughter," he said with complete understanding, "but another door will open. Go through it! Do not be afraid! Always go forward and never look back! Those words are your heritage from me! Farewell, child of my heart."

Zenobia looked the old man full in the face, and said, "I love you, Father. Farewell!" Then she turned and, never looking back, went from the room.

Zabaai ben Selim died late that afternoon as the blazing sun slid below the horizon. Zenobia's oldest brother, Akbar, was formally and quickly proclaimed patriarch of the tribe, and all came to pay him tribute even as old Zabaai ben Selim was placed upon his funeral pyre, a pyre that burned all night while his children held vigil around the flames. At dawn's first light the old man's ashes were carefully gathered and formally placed in the family's tomb along the eastern caravan road. For the Bedawi a new era had begun.

Zenobia bid her brothers farewell, then entered her litter to be carried back to her palace for a final time.

Aurelian awaited her, a little angry. "You have delayed our departure," he said.

"But give me time to bathe a last time, and I will be ready," she promised.

"No," he said. "You are exhausted. You have been up all night. You need rest as well as a bath. We will leave tomorrow." Before she might protest further he picked her up and carried her into her bath where he personally undressed her and helped to bathe her. Then he carried her back into her bedchamber and tucked her into her bed. "I am glad you have had the good sense not to argue with me," he noted as he bent and kissed her goodnight.

"I am somewhat stunned by your behavior," Zenobia said weakly.

"I just want you full of fight when I parade you through the streets tomorrow as we leave Palmyra," he said, a slightly wicked grin on his face.

She threw the thing nearest to hand at him, a small statue of the little love god, Cupid. With a harsh laugh Aurelian turned and left the room. Feeling somewhat satisfied even if she had missed him, Zenobia lay back upon the soft pillows and fell asleep. She slept almost around the clock, awakening in the gray light of early dawn the following day. Slowly she stretched out, feeling a delicious sense of contentment. Beside her, the emperor appeared to slumber still. He had obviously joined her in the night. He was, she considered, becoming positively doting.

Then Aurelian destroyed her fantasy, reaching out and pulling her close, running his hands across her breasts. To her fury, she felt her body respond, her breasts tightening, the nipples rising up to push against the soft cotton of her chamber robe. "Good morning, goddess," he breathed against her ear, running his tongue around the curve of it.

She kept very still, and said in a detached voice, "Should we not be rising, Roman, and preparing to leave? Surely we do not have much time."

He chuckled indulgently. "There is time, and besides, I have an unquenchable yen for you this morning. When I came to bed last night you were sleeping as peacefully as a babe, your pretty bottom a most tempting sight. I want you, goddess, and I don't have to beg. What I want, I take!" Then he buried his face between her breasts, and breathed deeply of her. The faint scent of hyacinth still clung to her warm body, making her all the more enticing to him. Impatiently, he ripped her sleeping garment away and, dipping his head, took a nipple in his eager mouth.

"That is the second piece of my clothing you have torn," she protested, trying not to admit to the excitement he was stirring up in her body. Damn the man! She could feel the heat beginning, knew that her heartbeat was quickening.

"Then stop wearing these silly gowns to bed," he said, lifting his head but a moment from the sweet fruit.

"Oh, the gods, how I hate you!" she protested, feeling her control beginning to go.

"But you want me," he countered.

"Yes," she whispered. "I want you!"

"Take me in your hand, goddess," he ordered her. "See how much I want you! How ready I am for you!"

She never even hesitated, reaching out to grasp his mighty weapon in her hand. He was warm and throbbing, and so very eager for her.

"It is yours, goddess," he said softly. "When you are ready for it, it is yours!" Then he began a sweet assault, kissing her lips, her breasts, her belly, all the while aching with his want for her as she caressed him.

Finally Zenobia could no longer bear the passion that was building within her. She actually hurt with her desire. "Please, Roman, please now!" And she took his bigness in her two hands again, and guided him home. The pleasure, the relief, was incredible! Her body exploded with starburst after starburst of passion as he thrust again and again and again into her eager body. Finally the release came, and with a sigh she clung to him.

"You are magnificent," he breathed with pleasure.

"Don't you care?" she said. "Don't you care that I don't love you?"

He hesitated long enough to tell her he was lying when he said, "No, I don't care, goddess. I enjoy your lovely body. It is enough."

She squirmed from his embrace and rose. "I must have another bath, Roman. It will be a long time before we reach Rome, and I have traveled enough with the army to know there will be few amenities."

"No mourning today, Zenobia. I want you to wear the golden garments."

"I will not wear mourning, Roman, but I prefer to choose my own clothing. I shall not disappoint you. Remember, it is the last time my people shall see me, and I would have them remember Zenobia the Queen with pride."

"I will trust you, goddess," he answered.

At the hour appointed for their departure Zenobia walked slowly through her apartments a final time. Although the military governor was to live in the palace, he was a bachelor, and there would be few rooms open. In fact, she suspected that he would take up actual residence in the small house that Odenathus had built for her rather than in the main buildings. The closed rooms would lie in lonely waiting for the return of Odenathus's dynasty.

Aurelian found her in the garden, just leaving a room whose entry was overgrown with a flowering vine. "What is this room?" he asked her, pushing past her to look inside it. His blue eyes widened at the magnificent, but very graphic paintings he saw upon the walls.

"Why have I never seen this room, goddess?" he demanded. "It is a room for lovemaking."

"I had it walled up last year," she replied in a stony voice. "In the palace corridor its door lies beneath the fine fresco of fruits upon the wall. I do not know why I did not have this entry walled over, too."

"Perhaps you wanted to remember after all, goddess," he said with unusual insight.

Zenobia stepped out into the sunlight of the garden once more. "Do you approve of my costume, Roman?" she demanded, quite obviously changing the subject.

Following her, he eyed her approvingly. "You are every inch the queen, goddess."

"You do not mind that I wear the Palmyran crown?"

"I do not mind," was his answer.

"Then let us go, Roman," she said impatiently. "I no longer belong in Palmyra, and I certainly do not belong in your Rome. I am anxious to find out where I do belong."

"You belong with me, goddess," he said, and taking her arm he led her off to the main courtyard where the procession was forming.

She was to walk behind Aurelian's chariot, and this time the streets of Palmyra would be full to overflowing with its citizens bidding their beloved queen farewell. She had been dressed in a cloth-of-silver kalasiris with its round neck and very short sleeves. The kalasiris was smooth and molded her body, making it appear as if she had been dipped in silver. She wore a magnificent necklace of deep-purple topazes with equally gorgeous earrings, both set in bright yellow gold. A cape, lined in cloth of gold, its outer layer done in alternating strips of gold and silver, was fastened to each shoulder of her gown by a carved purple scarab beetle set in gold. Her sandals were a mix of silver and gold.

With a polite apology Gaius Cicero fastened a pair of gold manacles about her delicate wrists. The manacles were fastened together by a length of gold chain between them, and in the chain's center another length of chain stretched forth a final link attached to a special ring on the emperor's own belt. "The emperor has promised to release you when we are clear of the city," Gaius Cicero said.

"Caesar is too kind," Zenobia said sarcastically. "Where is my daughter?"

"She is already outside the city with your servants, awaiting us. The emperor did not want her involved in this procession."

Zenobia nodded but remarked bitterly, "He also did not want my daughter's people to see her a final time. The king, he sent from the city like a thief in the night, and now my little girl."

"You have another son," Gaius Cicero reminded, "and he, it appears, will remain behind to remind Palmyra of Odenathus's dynasty."

"Demetrius is impetuous."

"His impetuosity will cost the boy his life."

"You have not caught him yet, Gaius Cicero."

Zenobia turned her head away from the emperor's aide, and said nothing further. The procession began, and there was no more time to think. If she did not keep up with the pace of Aurelian's horses she was in danger of being injured.

She looked back at her palace only once as they passed through its main gates, and she remembered the first time she had entered into its courtyard. It had been almost twenty years ago, and she was barely more than a child. She remembered Al-Zena's frosty welcome, and the lovely Deliciae of whom she had been so fearful and jealous. Poor Deliciae, now widowed with her six children to care for, although between Odenathus and Rufus Curius, she would certainly have no financial problems.

The queen stumbled, then quickly brought herself back to where she was and what she was doing. They were just entering Palmyra's great main avenue, and the colonnaded streets were a sea of spectators. The emperor's own Illyrian legion led the procession, its mounted officers coming first, followed by a vast sea of legionnaires, all marching smartly, their short red military capes flowing in the gentle breeze, the sun gleaming off their polished breastplates. Behind them came Aurelian in his chariot, followed by Zenobia, the captive Queen of Palmyra, and, behind her, representatives of the other three legions. There were no slaves, nor booty carts, for Rome's emperor had been merciful to the people of Palmyra. Only their government had suffered his wrath.

At the sight of their beautiful queen, manacled and chained to the Roman emperor, the people of Palmyra began to sing patriotic songs of freedom and hymns to Palmyra's past triumphs. They flung white flowers before and upon their queen, some of the delicate blossoms catching in her long, flowing black hair, and in the delicate golden wreath of vine leaves that crowned her. Finally the populace began to chant their beloved queen's name; and the emperor's horses danced nervously as the rhythmic sound rose in volume until the entire city echoed with one word: Zenobia!

The queen felt her heart swell with pride at her people's tribute, and unbidden tears slid down her face. Proudly she walked behind Aurelian's chariot, her beautiful head held high. She had given most of her life to this city, this great and wonderful city, and she regretted nothing but the fact she had lost the final battle with Rome. Someday, she thought to herself, someday as the great gods Mars and Venus are witness, / will right this wrong!

Finally the Triumphal Arch of Odenathus loomed before her. Zenobia passed beneath it, and out of the city of Palmyra onto the western road. After they had gone a mile or so along the highway, and the people were no more, Aurelian stopped his chariot, stepped down from it, and came over to his captive queen, freeing her wrists. Wordlessly he rubbed them, for the manacles had chafed her skin. "I apologize, goddess. I will have these manacles lined in lamb's wool before my Roman triumph. I did not mean that you should be injured."

"I never even noticed," she said wonderingly.

He nodded. "Your people's farewell was indeed impressive. I wish that I were capable of commanding such loyalty and love. I do not understand why, with so much, you risked all to rebel against us. Had you not, I might never have deposed you."

"It is quite simple, Roman," she answered him. "We were tired of answering to foreigners across a sea who knew nothing of us but our wealth. We believed that we could rule the Eastern Empire, a place that we knew far better than you Romans could. We could have too, but alas, you were stronger."

"We will always be stronger, goddess," he answered her, and then he "fitted her up to "his chariot and, climbing up beside her. drove off once more.

In three weeks they had reached Antioch, and here Aurelian decided to pause for a few days to enjoy the pleasures of the city before moving onward. Antioch would be the last truly great city they saw before reaching Rome several months hence. Strangely Zenobia was more relaxed now with Aurelian than she had ever been. Away from her city with all its familiar sights and memories, and plunged into this new and fascinating environment, her natural curiosity reared its head, and to his amusement she kept Rome's emperor quite busy sightseeing.

The night before their departure, however, all that changed. At dinner with the city's Roman governor they were suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a messenger from Palmyra. The legionnaire, dried blood still evident upon his body even after several days, exhausted and bleary-eyed, stumbled into the room, and croaked, "Hail Caesar!" Zenobia felt a frightening chill of premonition.

"Speak!" Aurelian commanded.

"Palmyra has revolted," the legionnaire said. "The governor and the entire garrison massacred."

"When?" Aurelian's voice was a whipcrack.

"Nine days ago, Caesar. The governor saw at once we were outnumbered. Toward the end my tribune chose me from among the survivors, and I made my way from the city, stole a horse, and followed you."

"Nooo!" Zenobia's voice was anguished.

"Who led the revolt?" the emperor asked, but they both knew the answer.

"Prince Demetrius."

Aurelian turned to Zenobia, and bis eyes were icy with his anger. "Better the boy had died in your womb," he said. He rose from the table and left the room.

Zenobia quickly followed him. "I am coming with you," she said.

"I have no time for women and their fripperies."

