Beloved (19 page)

“What will happen to your sons, Deliciae, when Zenobia’s eldest becomes King of Palmyra? Think on it, you little fool!”

“My sons will serve the family as they are being taught to serve it. A king’s mantle is a heavy burden, and it is one I would prefer be left to another, to the rightful heir, Vaballathus.”

“Sluttish idiot!” was Al-Zena’s parting remark as the two women went their separate ways.

Al-Zena’s attitude toward her daughter-in-law was not particularly improved on hearing that she, the King’s mother, was to be created princess dowager, a title thought of by Zenobia. “As my wife has so carefully pointed out, Mother,” Odenathus explained, “you cannot be known as Princess of Palmyra, for if we should have a daughter that would be her rightful title.”

“Then why was I not created the dowager queen?” Al-Zena demanded furiously.

“There can only be one Queen of Palmyra,” said Zenobia quietly. “Throughout the ages there has been much trouble when a kingdom had an old queen and a young queen.”

“I am most certainly not old!” snapped Al-Zena, outraged more by the word old than anything else.

“There can be only one queen,” Zenobia repeated, and her gray eyes, their golden lights dancing, met the furious black-eyed gaze of her mother-in-law.

“How dare you!”
Alss-Zena hissed venomously.
“You!
A little desert savage! How dare you attempt to lord it over me. I was a princess born! I am royal by birth not marriage. Do you think a few mumbled words by a priest of Jupiter can make you royal!?”

“You have accepted your royalty as a right,” Zenobia shot back. “You believe that having been born royal is merely enough; but I tell you, Al-Zena, it is not! Being royal bears with it many and great responsibilities. When have you ever thought of anything except yourself? Have you ever thought of your people? Worried about their welfare not just today, but in the years to come when you shall not be here, and someone else reigns in your stead? Being royal means knowing the world about us so we may best judge this city’s course so our people will always, even in the centuries to come, be prosperous and happy. They are not responsibilities lightly taken, but I gladly help my lord husband, Odenathus, to carry his burden!”

“And you approve of this?” Al-Zena’s voice was almost a shriek. “You approve of this mannish attitude on the part of your wife?”

“She is exactly the kind of woman Father would have chosen for me,” came the devastating reply.

“And what am I?” Al-Zena was outraged.

The young king smiled. “Why, you are what you have always been. You are a supreme bitch.” There was a furious gasp from the older woman, but Odenathus put a friendly arm about his mother and continued with his speech. “Do not be offended, Mother. I actually admire you, for in a strange way you are admirable. You took your position those many years ago when you came to Palmyra, and you have never deviated from it. Such strength of will is to be commended.” He gave her a gentle hug. “Be content, Mother, with your lot. You have little to complain of, for all of your wants are most generously met.”

“You have made her your enemy,” Zenobia later told her husband.

“She was never my friend,” was his reply.

“She is your mother, and although you have never been allowed to feel any love for her—although you were never close as a mother and a son should be—in her own strange way she has been proud of you and she has loved you. You were cruel, my Hawk, and that is not like you. You hurt her, and Al-Zena’s memory for an offense, real or imagined, is a long one.”

“Why do you defend her, my flower? She has never been your friend. She undermines you at every opportunity she gets.”

“She cannot hurt me while you love and trust me, Hawk. And I shall never give you cause not to love or trust me. We are as one.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you discontinued your lessons for the time being.”

“Are you jealous?” she teased him, then grew serious. “Oh, Hawk, he knows so much. He has taught me philosophy, poetry, history, and Western music and art. I am learning how the Roman Empire grew, and that has already taught me that power, especially the vast power that the Romans have gained, is dangerous, for it corrupts completely.

“Marcus says that from the time the Roman Empire began its eventual destruction was inevitable. They are weak now, my Hawk. Marcus tells me that the emperor is far too busy persecuting the Christians to care about the Eastern empire. That is why he made you king, my Hawk! Be a king, and throw off the golden shackles with which Rome binds us!”

“No, Zenobia. If we revolt, the Emperor Valerian will be here in the twinkling of an eye. We will be free one day, but now is not the time. Besides, the Persians have become bold again. I cannot fight Rome face to face while I have another enemy at my back.”

