Beloved (69 page)

Hostilius laughed. “Do you think this proud bitch will admit to having been humped by a piece of vermin like you? Don’t be ridiculous! Help me, now!”

“What do you want me to do, noble Senator?”

“I’m taking her down, and I want you to restrain her across your knees. I have a fancy to beat her bottom for a bit.” Hostilius unlocked the iron manacles from Zenobia’s wrists, and once again her feet made contact with the floor. “Don’t help him, good jailor!” she cried out. “I will say he sneaked into the cell when you weren’t looking, and that unknowingly you locked him in here with me. I will claim you found him when my cries alerted you! Good jailor, I am a most important imperial captive!”

Hostilius dealt Zenobia a staggering blow to the side of her head. “Pay no attention to the bitch! She is no one!” The whip descended upon her tender flesh, forcing a cry through her clenched teeth.

“Have you ever taken a woman like one takes a boy,” Hostilius demanded of the jailor, and then he laughed. “Yes, yes, I can see you have! Well, I am going to take her like that now! Lay her flat, jailor! I imagine that she is quite ready for me now—aren’t you, Zenobia?”

The jailor laid her face down in the straw, and then she felt Hostilius climbing upon her buttocks. The jailor held her arms down stretched above her head so she might not struggle. The gods! she thought. Dogs mate this way, but people don’t! She felt his fingers beginning to separate the halves of her bottom, felt something slimy trying to push at her, and suddenly she screamed as loud as she could.
“Nooo! Nooooooo!”

There was a roar of outrage from the doorway of the cell, her arms were suddenly loosened, and she felt Hostilius’s weight yanked off of her. The jailor was already babbling hysterically, “I only did what he told me! I am a poor man, sir! Don’t kill me!”

“Let him go, Marcus,” she heard Gaius Cicero say, and then Marcus’s voice replied, “Run for your miserable life, man, before I regret my merciful intent.”

She ached all over, but she was too weak to rise. She could only lie there, face down in the straw, listening as her husband said coldly, “You’re a dead man, Valerian Hostilius!” And then
there was a strange sound, a wheezing sigh, and the thump of a body hitting the floor. She didn’t need to be told that the senator was dead.

She fainted with relief.

Returning to consciousness, she was totally confused as to where she was. As her eyes slowly focused she became aware of movement, of the fact that she ached terribly, the very fabric of her tunic scratching irritatingly against her skin. She was dressed! She was in a litter! She was in Marcus’s arms! She was safe!

“Marcus!” she whispered eagerly through cracked lips.

“Beloved!” His face swam into view, growing clearer with each moment.

“Praise the gods you came in time,” she said softly. “He was going to—”

“I know what the swine was going to do,” he said grimly.

“Gaius went to you?”

“Yes. They only held him long enough to be certain there was no counterplot. He has already sworn his fealty to the senate, and will be safe from harm no matter what happens to Aurelian.”

“I am free?”

“Yes. The physician Celsus wasted no time in reporting to Senator Tacitus that you were not carrying Aurelian’s child; and the order had already been given that you be released. Hostilius knew that it would be.”

“Is he dead, Marcus?”

“Yes. I slit his fat throat!”

“We will go tomorrow?”

“Yes. I have requested permission in my mother’s name to take you to the seaside to recuperate. Tacitus signed the order himself. I think he suspects that it is not my mother who wants to take you to the seaside. We could not get through the city gates to the port, however, without a pass from the senate. You are still an imperial captive.”

“Are you taking me home?”

“Yes, my beloved. I am taking you home.”

Her eyes closed again, and when she next awoke she was tucked into a comfortable bed within a house. She was stripped of her garments, but her wounds had been washed and dressed with a sweet-smelling unguent. The coverlet of the bed had been raised somehow, and although it sheltered her, it did not touch her sensitive skin. She sighed with relief, and instantly Dagian was at her side.

“My dearest daughter, praise Mother Juno that you are safe!” Her blue eyes were wet with tears.

“What time is it?”

“Almost dawn,” came the reply.

“Have you watched by my bedside all night, Dagian?”

“Only the last hour, my dear. Marcus has been with you all night.”