"Do not speak to me as if I am only some sort of decoration for your pleasure, Roman!" she snapped at him. "I am Zenobia, the Queen of Palmyra! I have led my armies into battle enough times to be worthy of your respect. Remember, you captured me as I sought help for my beleaguered city. You never defeated me! Never!”

He swung around to face her, and his stern face was terrible to behold. "Hear me, goddess. Whether you come with me or not will be your decision, but be warned. I show no further mercy to Palmyra."

"What will you do?" Her face was pale with anguish.

"I will destroy the city, and all in it, Zenobia. Your foolish son has left me no choice. I forgave Palmyra its sins once because of you. I will not forgive it now."

"Please!" She held out her hands to him in a gesture of supplication.

"No! I cannot overlook this. If I allow Palmyra to escape imperial wrath this time, how many other cities will rebel and slaughter their Roman masters? I swore to rebuild the empire, and by the gods I will keep that vow!"

"I would still go with you," she whispered.

"We leave in half an hour, and you will have to fend for yourself. There will be no servants."

She nodded her understanding and hurried to change her clothes.

During the next few days Zenobia understood why the Roman Army had gained its fame. The disciplined soldiers moved out of Antioch and quickly back across the desert in less than a third of the time it had taken them to reach the city. Once more, Rome's mighty military forces stood before Palmyra's closed gates, but this time there were no negotiations.

When they had rested on their journey the emperor had never once come near Zenobia. Only now, when they were outside of the city's walls and preparing to give siege, did she attempt to reason with him, imploring him to offer her people mercy, to spare the great and ancient city.

"No," he said coldly, "and you know my reasoning is sound. I will discuss it with you no further."

"I will give you whatever you want of me," she pleaded.

Aurelian grasped her cruelly by the arms, and almost snarled through clenched teeth, "Listen to me, you silver-eyed sorceress, there is only one thing I want from you, but I shall never have it. I want your love, Zenobia!"

"I will give it to you!" she promised rashly.

"You cannot," he answered bitterly. "You have already given your heart, goddess. You have given it to Marcus Alexander Bri-tainus, and whatever happens you will never stop loving him though you will not admit it to yourself!"

"No! I will love you, Roman, if you will but let me! Just spare my Palmyra! Spare my people!"

"Oh, goddess," he said in a more gentle tone, "if for one minute I believed you could give me your heart I should relent. I would, for I love you deeply. I would overlook my duty to Rome for your honest love. But you cannot give it. Your body I can take. Your wit and intellect I can enjoy, but you have already given your heart to another man. I am sorry, goddess. You have not doomed Palmyra. Palmyra has doomed itself."

The siege of Palmyra began with enormous battering rams, their heads carved like huge bulls, pounding against every gate of the city until one by one the gates began to crack and give, at last falling open to the tremendous onslaught. Rome's legions poured in. Before long black smoke began to rise from the city as it was cruelly torched. Palmyra's armies were terribly outnumbered, although they fought valiantly. Soon, however, they fell to the vast numbers of the enemy, and then the Romans began their terrible slaughter of the population.

There were to be no prisoners, no quarter was to be given. Children torn from their screaming mothers' arms were tossed upon swords and spears; women and girls as young as five were brutally and multiply raped before being murdered; the men and boys of Palmyra were tortured and killed. The priests protesting violation of their temples' sanctuary were callously disemboweled on their pristine marble floors, and left to die in agony amid their own smoking entrails.

The horror went on for three long days and nights as the Romans satisfied their fierce blood lust and avenged their slain comrades. The sweetish smell of death hung over the city as the carrion birds formed black clouds in the hazy, yellowed skies above once-proud Palmyra.

When not a single living thing remained within the city the armies of Rome began the final destruction. Systematically they worked at leveling every building that still stood, every statue and monument, until Palmyra lay broken and battered, a testimony to Rome's efficiency at devastation. Had they been able to haul away the ruins and rake the ground clean and smooth, the emperor would have ordered it. Instead, the demolished city lay as a warning to all those who would even consider rebellion against the mighty Roman Empire.

Throughout it all, Zenobia had stood before the Roman encampment watching with eyes that grew gradually duller as she saw the results of Demetrius's folly. She wondered absently if her younger son were dead, or if he had somehow escaped the destruction. There was no evidence of the Bedawi anywhere, and she suspected that her wise half-brother Akbar had removed the tribe when he saw what Demetrius was doing. No, her second son was dead, as were Deliciae and all her family; as were all of her people. Zenobia suddenly felt hollow and sick.

Still she stood outside in the burning sun watching as the legionnaires carefully wrecked Palmyra. When it was over at last, and Aurelian gave the orders to depart, she crept unnoticed from the encampment and into the ruins to pick up a small piece of marble from the great temple of Jupiter. It was the last thing she remembered for many days.

Missing her, Aurelian took several men and sought Zenobia. He found her wandering aimlessly amid the destruction, a piece of white marble that she would not be parted from clenched in her fist. Her eyes were sightless, she did not speak, although she did appear to hear him. Obedient to his voice, she followed him back to his tent, and then she collapsed into a stupor so deep that the army physicians feared not only for her sanity, but for her life as well.

The slow trek back to Antioch began, the booty carts rumbling along with the army, for this time Palmyra's treasures had been looted. Zenobia lay unconscious in one vehicle, never moving from one hour to the next. Aurelian, visibly worried, rode by her side, tending her when his other duties permitted. His soldiers had never seen him this way, and were amazed. When they finally reached Antioch, Zenobia was carried into the governor's palace. Old Bab and Adria came running to tend their ill mistress, and the queen opened her eyes for the first time in days.

"Am I dead?" she asked weakly.

"No, goddess," Aurelian said, openly relieved.

She sighed sadly. "Once again the gods have chosen to ignore my prayers," Zenobia whispered, and then she fell into a deep and natural sleep.

"She will recover," the head military physician pronounced.

"I wonder if she really will," Rome's emperor mused, and old Bab looked sharply at him, suddenly aware of Aurelian's deep feeling for her mistress. She might have even felt sorry for him had she not known what he had done. All of Antioch already buzzed with the story of Palmyra's destruction. The news had seemingly preceded the army upon the hot desert winds.

"My baby has always been strong," she told the emperor.

"She should not have come," he said.

"You allowed it," old Bab accused. "Like all the men who have loved her, you allowed her too much freedom, and perhaps this time it destroyed her. Perhaps, but then again, perhaps not."

"Will she live now?" he asked anxiously.

"Give me a week, Caesar, and then ask me again," came the reply.

Aurelian nodded. "You may have your week, old woman, but do your job well."

"I will do it as well as you did yours, Caesar," Bab snapped, and Aurelian laughed for the first time in many weeks, appreciating the jest at his expense.

"See that you do, old woman. See that you do!"

13

Marcus Alexander did not publicly mourn Carissa as his wife, for she had never been a wife to him. He did mourn for Carissa herself, however, realizing that she was as much a victim of Aurelian's ambition as he had been.

Upon learning of Marcus's connection with Zenobia, the empress had not permitted him to leave the Tivoli-Rome region. She was not sure what he might do if she let him go. Yes, it was best that he be kept confined, where he could cause Aurelian no difficulty. She felt somewhat guilty about her decision, though. Marcus was such a decent man, her own kin, a Roman of the old school, and the gods knew that there were precious few of those available today. She sighed, and to salve her conscience saw that her distant cousin received all the latest war communiqués before even the senate got them.

Thus Marcus Alexander Britainus knew when Aurelian had reached Palmyra. He knew when Zenobia was captured. He knew when Vaballathus opened the city's gates to the emperor; and he knew when his many friends on the Council of Ten were executed. He knew of the young king's exile to Cyrene, and he knew of Palmyra's revolt and total destruction.

He lived in helpless agony as each communiqué was given him. The word if grew larger in his mind with each message. If only he had not left her. It had never occurred to him that such tragedy would happen in his absence. He shook his head at the reckless bravery that had caused Zenobia to try and reach Persia. How like her. She would not have sent her younger son, or a ranking officer in her army. No, she would go because she felt it her duty. Her duty to Palmyra, as he had obeyed his duty to his family.

He had no illusions as to her fate at Aurelian's hands. How could the emperor not desire her? She was the most beautiful, the most seductive, the most intelligent and interesting of women. He wondered if Zenobia had resisted Aurelian; or if she now enjoyed the emperor as a bed partner. The pictures that this thought raised in his mind provoked such pure fury that he could have killed; but he could not decide whether it would be Aurelian or Zenobia, or both, who would fall victim to his righteous wrath!

Dagian might have returned to Britain, but she now chose not to do so. Marcus, she believed, needed her far more than Aulus and his family. There would be time to go back, but now was not the time. With Palmyra destroyed and gone, his Eastern mercantile base was gone too, although Marcus was not impoverished. His faithful Severus had seen the handwriting on the wall, and taken it upon himself to sell everything Marcus possessed in Palmyra to another Palmyran house of commerce. He had left the city for Rome, Marcus's fortune transferred safely to Rome, shortly before Palmyra's demise.

Marcus had greeted him with pleasure when he arrived at the Tivoli villa. He was extremely relieved that the faithful Severus had escaped Palmyra's fate.

"I have saved your fortune, Marcus Alexander," the now elderly Severus said proudly. "Oh, I might have gotten more for you had I stayed longer, and haggled, but I could see we were in for serious trouble. Prince Demetrius would not cease his rebellion."

Marcus nodded his head. "Thank the gods for your instincts, Severus, or I should have been ruined. Palmyra was totally destroyed."

"Yes," came the reply, "I heard that news." A sad look came into his eyes. "It is so terribly tragic, Marcus Alexander. I shall miss that beautiful city."

"The queen, Severus. What of the queen?"

"She was well the last I heard," came the evasive reply.

"You know what I am asking of you, old friend," Marcus said low.

"Marcus Alexander, you know the grist from which rumors are ground. I put no faith in rumors, but if you would hear the chief rumor of Palmyra, when I left, regarding the queen, it was that Aurelian had taken her for his woman. Why do you ask me? You expected no less."

Marcus had sighed and left the room.

"We are relieved that you escaped Palmyra and have come home to us safely, Severus," Dagian said. "You must forgive my son. He is a very unhappy man."

"I can understand that, my lady," came Severus's understanding reply.

Aurelian and his army drew closer and closer to Rome with every passing day; and with each day Marcus grew more grim. Finally, when the emperor was expected momentarily, he told his mother, "I want my daughter. I don't give a damn what that Palmyran whore does, but I want my daughter. I recognized her as mine when she was born, and now I shall claim her. I will not have her raised in any house where Aurelian either lives or is a frequent visitor. Look what he did to Carissa! I won't allow him to do that to my child! Mavia is all that I have."

"You cannot take the child from her mother, Marcus," Dagian protested.

"She is your grandchild, Mother. Knowing Aurelian's influence on Carissa, do you want Mavia to suffer the same fate?"

"Mavia has a mother, Marcus. A very strong and wise mother. Aurelian will never harm the child as long as Zenobia lives. Besides, do you really believe that the queen will hand over her child to you? I somehow suspect that you are not in her good graces."

"She has no right to judge me," he said pompously.

"And you have no right to judge her, my son. It was you who left her, and then did not even bother to send an explanation of your marriage."

"How could I communicate with her, Mother? You know that the emperor had me watched, and every letter going from this house was intercepted and read."

"Marcus, you should have sent her a message as soon as you saw the emperor was adamant in his desire that you wed Carissa; but you did not. I am not blaming you, for you were distraught not only with your fate and your sudden inability to control it, but with your father's impending death. Zenobia, however, does not know these things. Think of how she must have felt if she loved you as you say she did."

"She should have known better than to believe that I would betray that love," Marcus muttered.

Dagian laughed. "I am willing to admit that your Zenobia is a paragon, my son, but even a paragon could not be expected to keep faith with a betrothed who marries another woman. Be reasonable, Marcus."

"I want my daughter."

"Would you place the strain of bastardy upon Mavia? If you claim to be her father and insist on having the child, that is what you will do. You will mark her as surely as if you placed a burning brand upon her forehead. Even if you adopt her formally into this family, she will still be remembered as the illegitimate daughter of Palmyra's queen and one of her Roman lovers. What kind of a marriage can we make for this child with that stain upon her innocent reputation? Have you become so callous in your own misery that you would mark your daughter in order to satisfy your own wishes?"

