Bertrice Small - Beloved

Zenobia pulled the long red cloak about her and lay down upon the ground, curling herself into a ball. Her mind began to sort out all that had happened. She had failed in her attempt to escape the Romans, and gain help from the Persians. She had been so close to succeeding.

Through hooded lids she looked to the river bank, weighing the possibility of escape. The fisherman was long gone, and the river was broad here, but possibly she could swim it. If not, then at least the Romans would not have a hostage to hold over Vaba and the city. To her vast annoyance, however, Gaius Cicero had placed pickets at intervals of three feet for one hundred and fifty feet along the river bank. She smothered a particularly ripe curse and, unable to think of another way, sighed and put her mind to falling asleep.

When she awoke the sky above her was streaked in gold and peach and lavender; the narrow ruffled clouds were pale pink edged in dark purple. She could hear the soft sounds of the river as it lapped against the shore, and for a brief minute she experienced a feeling of incredible peace. Then reality quickly surfaced, and she remembered all that had passed. There was a faint breeze, and upon that breeze wafted the scent of lamb. Her stomach rumbled appreciatively, and with a small smile of amusement at herself she realized that she was hungry. Except for some figs and dates, she had not, after all, eaten in several days.

Slowly standing up, she stretched, spreading her arms wide and tensing her muscles for a moment, then relaxing again. