Beloved

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