He looked terribly unhappy, and Dagian pitied him greatly, but she knew that she was right.

"What am I to do, Mother?" he asked.

"Let us just watch the situation with Zenobia, Marcus. Perhaps by the time they reach Rome Aurelian will have grown tired of her. We don't even know what the senate plans to do with her."

He grew pale. "You do not think that they would condemn her to death, do you?"

"Who can predict the capricious whims of politicians?" Dagian demanded. "Once they have won their place in the senate, they behave as if the gods themselves had placed them there. Only if the public outcry is dangerously great do they heed the people. They serve only their own interests. However, if Aurelian has any personal interest in the lady she may be saved serious consequences."

"You are telling me, Mother, that if Zenobia survives imperial judgment I must regain my lost ground with her and only then can I hope to have any part in my daughter's life."

"Yes, Marcus, I am. You will gain nothing, I suspect, by anger."

"What if she no longer cares for me?"

"You will have to begin at the beginning with Zenobia," Dagian said quietly.

"You sound as if you are on her side," he complained, somewhat irritably.

Dagian smiled, her mouth quirking upward with her genuine amusement, her lovely blue eyes twinkling. "Let us say, Marcus, that even having never met the lady, I like the sound of her. I believe she is going to make me a fine daughter-in-law."

Stunned, he gaped at her. "What makes you think that I will marry her now? After she has been the emperor's mistress?"

Dagian chuckled. "You men are so vain when it comes to your prowess. Are you afraid to be compared to Aurelian, my son? Since you conceived a daughter by Zenobia, I am sure the comparison is already made. Perhaps, though, you do not wish to know the results."

"Mother!" He was visibly embarrassed by her frankness.

"I am sure, Marcus, that if you forgive Zenobia for being Aurelian's captive, she will forgive you Aurelian's niece."

"I never touched Carissa!" he protested.

"In Zenobia's mind it will not matter if you did or not. You married her. That is far worse."

Marcus sighed with exasperation, and Dagian quietly left him to his thoughts. He was a good man, her son, and she knew that he was intelligent in many matters. In the matter of man and woman, however, Dagian decided that Marcus was a dunce. He would learn, though, and providing that the senate did not condemn Palmyra's queen to an unfair death, Dagian decided that she wouldn't miss what was going to transpire between Zenobia and Marcus for all the world.

Two days later, Aurelian and his army arrived outside of Rome's walls. The emperor went immediately to the senate, and was hailed a returning hero. A triumph, complete with a holiday, was ordered to celebrate his victory over Palmyra. One rather pompous senator, Valerian Hostilius, suggested that the highlight of the day might be the public execution of the Queen of Palmyra in the Colosseum.

"Her reputation is that of a warrior," he cried in his rather flutelike voice. "Let us dress this barbarian queen in lionskins, give her a golden spear, and have her fight to the death a pack of wild beasts! What a spectacle it will make for the people, Caesar!"

Aurelian yawned, then looked about the senate. What a perfumed bunch, he thought. "A fascinating suggestion, Valerian Hostilius," he said, "but the Queen of Palmyra has already suffered for her rashness in rebelling against us, and once she realized her mistake she strove to give us aid once more."

"Yet you were forced to destroy the city, Caesar. Why was that?" This time the speaker was Marcus Claudius Tacitus, an elderly but extremely competent senator. Tacitus's opinion would carry much weight in the senate's decision.

"I had already sent Palmyra's young King Vaballathus into exile in the city of Cyrene. The queen and I had left Palmyra for Antioch en route back to Rome. Unfortunately, the queen's younger son, Prince Demetrius, could not accept defeat, and with some young friends inspired a second rebellion. The queen was not responsible. She returned with me to Palmyra, and we took our revenge. She tried very hard before we originally left the city to stop her younger son's foolishness."

"You do not think she deserves to die?" Tacitus questioned.

"No, I do not. She is a woman," Aurelian said scornfully. "It was up to her council to control her as her son, the king, was just a boy. I executed the council for not doing their duty, but Palmyra's queen does not deserve death."

Tacitus turned and looked on his fellow senators. "The noble Senator Hostilius has suggested we make a death spectacle of Palmyra's queen. I disagree with him, and I agree with the emperor. This woman has been a noble enemy to Rome, but she is now beaten, her homeland destroyed, her younger son dead. She has paid the price of her folly. Now let us show the world Rome's beneficence. After the emperor's triumph is completed, let us retire her to one of the state's villas at Tivoli. She will live out her days there a forgotten woman, and what greater punishment can there be for one who was once so powerful?"

"But the people love a good spectacle," Hostilius protested.

Tacitus raised a bushy white eyebrow. "The people?" he said.

A rumble of laughter echoed around the chamber. For once all the senate was in agreement. Hostilius sank back onto the bench feeling foolish, and wishing that he'd never opened his mouth.

"It is decided then," Aurelian said. "Palmyra's queen will be pensioned, and retired to Tivoli."

"It is agreed," the senate said with one voice, and a smiling Aurelian left them.

The emperor hurried to his home upon the Palatine Hill. He was anxious to see Ulpia and to hear about Carissa's baby. His wife, however, was not at the door to greet him. She was, it seemed, ill and in her bed. Aurelian entered Ulpia's bedchamber, and was shocked by her appearance. She who had always been of such robust constitution was thin and wan.

"My dear," he said, his voice full of concern. "How are you?"

Ulpia smiled joyfully at his entrance, and held out her arms to him. "I have not been well, husband, but now that you are here I will feel better. I know it!"

"Has Carissa been to see you? How is she? Is the child a boy or a girl?"

A shadow passed over Ulpia Severina's pale face. "Carissa is dead," she said bluntly. "She died in childbirth despite the fact that everything was done that could be done for her. She had the best of care."

"The child?"

"The child was born dead, and thank the gods it was. It was a monster of incredible ugliness, my lord."

"Poor Carissa," Aurelian mused, but it was Marcus Alexander Britainus that he was thinking about. Marcus and Zenobia. By the gods, Marcus would not have her! She was his, and he had no intention of letting her go! He was in love. He was in love for the first and only time in his entire life, and the feeling was one of both Heaven and Hades. Suddenly he realized that Ulpia was staring at him. "And you, my dear," he said solicitously, "you have obviously not been well. Have you seen a physician?"

She nodded, and then tears came to her eyes. "I have seen three. They all say the same thing. I have a canker in my breast, and I shall die from it."

"How long have you been ill?" he demanded. "Why did you not write to me?"

"I grew ill shortly after Carissa's death. I did not write you about it for the same reason I did not write you about Carissa. Carissa was dead, and there was nothing that you or anyone else could have done to prevent her death. I am to die, and there is nothing that can prevent my death. The physicians did, however, assure me that I should live until you returned home, and so I saw no need to worry you."

"By the gods, Ulpia, you are a perfect wife. You have always been. I have been most fortunate in you."

Ulpia beamed with pleasure. He could not have said anything more calculated to delight her. She always had tried to please him, and now with death staring her in the face, the knowledge that she had, sent a joyful wave of warmth coursing through her ravaged frame.

Aurelian bent and placed a fond kiss upon Ulpia's brow. "I will leave you to rest, my dear," he said. "My triumph is just two days hence. There is much to do."

"How I wish I might see it," Ulpia said sadly.

"I wish you could too, but alas, our house is not near the route of march; and I do not think you strong enough to go."

Ulpia sank back amid her pillows. Now she was truly curious as to what the Queen of Palmyra looked like. Aurelian did not seem particularly anxious for her to see his triumph, and it could only be because he did not want her to see Zenobia. Nonetheless Ulpia vowed that she would. She would find out who among Rome's patrician families had a home along the line of march, and she would use her imperial prerogative, and invite herself there.

She called for her secretary, and told him what she wanted. After that it was simple. Fabius Buteo, she was told, had a fine home where she might watch her husband's triumph, and he was overwhelmed at the honor being done him by the empress's presence.

On the day of Aurelian's triumph she was settled quite comfortably on a second-floor balcony with the pleasant women and girls of the Buteo family, who chatted quite companionably with her. She. was offered the finest wines to keep her strength up, and the choicest of delicacies. The warm sun beat down, there was a faint flowery breeze, and, in general, Ulpia Severina felt quite well. After all, Aurelian had not forbidden her to watch his triumph. He had merely lamented that she was not strong enough to do so. But she was strong enough!

Below them, the streets were crowded on both sides by the citizenry jostling with one another for a good place. The vendors were busy hawking cheap wines, sausages, and sweetmeats to the excited population. Then in the distance came the sound of marching feet, the rhythm of the drums that beat out the measure of the military step.

Leading the triumph was the Ninth Illyrian Legion, Aurelian's own. The Ninth consisted of ten cohorts of six hundred men each, and was led by six tribunes, each riding before his own unit of cavalry. The legionnaires marched with perfect precision, the sun gleaming off their spotless weapons and helmets. Following them came the plundered wealth of Palmyra in flower-bedecked carts; the gold and silver booty sparkling in the clear Roman light. The crowds ohhed and ahhed.

Following this came the Third African Legion, its tribunes and centurions wearing leopardskins and a toothed leopard's head to cover their own, almost appearing as if they were being devoured by the beast itself. Their men wore the simple skin of the leopard thrown across their left shoulders, without its fierce head. Following the Third African came enormously tall black warriors, their heads capped by wavy grass headpieces that swung with the rhythm of their dancing. The blacks were oiled so that the sunlight made them appear even darker, and about their loins they wore a covering made from the black-and-white-striped skin of some exotic animal. They brandished their carved spears in mock ferocity, much to the delight of the watching children along the route.

Now came what all of the citizenry had awaited so eagerly: the emperor who had given Rome such a great victory. Aurelian himself drove the magnificent triumphal chariot: an incredible piece of workmanship. The vehicle was all overlaid in gold leaf over the raised figures of Mars, the god of war, in a scene of an Olympian triumph. The chariot was drawn by four magnificent white stallions, each more vicious than the next, but kept well in hand by the emperor, who was acknowledged to be one of the empire's finest drivers.

Aurelian was dressed as befitted a triumphant soldier-emperor. He wore a purple-and-gold-embroidered tunica palmata that reached to his ankles, and over that the official robe of the emperor, a toga picta, also of Tyrian purple and embroidered with gold. Both garments were of the finest silk. Upon his feet the emperor wore a high-soled strapped shoe of gilt leather laced with hooks and decorated with a bejeweled crescent-shaped buckle.

Behind him stood his personal body slave of many years, dressed simply in a natural-colored tunic and holding the laurel wreath of victory over the emperor's blond head. "Remember," the slave intoned with regularity, "thou art but a man. Remember, thou art but a man." This ancient custom of the triumph was supposed to keep the victorious general humble with the constant reminder of his mortality.

Ulpia looked with pride upon her husband as he came into view. Then she, along with the other ladies of the Buteo family, let out a collective gasp of shock. Behind Aurelian's magnificent chariot came the Queen of Palmyra-stark naked! Ulpia felt sick with shame that her husband would do such a thing to any woman, let alone the gallant captive Queen of Palmyra. How could he have been so cruel!? So brutal!

"Look at the hussy!" the wife of Fabius Buteo snipped. "She does not even lower her eyes in shame, but stares straight ahead, her arrogant head held high."

"She is incredibly beautiful, Mother," said the eldest Buteo daughter, a gentle matron. "How awful for her!" Then she turned apologetically to the empress. "I mean no disrespect, my lady, I only…" her soft voice died away.

"I agree with you, my dear," the empress said quietly. "How awful for her."

Still, the women watching Zenobia were envious of her. They could not help it. Here was a woman who had borne her late husband three children, and yet her body was that of a young girl. Her breasts, firm globes of perfection, thrust boldly forth. Her well-shaped arms and legs were in perfect proportion to her tall height. She had only a faintly rounded belly, and her buttocks were round and firm. Around her slender neck she wore a magnificent necklace of pigeon's blood rubies that set off her pale-golden skin and her flowing blue-black hair. Her high-arched feet were shod in the faintest wisps of red leather sandals. She held her arms before her as her slender wrists were imprisoned by the golden manacles she had worn when she left Palmyra. True to his word, Aurelian had had them lined in soft lamb's wool so they would not chafe her tender skin.

