Beloved

She nodded, and then tears came to her eyes. 'I have seen three. They all say the same thing. I have a canker in my breast, and I shall die from it.'

'How long have you been ill?' he demanded. 'Why did you not write to me?'

'I grew ill shortly after Carissa's death. I did not write you about it for the same reason I did not write you about Carissa. Carissa was dead, and there was nothing that you or anyone else could have done to prevent her death. I am to die, and there is nothing that can prevent my death. The physicians did, however, assure me that I should live until you returned home, and so I saw no need to worry you.'

'By the gods, Ulpia, you are a perfect wife. You have always been. I have been most fortunate in you.'

Ulpia beamed with pleasure. He could not have said anything more calculated to delight her. She always had tried to please him, and now with death staring her in the face, the knowledge that she had, sent a joyful wave of warmth coursing through her ravaged frame.

Aurelian bent and placed a fond kiss upon Ulpia's brow. 'I will leave you to rest, my dear,' he said. 'My triumph is just two days hence. There is much to do.'

'How I wish I might see it,' Ulpia said sadly.

'I wish you could too, but alas, our house is not near the route of march; and I do not think you strong enough to go.'

Ulpia sank back amid her pillows. Now she was truly curious as to what the Queen of Palmyra looked like. Aurelian did not seem particularly anxious for her to see his triumph, and it could only be because he did not want her to see Zenobia. Nonetheless Ulpia vowed that she would. She would find out who among Rome's patrician families had a home along the line of march, and she would use her imperial prerogative, and invite herself there.

She called for her secretary, and told him what she wanted. After that it was simple. Fabius Buteo, she was told, had a fine home where she might watch her husband's triumph, and he was overwhelmed at the honor being done him by the empress's presence.

On the day of Aurelian's triumph she was settled quite comfortably on a second-floor balcony with the pleasant women and girls of the Buteo family, who chatted quite companionably with her. She. was offered the finest wines to keep her strength up, and the choicest of delicacies. The warm sun beat down, there was a faint flowery breeze, and, in general, Ulpia Severina felt quite well. After all, Aurelian had not forbidden her to watch his triumph. He had merely lamented that she was not strong enough to do so. But she was strong enough!

Below them, the streets were crowded on both sides by the citizenry jostling with one another for a good place. The vendors were busy hawking cheap wines, sausages, and sweetmeats to the excited population. Then in the distance came the sound of marching feet, the rhythm of the drums that beat out the measure of the military step.

Leading the triumph was the Ninth Illyrian Legion, Aurelian's own. The Ninth consisted of ten cohorts of six hundred men each, and was led by six tribunes, each riding before his own unit of cavalry. The legionnaires marched with perfect precision, the sun gleaming off their spotless weapons and helmets. Following them came the plundered wealth of Palmyra in flower-bedecked carts; the gold and silver booty sparkling in the clear Roman light. The crowds ohhed and ahhed.

Following this came the Third African Legion, its tribunes and centurions wearing leopardskins and a toothed leopard's head to cover their own, almost appearing as if they were being devoured by the beast itself. Their men wore the simple skin of the leopard thrown across their left shoulders, without its fierce head. Following the Third African came enormously tall black warriors, their heads capped by wavy grass headpieces that swung with the rhythm of their dancing. The blacks were oiled so that the sunlight made them appear even darker, and about their loins they wore a covering made from the black-and-white-striped skin of some exotic animal. They brandished their carved spears in mock ferocity, much to the delight of the watching children along the route.

Now came what all of the citizenry had awaited so eagerly: the emperor who had given Rome such a great victory. Aurelian himself drove the magnificent triumphal chariot: an incredible piece of workmanship. The vehicle was all overlaid in gold leaf over the raised figures of Mars, the god of war, in a scene of an Olympian triumph. The chariot was drawn by four magnificent white stallions, each more vicious than the next, but kept well in hand by the emperor, who was acknowledged to be one of the empire's finest drivers.