“The Persians will never be Rome’s allies,” Zenobia replied scornfully.

“No, you are right, but if I leave Palmyra to fight the Romans, how long do you think it would be before King Shapur and his armies would march into Palmyra. They have always coveted this city and its riches. I will not destroy Vaballathus’s inheritance.”

“What kind of inheritance is it when it can be taken away? The Romans made you king, they can just as easily unmake you.”

“No. They need me, and it is little enough that they call me
king
in order to gain my aid. Wait and see, my flower. One day we will throw off the yoke that has bound us all these years; but first I must remove the Persian threat from my rear flank. The Romans do me a favor, Zenobia. They have given me the troops with which to deal with King Shapur.”

“And while you do battle with King Shapur, I will hold the city for you, my Hawk. My mounted camel corps and my mounted archers will hold back any attacker,” she promised.

He swept her into his arms, and with one swift motion loosed her long black hair. It swirled about them like a storm cloud, and his mouth met hers in a long and burning kiss. Zenobia felt herself melt body and soul into him, but at the same time she was filled with great strength. She slipped her arms about his neck, and when he freed her lips she looked adoringly up at him. “Oh, Zenobia, you are a wife to be proud of, my darling!”

“Was I not blest by Mars at my birth?” she replied.

The retired governor Antonius Porcius Blandus, who had so often threatened to retire to Antioch or Damascus, remained in Palmyra upon his release from the imperial civil service.

“And where would I go?” he had demanded irritably when Zenobia teased him about it. “I have grown old in Rome’s service, and I have spent most of my life here in the East. I could not stand Italy’s climate any longer. Did you know that it can sometimes snow in the imperial city? Bah! Why do I bother to tell you that? You know nothing of snow! Besides, all the family that I knew is gone. Oh, I have an older brother who writes me every year to tell me of the family, but it means little to me. Perhaps now that I have retired I shall marry. I never before had time for a wife.”

“Indeed, Antonius Porcius, you must marry,” Zenobia said. “I can recommend the state of matrimony quite highly.” She fully expected him to choose some proper widow who would provide him with an instant family in his old age. Instead, to her great surprise, the former governor’s choice was Zenobia’s childhood friend, Julia Tullio, who at nineteen was still unwed. The young queen was shocked.

“You do not have to marry that old man if you do not want to, Julia! How could your family allow such a thing? He is older than your father!”

“As a matter of fact he is five years younger than my father,” came the amused reply. “Dearest Zenobia, I want to marry Antonius.
I have known him all my life, and I care for him. I am honored he has chosen me.”

“But you do not love him!” Zenobia protested.

“You did not love King Odenathus when you married him—and do not shake your head at me, for you didn’t! You have fallen in love with him since your marriage, and now you cannot remember a time when you didn’t love him. Zenobia, be sensible. I am almost twenty, and I very much want to be a wife and a mother. Antonius is a kind and good man. He is tender and generous, and we have much in common; in fact I have more in common with him than with any young man I have ever met. Besides, a husband should be older than his wife. Is not the king older than you by some years?”

“Only ten,” was the reply. “Oh, Julia, isn’t there some younger man you would prefer? What of Marcus Alexander Britainus? He is much younger than Antonius Porcius.”

“Marcus Alexander?” Julia shuddered delicately, then looked searchingly at Zenobia. “His heart is occupied, and besides, he terrifies me.”

“His heart is occupied elsewhere? Oh, Julia, do tell! I have heard no gossip of it. Who is she?”

So she doesn’t know, Julia thought. Am I the only one who sees that he loves her? Then she said, “It is not a woman, Zenobia, but his business that is his wife, his mistress, his everything.”

“Oh.” To her puzzlement, Zenobia found herself rather relieved that Marcus Alexander had no lover.

Julia smiled. “Do not fret yourself, Zenobia. I am not being forced into this marriage,”

“I still believe that you could do better,” Zenobia said.

Now Julia laughed. “No, I could not.” She paused for a moment as if debating with herself, then she said, “Most important of all, my dearest friend … I shall be loved.”

“Loved?”
Zenobia looked puzzled.