Aurelian! She wanted to kill him as she walked so bravely along, neither looking to the right or the left, hearing none of the lewd comments sent her way by the populace of Rome. That they hadn't rushed out to fondle her was only due to the fact that she was well guarded by a maniple of sixty men. Aurelian didn't mind showing off his new possession to all of Rome, but they might not touch that which was the emperor's toy. She had almost begun to like him, but thank the gods he had reverted to type so she might hate him again, and plot his downfall with a clear conscience no matter how kind he had been before this damnable triumph. No matter how kind he would be afterward, for he would be kind again.

They had quarreled that morning because he had wanted her small daughter, Mavia, to walk with her behind his chariot. She had screamed and railed at him for the suggestion, forbidding him to even come near the child; threatening mayhem if he so much as touched her little daughter. What kind of a monster was he, she had demanded, to attempt such brutality upon an innocent baby? The trauma could destroy Mavia, who had lived through the first siege of Palmyra, and still had bad dreams.

In the end the emperor had relented, and Mavia was taken on ahead to the villa in Tivoli that would be her new home. Aurelian, however, was furious, for Zenobia's anger had come not in private, but before his officers. When she had appeared for his triumph dressed in her gold and silver garments, he had furiously torn them from her beautiful body in front of all of his officers, stating that it was his wish she walk in his triumph nude, wearing only her ruby necklace and her sandals. She had been shocked by his actions, but had looked him straight in the eye, and said in her mocking voice, "As Caesar commands."

He had looked as if he wanted to hit her then and there, but instead he had replied as mockingly, "Yes, goddess, as Caesar commands. For you it will always be as Caesar commands, and should Caesar order you to couple with his entire Ninth Illyrian you would have to do so because Caesar would command. Remember that!”

His triumph was the hardest thing she had ever done in her entire life; but he would never know it, for her face and carriage were proud and defiant. Gaius Cicero had been visibly embarrassed as he had fastened the golden manacles around her wrists. She had come close to giggling hysterically at him because he was in such a quandary as to where to look next, and his eyes kept coming, fascinated, back to her marvelous breasts with their dark, honey-colored nipples. When he had led her from the emperor's tent, however, all mirth left her. Four entire legions had gaped at her beauty, and she saw many glances of lustful envy.

"It's a wonder one of his men doesn't assassinate him just to possess that woman," one tribune muttered softly to another, but she heard.

For a moment she thought she might be sick, for her stomach churned violently, bile rising up to the base of her throat before she was able to gain control of herself and swallow it back down again. Despite the warm day, she was cold, a coldness only intensified by the gentle breeze that brushed against her body, faintly damp with a sheen of perspiration. Briefly her legs were weak and she was unable to move for the shame, and then she slowly lifted her head and saw him staring at her, his lips curled in a faint smile of triumph.

Zenobia took a deep breath. As the sweet air filled her lungs, strength filled her soul and her silvery eyes mocked him back. The queen closed her ears to everything about her and, looking straight ahead, took her place behind the emperor's chariot. That was the trick, she realized with sudden clarity, to notice nothing, to hear nothing.

As she walked she sang songs in her head, and focused her eyes upon the chariot ahead of her, never looking either to the right or the left. She did not see the mob with its envious, lustful, pitying, vengeful, and cruel glances. She did not hear the ribald, even filthy comments hurled her way. She was Zenobia, the Queen of Palmyra, and could not be humbled by mere Romans.

Marcus Alexander stood amid the front rank of the crowd near the senate, and when he saw her his heart leapt within his chest. Then, realizing that she had been forced to walk naked before plebes and patricians alike, his anger toward the emperor burned hot, almost consuming him where he stood.

Zenobia! Beloved! Aching with her shame he called to her with his heart. There was much he owed Aurelian for what the emperor had done to their lives; and he intended to repay him in full, measure for measure. Marcus Alexander Britainus could no longer fool himself. He loved Zenobia. He would love her always. Once he had told her that he had loved her from the beginnings of time, and that he should love her until long after their memories had faded from the earth. In his disappointment and his anger he had believed that that had changed. But nothing had changed. He loved her. He- wanted her for his wife still, and by the gods he would have her if he had to strangle Aurelian with his bare hands.

Turning, he pushed his way through the crowds and walked back to his chariot. Grimly he drove back along the Via Flaminia to Tivoli, and to his waiting mother.

"Did you see her?" were Dagian's first words as he entered the villa garden.

"All of Rome saw her," Marcus said furiously. "Aurelian made her walk nude, the bastard!"

Dagian's usually pale skin lightened even more. "The poor thing," she said.

"Poor?" he laughed harshly. "Praise the gods that Zenobia is prouder than Venus herself! She walked like the queen she is, her head held high, her eyes straight ahead. If Aurelian meant to humble her he only forced her to build her defenses higher. She won't forgive him the insult, Mother."

"And you, Marcus? Do you forgive her?"

He had to laugh. "Yes, Mother, but I beg you in the name of all the gods I know, and those that I don't, never to tell her that. You were right. There is nothing to forgive, and I've been a fool. Whatever Aurelian thinks, Zenobia is not his."

"She is not yours either, my son."

"I know that, Mother. I am the one who must ask the forgiveness of Zenobia."

Dagian smiled. "At last you grow wise, Marcus!" she said.

"Do you think I have a chance to regain her, Mother?"

"Who can predict a woman's heart, Marcus," Dagian said wisely. "We must remember all the suffering that she has undergone at Rome's hands. I sense that Zenobia will not forgive that easily."

Had Dagian, however, seen Zenobia at the very moment she spoke she would have been astonished. Having reached the senate buildings, and the end of Aurelian's formal triumph, Palmyra's queen was wrapped in a cloak by the emperor himself, and led inside to hear the senate's judgment on her. The senate, recognizing their captive's bravery, applauded her wildly as she entered their chamber, and with a soft smile upon her lips Zenobia accepted their tribute with all the graciousness she possessed. It had been a far better show than if they had pitted her in the arena against the beasts, and they were all now quite pleased with their decision to grant her life and pension her off. She would be an interesting addition to their jaded social life. Now after she thanked them for their mercy, a faint smile of amusement upon her lips, the emperor bundled her off, then returned to escort the senate to the public games that he was sponsoring this day to honor his triumph in the East.

Taking Senator Tacitus by the arm, the emperor led them forth from the senate. Since the distance between the Forum and the Colosseum was not great, they walked, and the populace gave way to them as they came forward, cheering Aurelian, who had given them this day off, and free food and entertainment.

Zenobia awaited Aurelian at the Colosseum, and together they entered the imperial box. Seeing them, all Rome rose to its feet and cheered the handsome emperor in his purple and gold robes; his beautiful captive queen, an exquisite vision now in a simple white silk kalasiris, a jeweled collar of silver set with rich turquoise-blue Persian lapis resting upon her chest. She had dressed to please the Roman crowds, with carved silver snake bracelets on her arms and chunks of Persian lapis hanging from her ears. They would never forget her nude beauty of this morning, but her magnificent attire equally pleased them. Her fantastic cloth-of-silver cape blew in the afternoon breeze, and once she and Aurelian had finished acknowledging the crowds, she removed it.

Suddenly at the back of the box a small commotion arose, and Zenobia turned to see a woman being helped into the box by Senator Tacitus. She was of medium height, and had a faded prettiness about her. "Who is that woman?" she asked the emperor.

He turned, and swore softly beneath his breath. Then he rose and assisted the woman forward to seat her at the front of the box.

"Majesty," he said to Zenobia, "may I present my wife, the Empress Ulpia Severina."

Before Zenobia could speak Ulpia said, "Welcome to Rome, Queen of Palmyra."

"Thank you," Zenobia replied.

"You should not have come, my dear," Aurelian scolded gently. "She has not been well," he said then to Zenobia.

"I saw your triumph," Ulpia said, ignoring Aurelian's concern. "I requested that the Buteo family, who have a large home along the triumphal way, allow me access to see the procession. I was shocked, my lord, at the way in which you displayed this captive queen. All decent people were. Had not Queen Zenobia the dignity she has it would have been far worse."

Zenobia instantly felt a liking for the empress and, reaching out, she put a hand upon the woman's arm. "It is over now, Ulpia Severina, and I would not have you distressed on my account."

Ulpia's sad brown eyes met those of Zenobia, and instantly the two women understood one another. Poor soul, Zenobia thought. She loves Aurelian, and although he may respect her, and be kind to her, he does not care for her one way or the other. How hard it is to live without love!

Zenobia found the games boring, and the blood lust of the Roman population quite disgusting. She had never been afraid in battle, but watching the Colosseum audience leaning forward in their seats so as not to miss any of the gore was revolting. There they were, for the most part a useless, lazy bunch living off the dole, almost salivating with delight as they condemned the losers in the games to death. Turning from the games, she spoke for some time with the elderly Tacitus, until finally she demanded of Aurelian:

"Must I remain through this whole thing?"

"You are part of the spectacle, goddess," he said, forgetting about Ulpia, who sat listening.

"I would have thought that I had provided enough of a spectacle for your Romans today," she snapped at him. "I find your games tedious and appalling, Roman. Let me go to wherever it is you are sending me. I far prefer the quiet of the country to this pesthole of a city."

Aurelian looked annoyed, but he realized that Zenobia had taken as much as she was going to this day. To further impress his will upon her was going to result in a scene, and when Zenobia chose to make a scene he invariably ended up looking the fool. This morning burned yet in his memory. He turned to the empress. "You prepared a pleasant villa in Tivoli for the queen, my dear?"

"I have seen to it, my lord," Ulpia replied smoothly. "Although I could not oversee the preparation personally." She turned to Zenobia. "I trust you will be happy there, Majesty."

"It is not Palmyra," Zenobia said softly, "but I shall never go home, so I suppose that I will be happy in your Tivoli. I thank you for all your kindness, Ulpia Severina."

Ulpia smiled at Zenobia, and the queen rose, discreetly saying to the emperor, "There is no need for you to leave your games, Roman. Gaius Cicero can easily escort me, can you not, Gaius?"

"With pleasure, Majesty," the emperor's aide said.

"I bid you good day, Marcus Claudius Tacitus. I have enjoyed your company greatly, and if I am permitted visitors I hope that you will visit me often at my villa in Tivoli."

The elderly senator rose and bowed in a courtly fashion to Zenobia. "My time with you has been far too short today, Majesty. I will come and visit you whether you are allowed visitors or not. I have a villa in Tivoli myself, and the heat in Rome will soon be too much to bear. I will see you soon, I promise you."

When Zenobia had left the emperor's box the senator turned to Aurelian, and said, "You are right, Caesar. She is too lovely and too intelligent to die. What a waste had we followed Valerian Hostilius's obscene suggestion."

Ulpia turned to Tacitus. "And just what did Senator Hostilius suggest?" she asked.

"His suggestion was that we dress Queen Zenobia in animal skins, give her a spear, and have her fight a pack of wild beasts in the arena."

"Hostilius was ever a fool!" the empress snapped in a rare show of irritation.

"Then you are glad that the senate spared the queen's life, my dear?" Aurelian asked.

Ulpia looked directly at her husband, and said, "Yes, my lord. I am glad that they spared her life." Her level gaze told the emperor what he wanted to know; that she was giving him permission to amuse himself with Zenobia. Dearest Ulpia! Aurelian mused in a generous burst of fondness. She was so thoughtful! So discreet! He regretted that she was dying, but then perhaps he would take Zenobia for his second wife. He was certainly not going to let anyone else have her. He saw the envy in the eyes of the men who looked upon her. He knew that they hoped he would toss her aside, as he had done with so many others; and when he did, then they would vie for her until she chose another protector. It would not happen, though. He would marry Zenobia when Ulpia died. There was no need to divorce his wife, for she would be dead soon enough and Zenobia was going nowhere. She was his imperial captive, and would be safe in Tivoli.

The imperial captive could hardly wait to leave the city. She found Rome overwhelmingly dirty and noisy. She would be happy to live in a quieter setting, one much better suited to raising Mavia.

"How long will it take us to reach Tivoli?" she asked Gaius Cicero.

"It will take several hours, Majesty," he answered her. "It is almost twenty miles from the city, and the litter bearers can only go so quickly."

