Bertrice Small - Beloved

"You mean you would really make Palmyra your home? You would desert Rome?"

"I deserted Rome fifteen years ago, beloved. What is there for me? A house? A business? These I can sell. They have no meaning, hold no sentiment for me. My home, beloved, is where you are. My home is here in Palmyra."

Zenobia wept with joy, her hot tears pouring down her cheeks to soak the pillows, running into her ears. "Now," she said, finally gaining control of herself, "now I can bear your going! I will send six of my guard with you, Marcus. The first will return from Tripoli to tell me the ship on which you have sailed. The second and third will bring me letters from your ports of call; the fourth will come directly from Brindisi to tell me that you have reached Italy safely; the fifth will bring me news from Rome; and the last man will stay with you until you are about to return to me. He will bring me the gladdest tidings of all; the news that you are coming home!"

"So be it, my beloved!" he agreed, and then his mouth found hers again, drinking in the sweetness of her, quickly seeking to possess her once more as she joyously opened her arms to him and received him again. They loved almost without stopping that night, with lips, and tongues, and hands, and eyes. They touched, and caressed, and tasted until they thought there were no more pleasures. And then they were astounded to find that that was not so-their bodies turned, and twisted, and molded themselves a hundred different ways, and the rapture never ended, but grew sweeter, sharper, better each time. Finally, but an hour before the dawn, they fell into a restful sleep. When they awoke but a short time later they were both at peace.

Their private good-byes were said within their love chamber, their lips clinging for a moment to each other, their eyes locking in silent understanding. "Nothing will keep me from returning to you, beloved," he said.

"I will be waiting," she answered.

Their public farewell was said in the main courtyard of the palace, surrounded by Longinus, the young king, his brother, and the other members of the Council of Ten.

"Please bring our loyal greetings to the Emperor Aurelian, Marcus," the king said. "We hope his reign will be a long and prosperous one. It is unfortunate that Claudius died of plague."

Marcus smiled. "I shall be happy to convey your Majesty's greetings to the Emperor Aurelian. He is married to a distant cousin of mine, and he is a fine general. I suspect if the senate will cooperate Rome will prosper under him."

The king nodded, then said, "Farewell, Marcus Alexander Britainus. The gods go with you, and keep you safe until you return to us here in Palmyra!"

Marcus bowed to the young king, and then nodded to the others before his eyes found Zenobia again. They gazed lovingly at each other. "Farewell, beloved," he said softly, and he heard her answer, "Farewell, my heart! I will wait!"

He did not look back again, but mounted his white stallion and rode off through the main gates of the palace accompanied by his family's slave, Leo, and six of Zenobia's personal guard. He did not know that she went immediately to a tower in the palace that overlooked the main caravan road west, and watched until he and his party became but specks upon the horizon.

Several days later the first of her guards returned. Marcus Britainus and his party had taken passage from Tripoli upon a first-class merchant vessel, Neptune's Luck , which would be stopping only at Cyprus and Crete before it reached Brindisi. The second messenger returned, and shortly thereafter the third. The voyage was progressing smoothly, the seas calm, the winds perfect. He would shortly be in Rome. In two months' time the fourth messenger returned back to Palmyra: the queen's beloved had safely reached Italy. Zenobia stopped fretting. The Appian Way, the empire's most famous road, ran directly from Brindisi to Rome, and was eminently safe.

Now Zenobia turned her eyes toward Egypt. They departed Palmyra on an early winter's morning, the queen and her handsome son both riding within the same magnificent gold chariot drawn by four coal-black horses. The citizens of Palmyra lining the way to the Triumphal Arch screamed themselves hoarse at the sight of their beloved queen and their king.

"How they love you ," Vaballathus marveled over the cries of the crowd.

"How they love you," she corrected him. "You are the king."

"No," he replied. "I have not yet earned their adulation. It is you for whom they cry, but when we return through this Triumphal Arch they shall cry my name, and / will deserve it!”

Dagian, the wife of Lucius Alexander Britainus, hurried into the atrium of her home, arms outstretched in joyous welcome. "Marcus!" She flung her arms round her eldest son, and then kissed him on both cheeks. "Praise the gods, you have arrived home safely!"

He stood back and studied her. She was nearing sixty, and yet he could see little change in the fifteen years he had been away. Her wonderful, once golden hair was gray, but the blue eyes he had inherited were as clear and sharp as ever. There were few lines in her beautiful face. "Did Aulus arrive safely?" She nodded in the affirmative. "And Father? He is still alive?"

"Yes, but only because he did not choose to depart for the Underworld until he had seen you, Marcus. He is sleeping now, but I will take you to him when he awakens."

"Marcus?" A woman, very like his mother but with red-blond hair, had come into the atrium.

"Lucia?" By the gods, she had been but a slip of a girl when he last saw her!

"I did not think it possible, Marcus, but you have grown even handsomer with age," Lucia said, coming up and kissing him as his mother had done.

"And you, my sister, have also grown lovelier," he answered.

"No, Marcus," she answered him wryly. "I have simply grown," and she laughingly patted her matronly form. "The result of five children, and too good a cook. Wait until you see your nieces and nephews, Marcus. They are young men and women."

"Yes, Marcus," Dagian put in quietly. "Lucia's children are almost all grown, and you, the eldest of my children, are not even married."

He might have put it off, but suddenly he realized it was better to speak the truth now, so they might get used to it, rather than wait until after his father had died and then suddenly spring it on them. "I will not be making my home in Rome, Mother. I will be returning to Palmyra."

"Marcus! Why?"

"I am afraid, Mother, that my fifteen years in the East have made me prefer a dry and warm climate."

"And what else? You cannot fool me, Marcus. Warm weather is simply not a reason for deserting your home."

He laughed. He was not going to escape her curiosity. He had never been able to, even as a child. "There is a lady whom I wish to marry. She has consented, and so I will return to Palmyra."

"Who is she, Marcus?"

"I cannot tell you yet."

"Is she married?"

"She is a widow."

"Young enough to have children?"

"Yes, Mother. She is young enough to have children."

"Is she beautiful, Marcus?" Lucia asked softly.

"Little sister, if the goddess Venus came to earth, she would take my beloved's face and form."

"You are in l ove!” Dagian was amazed.

"I am in love, Mother," he admitted with a smile.

For a moment Dagian stared in surprise at her son. He had always kept his feelings in complete check, never exhibiting undue emotion, even as a little boy. He had grown into a big, elegant, intelligent man who always appeared a bit severe to her. He was not like her younger son, Aulus, always laughing, light of heart, deeply involved in life, unafraid of being hurt. He was not like his sisters, passionate and gentle women whose emotions were always quite visible. No, Marcus had been the reserved one, and now suddenly to see his face alight with love was somewhat startling.