Beloved (56 page)

“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 Britainus, 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 sightiess, 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!”

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?”