"What about a chariot, Gaius Cicero?"

"A Chariot, Majesty?"

"Yes, a chariot. I drove my own war chariot in Palmyra, and if I might have a chariot now we could get there in half the time or less, couldn't we?"

He thought a moment, and then said, "Indeed we could, Majesty. The emperor only ordered that I escort you. He did not say what sort of vehicle we should use."

Gaius Cicero drove as they left the city, but once they were safely on the Via Flaminia, he let Zenobia have the reins. The horses, however, almost drove themselves, as the road was straight and well paved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, yes, Mama!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What of the servants' quarters?" Zenobia asked.

"They are separate from the house, Majesty."

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

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

"More than likely they use that room to hide from their duties," Zenobia noted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will the emperor be coming tonight?" Bab asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"You are right, Adria. It is lovely."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's Aurelian," Zenobia replied bitterly.

"You do not like the emperor?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Mavia!" Zenobia sharply reproved her daughter. "It is not polite to mention people's personal appearances."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good-bye, Lady Dagian," little Mavia piped up.

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

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

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

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

"Hail, Caesar!" Mavia lisped, and Zenobia turned to see Aure-lian standing within the entry of the house.

"Go to Charmian, child," Zenobia ordered.

"Yes, Mama," was the obedient reply, and Mavia was gone.

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

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

"You are angry about the triumph," he said.

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

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

"Do not touch me, Roman! Not now! Not ever!" Jupiter, she wanted to get away from him, but she didn't know where to go! It was an infuriating situation.

"Oh, goddess, are we to fight again? I thought we had done with fighting." His voice was very patient.

"Hear me, Roman! I will be your whore because there is no other choice for me; but I will never forget your actions toward me today."

"So you will be my whore," he said softly, but his narrowed glittering eyes belied the gentleness of his voice. "You will be my whore because you have no other choice? If it is choice you desire, my beautiful goddess, let me assure you that every patrician with a pair of balls between his legs would like me to pass you on to him when I am tired of you. I am not tired of you, but if it would please you, I can do as the Emperor Caligula once did, and indeed make a whore of you. How would you like to spend your nights servicing every rich and randy cock in Rome?"

She looked into his eyes, and was suddenly afraid because she saw in them a terrible determination. He would make her whore with every man in Rome if in the end she returned to him pliant and obedient; his woman, and his woman alone. "No," she said low. "No, I should not like it, Roman." Oh, how she hated him for making her feel so helpless; she who had ruled an empire. He delighted in it, the bastard!

"Where is your room?" he demanded.

Zenobia looked at him, and then began to laugh. "I do not know," she said, the tears rolling down her cheeks at the absurdity of the situation. He was ready to assert his rights, in reality to rape her, and she had absolutely no idea of where her bed was.

"Haven't you inspected the house yet?" He was looking outraged.

"There was no time," she said. "I arrived, and there was difficulty with the slaves. I want to replace them tomorrow, Roman. Then I went to see the gardens, and the woman in the next villa, a friend of the empress's, came from next door." Zenobia shrugged helplessly. "I have not seen the house at all. I did not realize that you would arrive so quickly."

"I left the games shortly after you did, goddess. Without you they were boring. I had to see the empress safely to the Palatine palace."

"You should have stayed with her, Roman. She is ill. Even I can see she does not have a great deal of time left to live; and she loves you. How can you leave her?"

"Ulpia is a soldier's wife. She is used to being without me."

"Because she is a soldier's wife makes it no easier to be without the man she loves. She has accepted her lot, but how it must hurt her, Roman. How cruel you are!"

He moved close to her, and his hands gripped her upper arms. "I would not be cruel to you, goddess. All I want to do is love you. Why will you not love me, beloved?"

Beloved! She turned her head to hide the quick tears that damped her eyes. "I have told you before, Roman, that I shall never put myself into the keeping of any man again. Be satisfied that you have my body. It is all I can ever give you."

"But you never give, Zenobia," Aurelian said. "I must always take. Even now you steel yourself for the assault you assume is about to come." He pulled her chin about so that she was forced to look at him. "Just once, goddess, I would like your kiss to be a willing one, not sparked by lust, but rather, caring."

"Never." It was said quietly.

"Then I must take what I can get from you, goddess," he said, and his mouth covered hers in a fierce, possessive kiss.

She shuddered wildly, and then, to the amazement of them both, Zenobia began to cry great wracking sobs of pure anguish. Every agony of the last months shook her slender frame. The terrible destruction of Palmyra, her separation from Vaba and Flavia, Longinus's death, the loss of Demetrius; all of it welled up within her and poured forth, and she was unable to stop it. She was tired of fighting, tired of responsibility, plain bone tired. For the first time in Zenobia's life she wanted to be free of it all; she wanted to be taken care of.

He saw it in her face, in her eyes, and knew that now if he were clever he might have her as he had always wanted her. She was more vulnerable than he had ever seen her, than she had ever been in her entire life, he suspected. Aurelian held her gently, and stroked her shining, dark hair. "There, beloved," he soothed her, "there, my beautiful goddess. Do not weep, my love; do not weep." He caught her face between his hands and, bending, kissed her mouth again, but with tenderness this time. He kissed her shut eyelids, her cheeks, her nose, and her chin, before returning to her mouth once more; but this time his lips were more demanding, and, to his pleasure, she returned his kiss not from lust, but from need.

He gathered her up into his arms, and she nestled against his shoulder, still sobbing. With firm steps he walked through the interior garden and into the atrium of the house. Seeing them, Bab threw up her hands in distress, but the emperor's stern look warned her to be silent as he made his way up the stairs to the second floor and into her bedroom at the end of the hall.

Gently he laid her upon the bed, then sat down next to her. "I cannot bear to see you weep," he said low. "Tell me what you want of me, Zenobia. I will do anything to make you happy." But she only wept on, softer now, yet still she wept. Reaching out, he ran his hand down her trembling body, and she murmured with an almost shy pleasure that intrigued him. He carefully removed her jeweled collar, the snake bracelets, and her earrings. Next he slowly undid and drew off her sandals, massaging her feet until she almost purred. With a smooth, almost lingering movement he pushed the white silk kalasiris upward, revealing long golden legs, smooth thighs, sweetly rounded belly, tempting breasts. The kalasiris slipped easily over Zenobia's head and arms, and the emperor then dropped it carelessly by the bedside.

He bent and kissed each breast, causing her nipples to stand tall. As he raised his head he found that she was looking at him, her eyes wide and wet, the lashes stuck together. Her mouth quivered, and then she said so low that he had to bend to hear her, "Love me, Roman. Please love me, and make it all better. I can no longer bear the pain."

"And will you love me, goddess, or will you simply take from me?" he demanded softly of her.

"I will give," she replied. "Only take the pain away."

He stood and slowly removed his own clothing, his passionate eyes never leaving hers. He might have fallen on her like a beast upon a helpless lamb, for his own desire was great and he feared that she might suddenly come to her senses. Instead, he exerted his great willpower, and moved slowly and quietly. Returning to the bed, he lay next to her and held her hand. "I have adored you from the moment I first saw you, Zenobia. I love you, my fair goddess, and never have I made that statement to any woman. When Ulpia has left this world for the next you will marry me, and I shall make you Queen of the mighty Roman Empire; not just a small piece of it, but all of it, stretching from Persia to the farthest outposts of wild Britain. You are a rare and perfect jewel, my beloved, and now you are mine alone! I will make you happy, Zenobia, I swear by all the gods. If you will but let me, I shall make you the happiest woman alive!"

He raised himself up on one elbow and looked down upon her. Her eyes were shut, but he knew that she heard him. "I want you to make love to me, goddess," he said quietly, and then he lay back waiting.

For a few very long minutes they lay side by side, then she raised herself up and bent to touch his mouth with a sweet kiss. He reached out and lifted her up so that she found herself sitting upon his loins. Zenobia blushed, the blood rushing up to stain her pale-gold cheeks a soft apricot pink. She was long past girlhood, and yet she felt untutored and shy. She wasn't quite sure what he expected of her.

Aurelian chuckled with amusement at her obvious chagrin. "What, goddess? You never made love to your husband or your lover? Touch me, Zenobia. Don't you like it when I touch you?"

Hesitantly she reached out and put her hand upon his chest. He held his breath. Slowly she explored the muscles beneath her fingertips, the softness of his skin. She sighed.

Her touch inflamed him wildly, yet he held himself in check, w atching her through slitted eyes. She was not yet roused herself, but she was curious, and perhaps a little frightened. Reaching out, he caressed one of her marvelous breasts, taking a finger and running it sensuously around the nipple to encourage her. "You are so beautiful," he crooned. "So very, very beautiful, Zenobia."

He felt her relax a bit more, and she shifted her weight, leaning forward to brush her breasts against his chest, matching her hardening nipples with his and rubbing against him in a provocative movement. Stretching his arms out, he gently seized the cheeks of her bottom and drew her closer, fondling her, caressing her, beginning to stir the embers of her desire. "Oh yes, goddess," he murmured against her ear, and she shivered as his warm breath touched her.

He was being so gentle, she thought, so kind. All he wanted was to love her, for her to love him in return. It didn't mean that she had to trust him. She could never really trust any man again; but he was willing to take the pain away in exchange for her devotion. She didn't really love him, but she could pretend. All she had to do was stop fighting him, to relax and enjoy making love to him, to make him believe that she cared. Her stubborn pride had brought her to this, she mused, and she was tired of hurting.

She felt his staff, hard and pushing against her, as if it had a separate life of its own. Zenobia moved back and, raising herself carefully, caught him in her hand and guided him into her softness. Surprised by her sudden action, he could only gasp with delight as she gently rode him. Then he put his arms about her, rolled her over, and rode her. Slowly he pushed himself into her sheath, slowly he withdrew himself; repeating the movement until her relaxed body began to shudder with the splendor of her orgasm. Each movement of his weapon seemed to drive deeper, and she moaned with undiluted pleasure, straining to reach greater heights, finally falling away in a shower of stars while his body joined hers in fulfillment.

The terrible tension and ache gone from her frame, Zenobia fell into a peaceful sleep. At her side, the emperor considered the events of the last few minutes. She had been so sweet! So totally and incredibly sweet in her surrender. This was how he had always dreamed she would be with him, and at last the gods had answered his prayers. She was not broken, he knew, but he believed that she was at last his. He need have no fear of any man, even Marcus Alexander Britainus. Aurelian slept, secure for the first time since he had taken Zenobia for his own.

They slept for several long hours, and Zenobia awoke first. She lay quietly, remembering her mood of several hours ago, remembering what had passed between herself and Aurelian. She had not really promised him anything, and yet she had. But could she love him? No. The word slammed into her brain. She could not. He had taken from her almost everything that she held dear and sacred. Still she must survive to be revenged, and Mavia must be protected. If she suddenly scorned Rome's emperor after he opened himself to her he would surely kill her.

"What are you thinking of, Zenobia?" he asked her, his voice tearing at the silence.

"Of how kind you were to me last night," she replied.

"I love you," he said simply.

"I know," she replied, and he did not push her further than that.

The dawn was not even beginning to stain the east, yet he said, "Let us bathe."

"The slaves are not yet up," she protested.

"We will wake them," he returned.

"No," she said. "We will bathe each other, Roman." And she arose naked from the bed. Turning slightly, she glanced over her shoulder at him, her look provocative, and she held out her hand to him. "Well? Are you coming?"

He could feel his need for her stirring already, but he fought his urges back down and, taking her hand, stood up and followed her. The bath, which was located next door to Zenobia's chamber, was eerily silent, its oil lamps flickering and casting shadows upon the frescoed walls depicting scenes of nymphs being pursued by the usual satyrs and centaurs. She chuckled, and pleased by the warmth of the sound, Aurelian asked, "What amuses you, my love?"

"The walls, Roman. They are so typical."

"One may not expect originality in a state-owned villa," he teased her.

"Must I remain in this villa?"

"Perhaps at a later date we can discuss a larger home for you, goddess; but for now you will stay here."

"As you will," she answered him, and then reaching for the porcelain jar of soft soap, she scooped some out with three fingers and began to spread it over him. She worked slowly, her hands smoothing the soap into a rich cream as they moved in ever-widening circles over his hard body. He began to feel a delicious contentment at her touch, and almost fell back asleep standing in the bath. She roused him from his reverie, rinsing him off with several jars of warmed water and the command, "Go and soak in the hot tub now, Roman."

