Page 37 of Beloved

“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, hes 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 resdess 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.

Aurelian’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 the 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!