“I am all right,” Zenobia reassured Dagian, “just somewhat sore. Marcus should not have sat up all night, especially when we must leave this day.”

“We will not leave until the afternoon, Zenobia, and Marcus has changed our plans slightly. When he returned with you late yesterday he sent word to his captain to take his ship from the old harbor at Ostia and move it to the new harbor at Portus. Rather than ride to the coast we are going to go by barge down the Tiber, and through the Claudian canal directly into the Portus harbor. It will be far more comfortable for you, my dear. Our household goods left here yesterday at dawn, and will be awaiting us tomorrow aboard the ship. A rider went after them late yesterday to tell them of the change in plans.”

“Then we sail tomorrow?”

“On the first tide after we arrive, my dear.”

“I shall not be sorry to say good-bye to Italy, Dagian, as much as I fear your Britain.”

“Fear Britain? Why should you fear my homeland?” Dagian was astounded.

“From what Marcus has told me over the years, Dagian, your land is a wild and fierce one.”

“From what Marcus has told me, Zenobia, your homeland is a wild and fierce one,” Dagian replied with a smile. “I think, my dear daughter, that it is merely a matter of familiarity. Britain seems frightening to you because you have never been there. Besides, I doubt that you will ever see one of our warriors painted blue and driving his chariot in battle.” Then she laughed at the startled look on Zenobia’s face.

“Your warriors paint themselves blue?”

“Indeed they do,” Dagian said, chuckling.

“Why?”

“Because, my dear, our warriors believe that if they fall in battle, their enemies may strip them only of their possessions, but never of their dignity as long as they are painted blue.”

Zenobia thought a moment, and then to Dagian’s surprise she nodded her head, and said thoughtfully, “Yes, I understand that.”

What a strange thing, Dagian thought. I meant to tease her about our warriors, and instead I have calmed her fears. “Go back to sleep, Zenobia,” she said. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”

She slept again, awakening close to midday. Both Bab and Adria were with her now, and her soreness was almost gone. She stretched, yawning lazily, and Bab hurried over to the bed, her face concerned. “The lady Dagian has told me of your ordeal, my baby! Curse the Romans! They are evil people!”

“My husband is a Roman, Bab.”

“No, he is not!” was the quick reply. “Perhaps his father was, but Marcus Alexander Britainus is like his mother.”

Zenobia laughed. “You have settled it in your mind, I can see. Very well, I shall not argue with you, old friend. However, I do wish to rise. Please see to my clothing.”

While old Bab did as she was bid, Adria gently lifted the bed coverlet back, and helped Zenobia to get up. Her face flushed with embarrassment when she saw her mistress’s body, and she turned away. Looking down, Zenobia gasped in shock. “Venus aid me!” she cried, for upon her breasts were distinct fingermarks, her lower torso was criss-crossed with narrow, raised red welts, and in a small table mirror she could see over her shoulder that her buttocks were badly bruised.

Turning around, Bab shrieked in horror and gaspingly clutched at her chest. “What have they done to you, my baby?!”

Zenobia was concerned less for herself than for the old lady who had so faithfully served her since childhood, and so she said, “It’s all right, Bab. But do you know of some potion or unguent that will help me erase these bruises quickly?”

Diverted, the old woman thought a moment, and then said, “I will send one of the slaves to the apothecary’s shop for what I need. Do not fear, my baby, I will have the mark of that beast gone as quickly as possible. What crassness to mark your lovely skin so! Why even the emperor never treated you thus!”

“No,” Zenobia said, “he didn’t,” and she remembered Hostilius’s remark about the difference in treatment among imperial captives.

Early in the afternoon they left the house of the Alexander family. They traveled to the barge landing by litter, the slaves and the servants walking along beside them. It was not a particularly
large or impressive party, nothing that would attract attention. In addition to Adria, Bab, and Charmian, there were half a dozen Alexander family slaves. At the docks their papers were checked and approved by a centurion, for no one entered or exited the city without permission.

The barge was luxurious, but not overlarge. It had a sail that was now raised to catch the afternoon winds, and they began their trip downriver to the harbor at Portus.