"Do I not get to wash you, goddess?" he asked.

"You will catch a chill standing here," she protested.

"I will wash you," he said, ending the matter, and then he took the soap from the jar and began to imitate her motions of a few moments earlier. Turning her so that her back was to him, he rubbed soap over her belly and upward to her breasts, cupping those sweet fruits in his palms, his thumbs gently rubbing around her erect nipples. She stood very still, barely breathing, as his hands moved with familiarity over her graceful form. Finally he rinsed her, and together they entered the hot tub.

"What will you do here in Rome?" he asked.

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you brought me here," she smiled. "I imagine, however, that I shall do what all new residents of the city do. I shall sight-see, and I shall try to make friends."

"There will be many only too eager to make friends with you, Zenobia," he answered. "Beware of becoming involved in any political factions, goddess. There will be those who will seek to use you, for Rome is a sewer of intrigue."

She looked at him, somewhat amused. "I did not rule Palmyra all those years by not being aware of what went on around me. Rome has ever been a hotbed of conspiracy. You change emperors with the regularity of a popular courtesan changing lovers."

"Until now," he said. "I am the new Rome, Zenobia. I am leading my people back to the old ways, the right ways. Thanks to me, the empire is strong again, and it will grow stronger with each passing day. My heirs will be the new Caesars."

"Your heirs? You have no children, Roman. Of course there is your niece's child, isn't there?" Suddenly Zenobia wondered if it had been ambition that had caused Marcus to betray her.

"My niece's child?" For a brief moment he was puzzled, and then he realized that she had meant Carissa. By the gods she must not know that both Carissa and her infant had perished, and that Marcus Alexander Britainus was a free man! Suddenly Aurelian's old insecurities rose up to haunt him, and he quickly said, "Yes, there is that child, but perhaps, goddess, we might have a child. Because Ulpia has been barren all these years does not mean I might not have a son by you." He leaned over and placed a kiss upon her wet shoulder.

Cleopatra had had children by her Roman lovers, Zenobia thought, and those children had all met unfortunate ends at the hands of the empire, for they stood in the way of those who wanted power.

Aurelian sank his strong white teeth into her golden shoulder, and muttered, "Think of it, goddess! What a child I could get from your loins! He would rule the world!" He was actually beginning to believe he might sire a child on this woman.

Suddenly irritated, Zenobia shook him off and climbed from the heated tub. "I do not know if I want any more children," she said.

"It is not your decision to make, goddess," he said, almost smugly. "When Ulpia dies I shall make you my empress. Until then I will continue to pump my seed into your belly, and I will make offerings to the gods praying for a son to come forth from your womb."

Zenobia laughed, the sound a bitterly amused one that echoed about the tiled and frescoed walls of the bath. "The gods have deserted me and mine, Roman. Your prayers will be in vain." Then she walked from the caldarium of the bath, and he heard her splashing in the frigidarium next door.

Aurelian now stood up and came from the hot tub himself. Looking down, he saw that his lance was hard, straight, and very ready. He longed to move quickly into the next room and take her then and there upon the cold tiles of the bath floor; but instead, he stood quietly, breathing deeply, willing his desire away. He wanted her as he had had her last night: warm, and willing, and pleading with him. He was tired of the virago she could be, and he preferred her sweetness. She was gone from the frigidarium when he entered it, and so he quickly plunged into the cool waters of the pool and refreshed himself.

Returning to their bedchamber, he found her still nude, but dry, creaming herself with a marvelously rich lotion that was scented with hyacinths. Wordlessly he took the pale-green glass bottle from her hand, poured some of the liquid into his own hands and rubbed them together, then began to massage her slowly. She was still stiff with her anger, and he said softly, persuasively, "Would it be such a terrible thing to give me a child, goddess? I love you so very much."

"But I do not love you, Roman. I am trying to please you, but I cannot will my emotions, and I will not lie to you."

"The child will bring us closer together," he said as if it was already a certainty. "When you hold our son in your arms; when you put him to your milk-filled breasts as did proper Roman matrons of old; then, Zenobia, will your heart be filled with love for me. I know it!" He turned her about and kissed her passionately, willing her to respond. And suddenly Zenobia was filled with compassion for him.

Pulling her head away, she looked up into his blue eyes, and said, "Oh, Aurelian! Even you have a weakness. I had not believed it until now."

"Yes, Zenobia, I have a weakness. I crave immortality, and only through my descendants may I have that immortality. Give me a son, goddess! Give me a son!" He swept her up then, and laid her upon their bed, sprawling near her, pushing his way between her legs to moisten with his tongue that soft and most secret of places to prepare her for his entry.

When he entered her she enfolded him within her arms, and was tender. She was tired of hurting, of being hurt, and afterward he fell asleep upon her breasts for another few hours. Zenobia, however, lay awake. Emperor of me Romans, she thought, you have made me feel sorry for you, but I will still be revenged. Revenged for Palmyra, for my sons, for myself. You have taken almost everything that is dear from me, but I will have mine again! Her eyes strayed to the small piece of white marble set so carefully upon a nearby table. It was the piece she had taken from amid the ruins of the great Palmyran Temple of Jupiter. It was all she had left of her city, except for her memories, which would never die. She felt the tears sliding down her face, but there was no sound. "I will be revenged," she whispered softly, and he stirred restlessly upon her breasts. She murmured soothingly as she might have to an infant, and he quieted.

In the weeks that followed Zenobia visited the city of Rome many times, for there were enough wealthy patricians anxious to entertain her that she need never worry about returning the miles to Tivoli come night. Never, however, would she stay at the emperor's residence on the Palatine Hill.

"I will not flaunt our relationship before your unfortunate, dying wife," she told Aurelian.

The Queen of Palmyra was impressed with Rome, but her discerning eye saw the difference between what it had been and what it was now. She saw the great marble public buildings and temples free of graffiti, and the parks cleared of garbage. She was shocked, however, by the thousands of healthy people who loitered and lingered about the streets, unemployed though able to work, for they were provided with food and entertainment. In fact Zen-obia suspected that Rome's famous bread and circuses would be the eventual death of the empire. Whatever Aurelian said, the people, used to their slothful ways for several generations now, would not tolerate being returned to the old ways of hard work and honest industry.

Patricians, she found, were a great bore on the whole. There was one exception, however, and that was the elderly Senator Tacitus whom she had met at Aurelian's games following the triumph. He was a witty old gentleman, and for some reason she felt comfortable with him. There was also her next-door neighbor, the lady Dagian. Here, too, was someone with whom she felt at ease, and daily she walked with her in the garden, Mavia running ahead of them, around them, lingering behind to watch a butterfly.

Zenobia was touched by the way the lady Dagian had taken to her small daughter; and Mavia now adored Dagian with a singular devotion. It was Dagian who now sewed little tunic dresses for Mavia, and sat in the grass with her weaving daisy chains and listening to her many confidences.

As they sat thus one late summer's afternoon with the sunlight upon their bowed heads, Zenobia suddenly looked at Dagian and her daughter, and a cry escaped her lips. The older woman looked up and, seeing Zenobia's obvious distress, rose quickly and hurried over to her.

"Zenobia, my dear, what is it?" she asked.

Zenobia looked into unexpectedly familiar blue eyes, deep-blue eyes, and cried, "Who are you?"

"I am Dagian," was the gentle answer. "I am your friend."

"Dagian who?"

It was then that Dagian understood what had happened, and closing her eyes a moment, she sighed softly before saying, "I am Dagian, wife to the late Lucius Alexander."

"You are the mother of Marcus Alexander Britainus?" Zenobia's voice was accusing.

"I am," came the quiet reply.

"How could you practice such a deception on me?" Zenobia demanded, and then, turning to her daughter, said, "Mavia, my darling, run and find Charmian." The child looked up to protest, but, seeing the angry look upon her mother's face, she rose and ran off. The Queen of Palmyra turned back to the older woman. "Is not your son's child enough for you? Must you steal my daughter away too?"

"Marcus has had no children here in Rome," Dagian replied.

"No children? The emperor says differently! Tell me, Dagian, did your traitorous offspring spawn a son or a daughter upon Aurelian's niece?"

"Carissa died in childbirth, and her infant with her."

"Surely the emperor has other nieces," Zenobia said sarcastically.

"If I did not know how badly my fool of a son had hurt you, Zenobia, I should slap you!" Dagian said vehemently. "Sit down now, and I will tell you the truth of the matter-unless, of course, you prefer to clutch your outrage to your bosom for the rest of your life!" Dagian gestured impatiently toward a marble bench in a small, secluded grotto in the garden and, suddenly wordless, Zenobia sat. Her companion settled herself next to her.

"When Marcus arrived home his father was dying. Now knowing that Marcus had already betrothed himself to you, Lucius had arranged with the emperor that our eldest son marry Carissa. My husband very much wanted to see his heir safely married before he died.

"Marcus, of course, told me that he could not marry the emperor's niece; that he was betrothed to you, that he loved you. He went immediately to Aurelian; but Aurelian refused to allow Marcus to break the contract made by my husband. He insisted that my son marry his niece. He threatened terrible things against our family if Marcus refused to marry Carissa. Marcus had no choice at that point. He had to wed Carissa.

"Immediately after they were married she told him she was pregnant with the emperor's child. She mocked him with the knowledge. Carissa was a terrible creature, Zenobia! My son despised her, for she was evil incarnate."

Zenobia was stone-faced. "Could he not have written to me, Dagian? When he left Palmyra I sent with him an escort of my personal guard, who were to bring back messages from Marcus at each port. The last of those messengers never returned."

"Because he was murdered, Zenobia! After the wedding my husband died. Marcus had planned that I should go back to Britain with my younger son, Aulus, and then he planned to leave Carissa and return to you in Palmyra. The emperor, however, knew every move we tried to make, and stopped us at the gates of Rome. Aurelian wanted a hostage to insure Marcus's good behavior, and what better hostage than a man's mother? As a last resort Marcus decided to send the final messenger back to Palmyra. He should have done it earlier, I agree, but he was afraid of compromising the family. When he sent for your man, our majordomo found him dead in his quarters, his throat slit while he slept. My son was trapped, unable to communicate with you."

A sob escaped Dagian's lips, and she brushed away the tears of remembrance that were beginning to fall. Instinctively Zenobia reached out and patted Dagian's arm. Dagian caught the younger woman's hand and clutched it. "My son was so terribly unhappy," she continued. "Then before Aurelian left for the East he told Marcus that he might have had Carissa marry any one of a number of eligible patrician men; but that he had chosen Marcus deliberately because he was your betrothed. He knew of your hatred for Rome because of your mother's murder years back, and he sought to rekindle that hatred so that you would rebel. The emperor wanted Palmyra back, not as a client kingdom, but as a province."

As the enormity of the betrayal slammed into her, Zenobia asked in a low, tight voice, "Are you telling me that Aurelian deliberately separated me from Marcus in order to take Palmyra from me?"

Dagian nodded.

"Then he is a bigger fool than I anticipated," Zenobia said coldly. "I fully intended declaring my son Augustus of the East long before Marcus left me. I did not, however, plan to do it until after Marcus and I were married. The news of your son's marriage to the emperor's niece left me with no reason for delay, and so I made my declaration in Alexandria." She laughed bitterly. "No, Dagian, I must accept full responsibility for my actions; but I will have my revenge upon Aurelian. Already because I am his mistress he grows to trust me. He will find in the end that that was a mistake."

"Marcus has never stopped loving you, Zenobia," Dagian said quietly.

"I am no longer the woman that Marcus loved," Zenobia said somewhat sadly. "Marcus loved a queen, a woman with pride and spirit. I am no longer a queen, and I have eaten the ashes of my pride in order to survive, in order to save my children. I can never forget that, nor can I forget the things that I must do in order to continue to survive. As long as Aurelian lives there is no hope for Marcus and me. I have not yet the friends nor the power to destroy him, but eventually I will."

Dagian looked upon Zenobia with wondering eyes. "My child, you will destroy yourself," she said.

"If I can destroy Aurelian in the process then it will be worth it," Zenobia replied.