Aurelian was dressed as befitted a triumphant soldier-emperor. He wore a purple-and-gold-embroidered tunica palmata that reached to his ankles, and over that the official robe of the emperor, a toga picta, also of Tyrian purple and embroidered with gold. Both garments were of the finest silk. Upon his feet the emperor wore a high-soled strapped shoe of gilt leather laced with hooks and decorated with a bejeweled crescent-shaped buckle.

Behind him stood his personal body slave of many years, dressed simply in a natural-colored tunic and holding the laurel wreath of victory over the emperor's blond head. 'Remember,' the slave intoned with regularity, 'thou art but a man. Remember, thou art but a man.' This ancient custom of the triumph was supposed to keep the victorious general humble with the constant reminder of his mortality.

Ulpia looked with pride upon her husband as he came into view. Then she, along with the other ladies of the Buteo family, let out a collective gasp of shock. Behind Aurelian's magnificent chariot came the Queen of Palmyra- stark naked! Ulpia felt sick with shame that her husband would do such a thing to any woman, let alone the gallant captive Queen of Palmyra. How could he have been so cruel!? So brutal!

'Look at the hussy!' the wife of Fabius Buteo snipped. 'She does not even lower her eyes in shame, but stares straight ahead, her arrogant head held high.'

'She is incredibly beautiful, Mother,' said the eldest Buteo daughter, a gentle matron. 'How awful for her!' Then she turned apologetically to the empress. 'I mean no disrespect, my lady, I only…' her soft voice died away.

'I agree with you, my dear,' the empress said quietly. 'How awful for her.'

Still, the women watching Zenobia were envious of her. They could not help it. Here was a woman who had borne her late husband three children, and yet her body was that of a young girl. Her breasts, firm globes of perfection, thrust boldly forth. Her well-shaped arms and legs were in perfect proportion to her tall height. She had only a faintly rounded belly, and her buttocks were round and firm. Around her slender neck she wore a magnificent necklace of pigeon's blood rubies that set off her pale-golden skin and her flowing blue-black hair. Her high-arched feet were shod in the faintest wisps of red leather sandals. She held her arms before her as her slender wrists were imprisoned by the golden manacles she had worn when she left Palmyra. True to his word, Aurelian had had them lined in soft lamb's wool so they would not chafe her tender skin.

Aurelian! She wanted to kill him as she walked so bravely along, neither looking to the right or the left, hearing none of the lewd comments sent her way by the populace of Rome. That they hadn't rushed out to fondle her was only due to the fact that she was well guarded by a maniple of sixty men. Aurelian didn't mind showing off his new possession to all of Rome, but they might not touch that which was the emperor's toy. She had almost begun to like him, but thank the gods he had reverted to type so she might hate him again, and plot his downfall with a clear conscience no matter how kind he had been before this damnable triumph. No matter how kind he would be afterward, for he would be kind again.

They had quarreled that morning because he had wanted her small daughter, Mavia, to walk with her behind his chariot. She had screamed and railed at him for the suggestion, forbidding him to even come near the child; threatening mayhem if he so much as touched her little daughter. What kind of a monster was he, she had demanded, to attempt such brutality upon an innocent baby? The trauma could destroy Mavia, who had lived through the first siege of Palmyra, and still had bad dreams.

In the end the emperor had relented, and Mavia was taken on ahead to the villa in Tivoli that would be her new home. Aurelian, however, was furious, for Zenobia's anger had come not in private, but before his officers. When she had appeared for his triumph dressed in her gold and silver garments, he had furiously torn them from her beautiful body in front of all of his officers, stating that it was his wish she walk in his triumph nude, wearing only her ruby necklace and her sandals. She had been shocked by his actions, but had looked him straight in the eye, and said in her mocking voice, 'As Caesar commands.'

He had looked as if he wanted to hit her then and there, but instead he had replied as mockingly, 'Yes, goddess, as Caesar commands. For you it will always be as Caesar commands, and should Caesar order you to couple with his entire Ninth Illyrian you would have to do so because Caesar would