“Yes, loved. Only when I accepted his proposal did Antonius admit that he loved me. He said he had loved me since I was a child, but that he dared not speak until he was sure that my heart was not engaged elsewhere, for he did fret in his mind over the vast difference in our ages.”

“But what of children, Julia? Will you be able to have them?”

“It will be as the gods allow,” came the reply.

“No, no! I mean—well, do you think he can?”

“Can what?” Then Julia’s face grew pink. “Oh!” she said.

“Can he?” Zenobia repeated.

“I expect so,” Julia said slowly. “My father still does, and for that matter so does your father. Age, I have been told, is no deterrent.”

“Deterrent to what?” Marcus Alexander Britainus entered the room.

The two women giggled, and Zenobia, catching her breath, said, “Nothing that should concern you, Marcus, but come and wish Julia good fortune, for she is to be married.”

“Indeed?” He came forward, and smilingly planted a kiss upon Julia’s blushing cheek. “And who is the fortunate man if I may ask?”

“It is I who am fortunate, Marcus Alexander. I am to wed with Antonius Porcius.”

“I will not be corrected in this, Julia Tullio. It is Antonius Porcius who is the lucky one,” Marcus said firmly. “May the gods smile upon you both, and I hope that I am to be invited to the wedding.”

Julia colored prettily again, and said breathlessly, “But of course you are to be invited, Marcus Alexander.” She then turned to Zenobia. “I must go now. I have already stayed overlong, and I only came to tell you my news.” She rose, as did Zenobia, and the two women embraced before Julia hurried out the door.

Zenobia watched her go, and then, turning back to Marcus, said, “I pray the gods she will be happy. He is so much older than she is, and if they have children she will spend all her time nursing her babes
and
her elderly husband.”

“You do not think that a husband should be older than his wife, Highness?”

“Older, yes, but not thirty-two years older! Julia’s father is his contemporary.”

“And how does Julia feel?”

“She says he loves her, and that she cares for him.”

“Then you should not worry, Highness.”

Suddenly the door opened, and Deliciae hurried in, followed by Bab. “Al-Zena is coming,” Deliciae said, “and she has the king with her. She wants to make trouble between you, and has told him that you are alone with Marcus Alexander.”

“Why on earth should that matter?” Zenobia demanded, but Marcus instantly understood, and nodded at Deliciae who then said:

“Bab and I have been with you the whole time, Highness!”

“Julia Tullio is to marry Antonius Porcius,” Zenobia said, quickly comprehending the urgency of their mission if not the reason behind it.

The two other women had barely settled themselves in a corner when the door to the room again opened and Al-Zena hurried in, followed by Odenathus.

“There!”
She pointed a long, bony finger at Zenobia. “Did I not tell you, my son!? Did I not say it was so!? This wicked creature is alone with another man! It is as I have suspected all along. She is betraying you!”

Before either Odenathus or Zenobia could say a word, old Bab sprang from her corner seat. “How dare you accuse my innocent mistress of such perfidy!” she shrieked. “It is you who is the wicked creature!”

“Really
, Al-Zena,” came Deliciae’s amused voice from another part of the room, and they all turned to look at her. “Your obsession is beginning to do strange things to you. Ah, well, ’tis but a sign of age, I expect.”

Al-Zena’s mouth fell open in surprise. “She was alone, I tell you! The Tullio girl left, and she was alone with him! Ala, my maid, told me she was alone with him, and she would not lie to me!”

“Perhaps she was not aware that both Bab and the lady Deliciae were in the room with her Highness when I arrived,” Marcus said, finally finding his voice. Al-Zena’s viciousness had surprised him.

Odenathus’s mother looked for someone to attack, and as Bab was too far beneath her she chose Deliciae. “If you were here as you say you were,” she snarled, “then what did you speak of, tell me that!”

“We spoke of Julia’s forthcoming marriage,” Deliciae said sweetly. “She is shortly to marry Antonius Porcius.”

“I think, Mother, that this must be the end of it. You have made an error, and you owe both my wife and my friend, Marcus Alexander, an apology.”

“Never!”
Her face contorted with fury, Al-Zena stormed from the room.

“I will leave you to your lessons, Zenobia,” the king said. “I must return to the council from which I was dragged.” He bowed to her, turned, and left the room.