"What of Mavia?"

"She has you," Zenobia said, "and she has her brother in Cyrene."

"She has her father too," was Dagian's answer, "but she needs both her mother and her father, my dear."

"It is impossible," was the adamant reply.

"No, it is not!" Dagian declared. "See Marcus! See my son!"

"Are you mad, Dagian? Where? Where will we not be seen and spied upon? Aurelian lives in terror that Marcus will reclaim me. When I first came to the villa he even lied to me about his niece's child, pretending that it was alive and well. He is beginning to trust me. He has even offered me marriage upon poor Ulpia Severina's death."

"You would not marry him?" Dagian was shocked.

"I will do what I must to be revenged!" Zenobia cried passionately, and Dagian closed her eyes in agony.

"Once," she said, "my son's failure to act quickly caused a separation that has brought you both great pain. You have been given a second chance, Zenobia. Do not let your lust for revenge wantonly destroy what the gods have so generously given you both!"

"The gods!" Zenobia laughed harshly. "Do you know what I was called by my people, Dagian? I was called the beloved of the gods; beloved of my people, and of the two men who loved me." She laughed again, and the bitterness in the sound scalded the older woman. "I honored the gods all my life, but they deserted me! If it appears that they have given me a second chance it is only so they may take it away!"

The tears sprang again to Dagian's eyes. In Zenobia's fierce and defiant words she could hear all the pain and hurt that the beautiful queen had suffered. Dagian wanted to reach out and clasp the younger woman to her bosom. She wanted to soothe her, and be a mother to her, and reassure her that everything would be all right; but she could not, for Dagian was not sure herself that everything was going to be all right.

Suddenly the silence of the grotto was broken by a man's voice. "Mother? Ah, there you are. I wondered where you had gotten to." Marcus Alexander Britainus stood within the entry of the little green hideaway.

Both women leapt from the marble bench, Dagian's hands flying to her heart, Zenobia turning pale at the sound of his voice. There was no escape! She tried to turn away, but Marcus's eyes were now used to the dimness and filling themselves with her.

"No!” His voice was hoarse with shock, and his hand reached out to rum her about. "No, beloved, don't turn away from me." Slowly he entered into the grotto, brushing past his mother as if she were not there. Stunned, Dagian could but watch them as they devoured each other with their eyes. Marcus gently grasped Zenobia by her upper arms, and, looking down into her face, now tear-streaked, spoke in a low but audible voice. "I love you," he 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."

"I have never stopped loving you," she said, "but our time is past. It would have been better if you had not seen me this day."

"Do not say it!" he almost cried.

"I belong to Aurelian, Marcus. Do you understand? I am Aurelian's imperial captive."

"You cannot give yourself to him willingly, beloved. I understand! I truly do!"

"But I do give myself willingly. I must for the sake of my children, and Aurelian is not a fool. In the beginning I fought him, but I am weary of fighting a battle I cannot win, and I have Vaba and Mavia to think of, Marcus." She sighed sadly. "I am no longer Zenobia, the Queen of Palmyra. Palmyra, like my spirit, lies shattered into a million pieces beneath the desert sun. The woman you knew died with her people." Then, pushing past him, she fled through the gardens back to her villa.

He made to follow her, but Dagian blocked his way, hissing at him in a voice so fierce he hardly believed it was his mother, "Do not follow her, Marcus, lest you compromise us all! Aurelian is frantically jealous of her, and fears you."

"He is wise to fear me, for I intend taking her back," Marcus vowed.

"No, my son. He plans to make her his wife when Ulpia Severina dies."

Marcus's face darkened with anger. "Never!" he spat. "I will see him in Hades first!"

Dagian shook her head sadly. "Why are you both so destructive, my son? You would fight the emperor openly over Zenobia, and she plots to destroy him even at the cost of her own life. Be patient, Marcus. Aurelian cannot last much longer. His time will come, as surely as it did to those soldier emperors before him. You have but to wait, my son!"

His face contorted with pain. "How can I wait any longer having seen her now, Mother? It has been two years since Aurelian separated us, and I have ached every day I have been away from her. Who planned that Zenobia live in the villa next to ours? Surely not the emperor?"

"No," Dagian said. "It was Ulpia Severina who arranged it."

"Because she wanted Zenobia and me to be reunited!" he said excitedly.

"Yes," Dagian admitted, "but I do not believe that she knew the depth of her husband's involvement with Zenobia, Marcus. Now she is dying, she will do everything in her limited power to see Aurelian is happy after she is gone; and if Aurelian wants your queen for his second wife then Ulpia will try to see he has what he wants."

"We could flee Italy, Mother. You, and Zenobia, Mavia, and I could flee to Britain!"

"And what of Zenobia's eldest son and his family in Cyrene, Marcus? What fate would await them in Aurelian's anger? Besides, the emperor's passion for her is all-consuming. He would come after her with every legion at his command, and when he caught us he would destroy you, my son. Zenobia loves you, Marcus. I was not sure of it until this afternoon, but when she saw you, spoke with you, left you, every fiber of her being proclaimed her love for you. You can do no less. You must not put her or her family in jeopardy. Trust me-and wait."

He sank down on the marble bench, and with a sob put his head in his hands. Zenobia! Her name burned like a brand within his brain. It was almost like a dream now, their brief encounter. Had he really held her in his arms again? Why had he not kissed her? The gods only knew he had wanted to. Another groan escaped his lips.

Heart pounding, Zenobia had fled across the gardens to her own villa. Marcus! She wanted to scream his name aloud! "Marcus! Marcus! Marcus!" she whispered softly. "Oh, Marcus, I love you, and I shall die if I cannot be with you again!" She stopped upon the villa's portico, suddenly taken by a terrible fit of trembling. Reaching out, she put her hand against a marble pillar to steady herself. She closed her eyes, but the tears could not be stopped. They rolled unchecked down her face in such profusion that her eyes were soon burning and swollen with the salty stream. Praise Jupiter that Aurelian was in the city this day and could not see her.

She let the pain sweep over her, and for several minutes she wept wildly, unashamedly. Then, taking several deep breaths, she attempted to pull herself back together. Her instinct told her to run back to him; to' fling herself into his arms; to flee Aurelian with the man she truly loved! Her conscience sternly reminded her of her duty to those for whom she was responsible: Mavia and old Bab; Adria, Vaba, Flavia, Julia, and young Gaius Porcius. So many people depended on her, and even now in the bleakest and darkest hour of her defeat, she could not think only of herself.

Slowly she wiped the tears from her face and walked into the villa. Luck was with her, and she saw no one in her hurried flight to her bedroom. With a sigh she flung herself upon her bed and fell into a restless sleep; a sleep haunted by his voice, a faceless voice that declared his love for her over and over and over until she awoke to discover that she was weeping again. She decided that this could not go on. If she could not get herself in hand then Aurelian was sure to discover that his dreaded rival, Marcus Alexander Britainus, was separated from her by just a few feet of garden. If the emperor suspected for one minute that they were in contact, she knew that he would kill Marcus without the slightest hesitation. Zenobia shivered. That thought alone was enough to bring her to her senses. I can face no more deaths, she thought.

In the weeks that followed, Ulpia Severina grew weaker. Aure-lian's passion for Zenobia, however, grew greater as each day passed, and he could scarcely bear to be out of her sight. He was jealous of any man who spoke gently to the queen, suspecting all of ulterior motives, even the kindly Claudius Tacitus, Rome's elderly and revered senator.

Aurelian was frantic over the fact that he could not stay in Rome for very long after his triumph. His army was quickly ready to march again, its destination Gaul. Zenobia refused to come with him, and Aurelian knew that if he pressed her she would complain to her friend Senator Tacitus. As an imperial captive, she was forbidden to leave the Rome-Tivoli area.

"What do you think will happen to me in your absence?" she mocked him on the evening of his departure.

"The city is full of men who want you," he declared.

"Indeed? Is Rome so barren of women that its men will pant after a woman past thirty? Be sensible, Roman! Why would I accept another man when I can have the emperor of the Romans?"

Strangely, her mockery soothed him. He felt momentarily foolish, for she had never given him any cause to doubt her.

Aurelian departed for Gaul, the last broken link in the Roman Empire's chain to be reforged, leaving his captive mistress to her solitude. For the first time in weeks Zenobia dared to renew her friendship with Dagian, although she had allowed Mavia to visit regularly with her grandmother.

Early one autumn evening the two women sat companionably together, Mavia having departed with her nursemaid Charmian for her cot.

"The news from Gaul is good for the empire," Zenobia said. 'Tetricus, the leader of the Gallic rebels, has surrendered, and Aurelian has spared both him and his son. Gaul is once more a loyal subject of Rome."

"Praise the gods!" Dagian said fervently. "Now there will be fewer Roman mothers to weep over their dead sons. How I hate war!"

"Sometimes there is no other choice," Zenobia replied.

"You can say that, having lost your younger son to a war?"

"I would rather Demi lived, but the choice was his. Like his father, he valued his freedom over all else. I see that now, although there was a time when I thought he did what he did merely to spite Vaba. Odenathus would have been proud of him."

"Yes," Marcus Alexander Britainus said, "he would have."

Zenobia looked up, and when their eyes locked hers quickly filled with tears. "Go away!" she said in a low, fierce voice. "Would you endanger us all?"

"No one can see us from either villa, beloved," he said, and then he turned to Dagian. "Mother, I want to walk down by the river with Zenobia. Will you keep watch?"

"You are mad!" Zenobia cried softly.

"I will watch," Dagian said. "Go with him, Zenobia. He will persist until you do. Even as a child, he would not give up until he had what he wanted. The servants are abed, and with the emperor away you will be safe."

Marcus took Zenobia's hand and led her to the cliff's edge where, to her surprise, she saw a flight of steps cut into the face of the incline. Slowly they descended, he carefully leading the way, her warm hand tucked into his big one. At the bottom of the steps was a narrow strip of pebbled beach, and in the dim twilight he led her a ways down it, finally stopping before a thick group of greenery. Pushing aside the brush, he drew her into a small cave with a sandy floor. Upon a small ledge was a lamp already burning with a cheery golden glow that cast dark, flickering shadows upon the walls of the cave.

"I have been seeking a place where we might meet in safety," he said by way of explanation, and then he swept her into his arms and kissed her.

Her arms moved swiftly around him, and their hearts pounded wildly with excitement. She molded herself against him, the desire for his love paramount. His mouth worked against hers, seeking, coaxing, drawing from her the kind of response she had never dreamed she would feel again. She was afire with her passion for him, taking his tongue into her mouth to play with, sucking upon it, nipping teasingly at it.

She was wantonly aggressive with him, murmuring against his ear when their lips had finally parted, "I had forgotten how tall you are, my darling. Ah, Marcus, I have missed you so!"

She made no protest when he loosened her long tunic dress and slipped it off her shoulders, allowing it to fall to her ankles. She stood, shivering slightly in her thin cotton camisa, as he stepped back, removed his long cape, and spread it over the sandy floor of the cave. Wordlessly he took off his tunic, toga, and undergarments. A soft smile touched her mouth as his dear and familiar body was revealed to her once more. She reached out and caressed his muscled shoulder. Their eyes met and then he smiled, too.

"Do you not want to tell me how foolish this all is, beloved?" he gently teased her.

In return she reached down and pulled her camisa up and off, flinging it into a corner of the tiny cave.

He caught his breath, seeing her once more as he had seen her so many times before their separation. His deep-blue eyes moved slowly over her lush form, a warm and loving glance; and she glowed in the light of his open and deep love for her. Reaching out, he drew her slowly to him and enfolded her in his arms. He stood holding her, feeling her warmth against him, enjoying the simple sensation of her. She made no move, standing quietly within the circle of his embrace as he reached up and carefully drew the jeweled pins from her hair, letting it fall loose in a dark swirl about her body. Gently he stroked her long hair, and the touch of his hand sent small, delighted shivers through her.

All her lovely memories of him came tumbling back, and she forgot her months of hurt and anger. This great, tall man, this half-Roman half-Briton was her mate; and she wanted no other. Zenobia shifted in order to free her hands and slowly slid them up his broad chest. When her palms rested flat upon him she let her slender fingers entwine and twirl themselves in a circular motion through the soft chestnut hair that covered the center of his chest. It was a lovely teasing motion that he bore patiently until she finally tired of her play and slid her arms up and about his neck, raising her head to look him fully in the face.