The weather was fair and warm, but still they traveled, master and servants alike, in a state of nervous expectation. Neither Marcus nor Zenobia nor Dagian would feel entirely safe until they were at sea. When night fell slaves and family partook of a simple meal upon the open deck of the barge. It was a meal that they had supplied themselves, for the bargemaster was bound only to offer them passage and shelter to Portus.

When night fell the slaves settled themselves to sleep upon the open deck while the family and their personal servants sought shelter in the barge’s cabin. There were but two bunks, and Dagian was settled in one, while Mavia and old Bab were put in the other.

Bab protested loudly. “No, no, my baby, it is not right that you sleep upon the floor while I rest in comfort.”

“Peace, old woman!” Zenobia said. “Remember your years. In the last months you have been dragged from Palmyra to Rome, and now you undertake another long journey. I would have you comfortable so you will always be here to serve me. What, Bab, would I do without you?”

“I will be with you as long as the gods allow, and no longer,” Bab said.

Marcus smiled warmly at the faithful old servant, and he put a kindly arm about her sturdy shoulders. “Britain will be lovelier, Bab, if your old bones do not ache. Sleep with Mavia, and argue no longer.”

Bab looked adoringly up at him, a look that Zenobia had never seen her bestow before upon any man. “Yes, master,” she said, “and I thank you for your kindness to me.”

Adria and Charmian were settled, one beneath each bunk, and then Marcus and Zenobia returned outside to sit on the open deck. Above them, the warm spring night glistened with a million bright stars. The river gently caressed the flat bottom of the boat, and the wind teased at the loose tendrils of Zenobia’s long, black hair as she faced downriver.

He stood behind her, his arms wrapped securely about her
waist, drawing her firmly against him. For a long while they were silent, and she marveled that just his simple gesture of holding her could make her feel so marvelous, so loved, so cherished. She adored the hardness of his chest against her back, the softness of his breath against her hair.

“I am so glad that you love me,” she said quietly.

He laughed softly. “At last we are together.”

“Do not say it,” she begged. “Not yet. Not until we have escaped the empire. Once we are free of Rome then I shall care not what happens as long as we are together, Marcus. I have loved you for so very long that I dare not believe in this happy ending quite yet.”

“We are together, Zenobia, now and forever,” he said with quiet assurance, “and we shall rebuild our lives on the edge of Britain, and rear our daughter in safety, and have a son to love and raise.”

“I yet fear the motives of the gods,” she said softly.

“Do not fear them, beloved, for you are their chosen, and have always been.”

He turned her now, and his mouth touched hers with infinite gentleness, tasting as a bee tastes of precious nectar, caressing possessively, communicating his love of her, his need of her. With a sigh she returned the kiss, her lips parting for him, her arms wrapping about his neck to mold her lushness against his hardness. His tongue darted through her lips and about her mouth, touching with wildfire the tip and sides of her tongue, the roof of her mouth, the corners of her mouth. The kiss deepened, growing more ardent, more possessive, stoking the passionate fires burning deep within them both. Zenobia shuddered with surrender, but with the sudden realization of where they were Marcus very gently broke off the embrace, still holding her close to him.

She laughed weakly, and said low, “Never has any man ever driven me to such passion, my darling. If only there were a place upon this ship of yours where we might be alone. I do not think I can bear being parted from you for much longer.”

He chuckled, and replied, “You are a most tempting morsel, and I long to ravish you with my love; but for now I think it best we seek the arms of Morpheus, and sleep.”

Re-entering the cabin, he spread his large cape upon the floor, and they lay down to sleep.

Two hours after the dawn they arrived in the bustling harbor town of Portus, having passed from the Tiber River through the
Claudian Canal. At the dock they were met by the Alexander family retainers, and litters that carried them down to the waterfront where Marcus’s ship awaited them.

It was a magnificent vessel, its dark wood sides polished to a glistening red-brown sheen. The stern of the ship was beautifully carved with scenes of leaping porpoises, ocean nymphs gamboling amid the waves, and delicate whorled shells, all exquisitely gilded with gold. The deck was of well-rubbed light-colored oak. The four light-blue sails—a square mainsail, the two triangular sails called lateen sails above the mainsail, and the small square sail at the bow called the artemon—were of the finest canvas. The vessel was one hundred eighty feet in length, and forty-five feet in width.