gold. First I must win their confidence, and then I will buy them; first with the victories so dear to their hearts, and then with the gold they desire. You are correct. It will be done first for Rome, and only when I have Rome's legion in the palm of my hand will it be done for Palmyra.'
'And Marcus Britainus, Majesty? Will he desert Rome for Palmyra?'
'I don't know,' she said honestly.
'And will you give up your own happiness, Majesty, for Palmyra?'
'Why should I have to, Longinus? While Rome's legion and my own army fight together for Rome, there is no conflict. Rome is not competent to rule in the East, for she is too far away to administer the governments properly. Marcus will be on our side. After all, it is not as if he were involved in the government of Rome. Like me, he springs from two peoples-from Britain, and from Rome. He has spent the last fifteen years here in Palmyra, and become more Palmyran each day.'
Longinus shook his head. Where Marcus Britainus was concerned Zenobia was blind in both eyes.
'As always, Longinus, you worry too much,' Zenobia teased him. 'This is not the time to make a decision, and perhaps there never will come such a time for Marcus. We are friends as well as lovers. When Vaba is eighteen I will marry Marcus and let my son rule alone. I want children for Marcus.'
Again Longinus shook his head. She was a brilliant ruler, but where her lover was concerned she simply did not understand. Love was indeed blind in the case of Palmyra's queen.
'Stop frowning, Longinus! You are beginning to resemble a thundercloud.'
'I think ahead, Majesty.'
'And you obviously do not like the conclusions you have reached,' she replied. 'Do not fear, Longinus. Everything is going to be all right. Tomorrow I begin to ready the army for Syria.'
'Will you go with them this time, Majesty?'
'Yes,' she answered. 'This time I will go with them. You, old friend, will remain behind in Palmyra to guide the king in my absence. This will not be a long campaign, but the Syrians must be brought firmly under my control.'
'The Syrians are used to being conquered,' Longinus said drily. 'They will give you no trouble, Majesty.'
It was doubtful that Zenobia even heard him, for she was lost in thought at her map table. Her fingers wandered restlessly across the parchment, touching the main cities of Syria: Damascus, Antioch, Emesa, Beirut. And above Syria lay all of Asia Minor. There was Cilicia, Cappadocia, Bithynia, and Pontus; Galatia, Lycia, and Pamphylia; Lydia and Paphilagonia; Mysia, Phrygia, and Commagene. Her fingers moved downward, brushing across Palestine, Arabia, and finally into Egypt. A small smile played about the corners of her mouth. Yes, Egypt should be the outer boundary of her Palmyran Empire, and the far west of Asia Minor her other boundary. She gazed out the window toward the east. She would need eastern boundaries. Perhaps Armenia and Parthia; but right now her chief enemies lay to the west. Rome. In Persia, King Shapur was old and beaten, holding his hollow court and speaking of past victories; victories before Odenathus; victories before Zenobia.
She could feel the power filling her soul, and she knew that she would be victorious in her endeavors. She did not understand how she knew it, but she knew. Marcus, of course, was not happy at the prospect of her going on campaign.
'You have made me commander of the legions,' he said. 'Do you not trust me to lead them well?'
'I am not questioning your competence, my darling, but I am the queen. This time I must go with the armies. When Odenathus was alive it was not necessary, for he as their king led them, and I remained here in Palmyra to rule in his name. Now, however, I am the power in Palmyra, and I must go with the legions. Vaba is still too young, and he is important to our people. Until he is married and has a son we cannot take the chance of losing him. Therefore I must go with Palmyra's troops.' She moved provocatively into his arms and lightly kissed his lips. 'Will it really be so terrible to have me with you on this campaign, my darling?'
'It is indeed a burden for me, beloved,' he said honestly. 'I cannot lead my armies if I am worried every minute that you may be in danger. There are hardships on a military campaign you cannot possibly know, Zenobia. We simply cannot carry along all the fripperies and slave girls necessary to a woman's comfort.'