They were now practically welded together, her full breasts pressed against his chest; their thighs and bellies matching. Fierce passion blazed between them, and with a low growl he bent his head to take her lips again. With a sweet sigh she surrendered herself to him, her mouth softening beneath his as together they slid to their knees, still embracing. They kissed and they kissed until finally she pulled her bruised lips from his, laughing breathlessly, and with a rueful grin he admitted, "I can't get enough of you, beloved. I have touched no woman in all me time we have been apart."

"I remember," she said softly, "that after Mavia was born, and I remembered her conception, you told me you had touched no woman since me, for you wanted no other. Now you tell me the same thing again, and I am ashamed."

"Because of Aurelian? I understand why you have taken him as a lover, Zenobia. As an imperial captive you had no choice in the matter short of death. You are not a woman to take the easy way, my darling."

For a brief moment she thought of all that had passed between herself and the emperor. No, she would not have willingly accepted him as a lover, lust or no, had he not forced her.

A brief shadow of worry crossed her beautiful face, and he instantly asked, "What is it, beloved?"

"There is now," she said, "but what of tomorrow?"

"I do not know," he answered her honestly.

"So I must remain a choice bone to be fought over by the two of you," she said softly.

He sighed. "My love for you cannot put you in such a terrible position, beloved." Then he groaned. "Zenobia, is there nothing for us? I cannot go on like this. I dare not be seen with you publicly. I cannot even see my daughter except across a garden wall. I must not speak to the child lest she make some innocent remark to the emperor and compromise us both. It is not to be borne!"

Compassionately she put her arms around him, holding him close. He offered her the chance to walk away from this encounter. To remain meant that once more they would become lovers, and then when Aurelian returned and she welcomed him to her bed, she would truly become a whore. It isn't fair, she thought angrily. None of this is of my making, yet I am a pawn. Suddenly his voice cut into her thoughts.

"Zenobia, once I asked you to marry me secretly, but you refused for the sake of your son, and your position. Now will I ask you again. There are many forms of Roman marriage, but legally all that is necessary is that we consent to live together as man and wife. If we make this consent before several witnesses- my mother, old Bab, and your younger servant, Adria-then our union is legal. Will you marry me, beloved? Now? Tonight?"

"But what of Aurelian? He is already on his way back from Gaul. How can I be your wife and his mistress? I do not think that I can do it, Marcus. Not even for you, my love."

"You won't have to, beloved. I promised Gaius Cicero that I should look in on his wife while he was away; and when I visited with Clodia today she read me his latest message to her. Aurelian plans to stay in Rome but a very short time when he returns from Gaul. His next campaign must begin almost immediately. He goes east again toward Byzantium. There are rumblings there of extreme discomfort, and unless he can quell them he will have a great deal of trouble on his hands."

"A winter campaign? Your rumblings must be serious."

"He will be in Rome less than a month. You can hold him off by claiming to be pregnant. Not only will it keep him off you, but it will prevent him from taking you with him on campaign."

"Yes," she said slowly, "I could do that. The emperor desperately wants a child; but Marcus, when he returns from this war with Byzantium? What will we do then?"

"We will not be here then, Zenobia. None of us are kept under guard any longer, a mistake on Aurelian's part. While he marches his army across Macedonia, we will be making our way to Britain. Winter travel is dangerous, but we will survive. No one will come after us, I swear, for who will know we are gone? You do not entertain, nor do you socialize with fashionable Rome. It could be that you will not be missed until Aurelian returns, and our trail will long be cold by then."

"He will know we have gone to Britain," she said, "especially if you and your mother are missing, too."

"We will be where he cannot find us, beloved, I promise you that. We will not go to my mother's people, but rather to a group of small islands at the very tip of Britain. I visited them once when I was a boy. My grandfather owned one of those little islands-it was a dowry from one of his wives. It belongs to Aulus now, but I know that he will give it to us. It is very tiny, but it is warm almost all the year long, and there are palm trees there. Not our beautiful Palmyran palms, but palm trees nonetheless. The Romans have never been seen upon those islands, Zenobia. Aurelian will not find us there."

"My son is in Cyrene," she said. "What will Aurelian do to him, Marcus?"

He smiled. There were so many barriers to their being together, but he would dismantle them one by one until she was content. "If I swear to you that I will arrange to see to your entire family's escape, will you marry me tonight?"

"Yes!"

"Then I promise you, beloved. Everything shall be as you want."

Suddenly Zenobia began to giggle, and when he looked somewhat puzzled she stopped and explained. "How can I ever explain to our children that their father proposed marriage to me while we both knelt naked in a cave?"

A dark eyebrow waggled dangerously at her. "You plan to give me children, my beauty?" he queried.

"Of course!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I may be past thirty, but I can yet give you children!"

"Then let us start now, beloved," he said, and pulled her down upon his cloak with him. "I have hungered for you, Zenobia, for two years. I am no longer interested in talk."

"Then be silent, Marcus Britainus," she commanded him, and drawing his head to hers she kissed him a long and sweet kiss.

Although his head was spinning, he still managed to place an arm about her shoulders and cradle her against him. His big hand caressed her full breasts, and Zenobia felt a thrill run through her. She had never again thought to be loved by him, and now as his passion grew her own rose to match his. He bent his dark chestnut head to nuzzle at her breasts, and shifting so that she lay upon her back, she drew him as close to her as she could, murmuring softly as his tongue encircled her taut nipples. She threaded her fingers through his thick hair, and with one hand rubbed the sensitive back of his neck.

"Oh, Marcus," she murmured, "you will think me wanton, but I am so filled with desire for you, my darling. Do not play long with me, I beg you."

With a low rumble of deep laughter, he lifted his head from her ripe breasts and, shifting his position slightly, gently entered her. Simultaneously they sighed, and then as he began to move in a slow and sensuous rhythm against her, she nipped him lightly upon his shoulder.

Little wildcat," he whispered, "I love you."

"I love you," she whispered back, and then Zenobia gave herself over to the storm of passion that built quickly within her, sending her moaning and thrashing against him as her desire peaked over and over again. Still he would not give her release, and when she roundly cursed him in her childhood Bedawi dialect he laughed aloud, but continued the pleasure-pain until he knew from her mewlings and whimperings that she would bear no more. Only then did he tumble with her into that dark abyss of passion, already longing to possess her again.

With the saucer lamp flickering low, and the chill of the little, damp cave licking at their naked flesh, the lovers did not stay long that night. They now desired only one thing: to pledge themselves quickly in matrimony before witnesses. Neither would feel safe until that sacred promise had been made to the other. Alone each was helpless, together they were invincible.

Silently, hurriedly, they dressed and left the cave, walking swiftly back down the pebbled beach and up the cliff staircase. Although they had been gone less than an hour, night had fallen, and had it not been for the quarter moon they would have had a hard time finding their way. Dagian dozed, her head nodding against her chest as she sat waiting on the marble bench. Gently Marcus kissed her, and she awoke with a small start.

Before she could speak he said, "Zenobia and I intend to marry tonight, Mother. Will you go to her house, and bring old Bab and Adria here to us? We will pledge ourselves here beneath the night sky for all the gods to see. Let Diana, the goddess of the moon, and the hunt, be our chief witness."

If Aurelian learns of this…" Dagian said quietly, but Zenobia cut her short.

"Tonight we have learned that there is no life for us apart. We should rather face the emperor's wrath than ever be separated again, Dagian."

"Besides, Mother, he is not going to know. Trust me, for this time I have a foolproof plan."

Dagian could see that there was no reasoning with either of them. The light of their shared love shone in both their eyes, and she realized that further argument would be useless. Obedient to her son's wishes, she rose from her marble bench and hurried off to Zenobia's villa to fetch the queen's two faithful servants. When she was well out of earshot Zenobia turned to her beloved, and said softly, "I cannot tell Aurelian that I am with child, Marcus. Not when he first returns, at least. He is no fool for all his passion for me. If I say I am to bear his child, he will call in a physician to examine me. He will want to be assured that both the child and I are in good health; he will want to know the birthdate; he will want reassurance. Whether I am your wife, or not, I will have to play his whore a little time longer. If you love me, and value our safety, then you must live with that knowledge. Can you? Perhaps you would prefer that we wait until we can escape to Britain." Her gray eyes looked searchingly at him. 'Tell me true, my darling."

For a moment Marcus looked unhappy. The mere thought of Aurelian touching Zenobia infuriated him, yet he knew she was right. If she claimed to be with child, an excited and happy emperor would demand not only proof of her condition, but more dangerous knowledge as well. Still, he did not want to wait. Even knowing that she must bed again with the emperor, Marcus wanted Zenobia for his wife-now, tonight. What she did with Aurelian would mean nothing to her, and in the years to come the memory would fade from both their minds. What she did she did for love of him, for their future together, for their descendants. "I love you," he said quietly. "I do not choose to wait." Then he took her into his arms and kissed her tenderly. "You have always been my wife, beloved."

She brushed the sudden tears from her cheeks. "I think that perhaps the gods have not deserted me after all. Mayhap they were merely testing me, for this night I have found the kind of happiness that is rarely granted to any mortal."

“Are you not Zenobia, the Queen of Palmyra?" he said. "Are you not beloved of the gods, of your people, and of me?"

"Oh yes," she whispered breathily at him. "Yes, my darling, darling Marcus!" And she clung hungrily to him, looking up at him with the shining light of her love, transforming her whole being until she seemed almost luminous.

He stared down at her transfixed, totally unaware that his own love shone as brightly, infusing her with such warmth and well-being that for the first time in months she felt safe, no longer afraid. She had lived with fear these many months, although never once had she dared admit it, even to herself. Now, like a ship escaped from a terrible tempest, she was in a safe harbor.

At a noise on the path they broke apart. Into view came Dagian, Bab, and Adria.

Zenobia's elderly servant looked at Marcus with a sharp eye. "So, Marcus Alexander Britainus, you are finally come back to us."

"Yes, Bab, and tonight I shall claim my own."

"It is good," the old woman nodded.

"The slaves?" Zenobia queried her servants.

"All in their quarters, and sleeping," Adria assured her mistress.

"Very well, then," the queen said, and she turned to Marcus. "Shall we begin, my darling?"

"Yes, beloved."

So in the green, sweet-smelling garden, its flowers lightly touched by the silver glow of the quarter moon, Zenobia, the Queen of Palmyra, turned to her lover, Marcus Alexander Britainus, and said in a low but clear voice, "When and where you are Gaius, I then and there am Gaia." It was that simple. They were now man and wife, and he took her once more into his arms to kiss her as Dagian and Adria wiped the tears from their faces and old Bab gave a little hiccough of a sob, and then said, "It has taken you two long enough. I thought never to live long enough to see you both wed. Now may I die in peace."

"You are not going to die yet," Marcus chuckled.

"No, I am not," the old lady cackled, "else who will teach your son manners!"

"And keep me in my place?" he teased her.

"My children," Dagian said, "we must separate now. None of us must allow the least suspicion to fall on Zenobia and Marcus."

Adria and Bab nodded, and began to make their way back to the villa, while Dagian walked in the opposite direction toward her own house. The newly married pair stood hand in hand for a few minutes, talking quietly to reassure each other that they were indeed man and wife.

"Once you said you would not marry me except that it be in the bright light of day, before all; and that I should escort you with much pomp to our new home. Alas, at the moment I have no new home to escort you to, beloved."

"How foolish I was," she answered him.

"I should have insisted, especially when I knew I had to return to Rome. I should not have left you so unprotected, Zenobia. I will never again leave you, my darling! Go now and dream of me, beloved." He kissed her gently once more, and then stood watching as she obediently turned and hurried back to her own villa. She would not always, he thought, somewhat amused, be that obedient.

Walking back through the garden, Zenobia's heart soared with happiness. She was his wife now, and nothing would ever part them again. She had once warned Aurelian that in the end she would win the battle between them, and now she almost had. It mattered not to her that he would not know, at least not yet. What mattered most was that she and Marcus were finally united, united now and forever; and nothing, not even death, would ever divide them again!