Marcus nodded, and walked from the dressing room into the tepidarium where he sat down and waited for the perspiration to flow. When his pores were open and he was dripping, a slave began to scrape him free of dirt and sweat as he stood silently. He moved quickly into the caldarium for a hot bath. The emperor was already gone. There were, however, several young, beautiful nude slave girls who bathed him tenderly with scented soap before leading him to the bath, where he soaked a short time. He decided against a plunge in the frigidarium's icy bath, preferring a quick swim in the open courtyard pool, which had been warmed by the sun. Now he might enter into the unctorium. The emperor was waiting.
'Marcus Alexander!' Aurelian rose and came toward him, smiling.
'Hail, Caesar!' Marcus replied, his right arm extended in salute.
'Put your arm down, Marcus,' Aurelian said, gesturing impatiently, 'The gods, I shall never get used to being greeted 'Hail Caesar!'' The emperor was a tall man, over six feet, but Marcus still topped him by a good two inches. 'Come and have a rub-down, and we'll talk,' he invited.
The two men lay upon the massage benches, and Marcus studied the emperor from beneath apparently closed eyes. He had known him briefly years ago, and he remembered Aurelian as fair but determined. He wondered if the years had altered him any; certainly not physically. He was older than Marcus, and yet Marcus noted the emperor's body was yet that of a younger man -firm and hard. His blond hair was just faintly touched with silver, as was his barbered beard; but his light blue eyes were as clear and sharp as ever. He had a nicely shaped head, his eyes were well spaced, his nose was long and surprisingly aquiline for a man with peasant roots, his lips narrow, almost scornful.
'How is your wife, Ulpia?' he asked.
'Your cousin Ulpia is well, Marcus, but that is not what you came to see me about. What is it you want?'
'Release me from the betrothal my father made with you between myself and your niece, Carissa.'
'No.'
'I will not marry your niece, Caesar. I came home for two reasons; because my father was dying, and to tell my parents that I was to marry at long last. I am already betrothed. When I return to Palmyra I shall marry its queen, Zenobia. Her son will shortly rule in his own right, and I shall then wed his mother. Is it not of more importance that I wed such a valuable ally to Rome?'
'Do you love the Queen of Palmyra?'
'I have loved her for many years, Caesar.'
'And she loves you?'
'Yes.'
'It is unfortunate then that you must wed with my niece. Take her back with you to Palmyra if you desire to live there, Marcus. The queen will remain your mistress if she loves you.'
Marcus felt the anger welling up within him. Who was this peasant, chosen emperor, that he might control the life of a member of one of the empire's oldest patrician families? 'I will not marry this girl you have chosen for me, Caesar,' Marcus said quietly, attempting to mask his fury.
'But you will, my friend, because if you don't I will destroy your family. They are all here in Rome now, aren't they? How would you like to see Aulus executed on the charge that his loyalty to Britain is greater than his loyalty to Rome? It is, you know. I would then send word that his foreign wife and half-breed children be expediently dispatched, and that his wealth, as well as that of your father, be confiscated by the government. Your parents would be forced to beg for their very existence. I wonder how long your beautiful mother would survive, Marcus. As for your luscious sisters, my friend, a short stay in the whorehouse of the Praetorian Guard would make them welcome death. As for you, defy me in this, and you will never see your beautiful mistress again.'
Marcus felt frustrated and helpless. Aulus might run; the husbands of his sisters use their wealth and influence to protect them; but who could protect his parents? His father must be allowed to die in peace in his own home. His mother must be comfortable in her old age. 'Why?' he asked.
'Because I am Caesar, and I command it.'
'You can force me to wed with your niece, Caesar, but you will do her as great a disservice as you are doing me. I will never touch her, and she will be condemned to a life of total loneliness. Is this what you want for her?'
Aurelian smiled. 'You have not seen Carissa yet, my friend. She is exquisite.'
'There is nothing your niece can offer that I want. I will marry her because you have given me no choice, but I will not honor her or love her.' Marcus arose from the massage bench, and strode toward the door to the dressing room.
'The wedding will be in two days,' the emperor called to him. 'Would you not like to meet Carissa before then?'
'Why?' was the acid reply, and Marcus disappeared from Aurelian's view.
'I do not like him, Uncle,' said the beautiful nude girl who had been massaging the emperor.
'You do not have to like him,' Aurelian replied, laughing, 'I have most kindly supplied you with the son and heir of one of the most patrician families in the empire for a husband. He is handsome, he is wealthy. What more can you want, Carissa?'
'He will not be manageable, Uncle.'
'Nevertheless he is a Roman of the old school, and as his wife you will lack for nothing.'
'You speak of his returning to the East. I do not want to go to the East.'
'Then don't, my pet. Many a Roman wife has remained behind while her husband served a term in Syria or Palestine. You are most fortunate, Carissa, that Lucius Alexander chose this time to die. Else I had not gotten you such a prize.'
'But I don't want him, Uncle. Find me someone else!' the girl pouted.
Aurelian smiled a slow and lazy smile as he turned over on the marble bench. His staff was straight and hard. 'You do not have a choice,' he said softly, pulling her atop him, and burying himself inside her. 'You simply do not have the choice,' he repeated, thrusting deeply, sinking his teeth into her smooth shoulder.
'Then make him stay in Rome, Uncle,' she murmured, imitating his pelvic movements.
'I will try, my pet,' he said. 'I will try,' and he crushed her in his embrace.
'Try hard, Uncle,' she said, and then her mouth took his in a flaming kiss.
Marcus had dressed and left the palace. He was in a high fury, for he could not think of a way to extricate himself from this situation that would not involve his entire family. He did not doubt for one moment that Aurelian would carry out his threats. What was he to tell Zenobia? How could he possibly explain to her in a letter all that had transpired? In two days he must marry the girl.
If he left the day after the wedding he could reach Palmyra before any letter could; before any gossip could. Furiously he whipped his horses and, as he raced through the streets, took savage pleasure seeing the pedestrians scatter and scramble out of the way, hurling curses at him that flowed off his shoulders like rainwater. If they hated, he hated right back.
His father was awake when he arrived home, and he went quickly in to see him. 'Do not upset him,' Dagian begged her son, and Marcus nodded. He was shocked by his father's withered and shrunken appearance. Marcus had long ago topped his father by several inches, but the tiny, frail man who lay in his bed was almost a stranger until he spoke.
'You are growing older, my son,' he said. 'Your mother has told me that she informed you of the fine match I have made for you. I would that she had given me that pleasure, but then,' and here he gazed affectionately at Dagian, 'your mother was never one to keep a happy secret. We must have the wedding soon, Marcus. Charon already waits to ferry me across into the Underworld.'
'I have already seen the emperor, Father. He tells me that the wedding will be in two days.'