Cassius Longinus sat back in his chair, a wicked smile lighting up his aesthetic face.
Zenobia sighed a long patient sigh. Walking across the room, she stopped before a cabinet, reached in, and withdrew two broadswords. Turning about, she tossed one to the very startled Marcus. 'Prepare to defend yourself, Roman!' she said, loosening her long stola and stepping out of it. Beneath it she wore only a thin white linen camise.
Longinus muffled a deep chuckle. Reaching for his goblet, he quaffed down the sweet red wine, and then, his brown eyes darting between the queen and Marcus, he watched to see what would happen.
'Zenobia! Have you gone mad?'
'No, Marcus, I have not. I was born and bred to be a warrior. It is true that I have yet to taste battle, but I am capable, as any of my guard could tell you had you ever bothered to ask. You, however, doubt my capability. Since you do I must obviously prove myself to you. I am now prepared to do so, so you had best defend yourself, my darling, lest I slice off an ear!' She punctuated her speech by whirling her sword in ever-widening circles over her head.
Marcus Britainus was momentarily surprised, but, realizing that she was serious, quickly stripped off his toga and his long tunic, keeping only his short tunica interior to cover him. He was somewhat annoyed by her actions. She was a woman! Why could she not behave like one, and remain home in Palmyra while he took her armies out and subdued the Eastern Empire? Too late he realized that it was he who had brought about this confrontation. If he had simply agreed to her accompanying them and let it go at that-but no! He had to behave like a great masculine brute. He knew her competence. He could not allow her a false victory, for she would know. Wondering how good she really was with the broadsword, he leapt forward, his blade on the attack.
With a grin Zenobia moved backward but a step, and then, rather than taking an attitude of defense, which was what he had expected, she rushed forward, her sword cutting through the air with a loud whooshing noise, and it was he who was forced to retreat. He parried blow after blow, and quickly discovered that she was not only adept with her sword, but tireless. With a leap he got behind her, but she was equally quick, and instantly turned to defend herself.
Metal clanged as weapon met weapon, and they were both soon dripping wet with their exertions. Longinus sat watching, totally fascinated by the spectacle before him. It did not even cross his mind that they might unwittingly hurt each other. Zenobia's concentration was grim as she parried his blow, staggering somewhat for he had put his entire weight behind it. Still she would not give him the victory for she was angry. How could he love her the way he did, and yet be so unaware of the warrior she was? It infuriated her!
He was surprised at her skill and her stamina. She was one of the finest swordsmen he had ever encountered; but the battle was getting them nowhere. Eventually one of them was going to draw blood, and that thought frightened him. He could not bear to hurt her.
'Zenobia! Give over, my darling. I was wrong, and I freely admit to it.'
'What?' She lowered her blade and looked at him. Her wonderful breasts were rising and falling with her exertion.
'I was wrong,' he repeated. 'You are a warrior, a great warrior, but I am terrified that I might hurt you. Please let us stop this battle. If necessary I will concede you the victory.'
He saw it coming and, heedless of the danger, he leapt swiftly forward and wrenched the broadsword from her hand. 'No!' he shouted. 'No, you little savage, I won't allow you to hurt either yourself or me!' And he flung both weapons across the room.
Furiously she launched herself at him, nails extended to rake his face, but he caught her wrists and squeezed until he saw the pain leap into her eyes. But she would not cry out. Instead her gray eyes darkened until they were almost black in her anger. He was just as angry. Yanking her into his arms, his mouth fiercely savaged hers, stoking the fires of her body until the nipples of her breasts were as hard and as sharp as her swordpoint had been. The desperate need to retaliate was deep within her, and furiously she bit his lips.
'Bitch!' he murmured against her mouth, and then his kisses grew soft, and filled with such intense passion that she could feel the anger flowing from both their bodies as another, sweeter need rose and took its place. The
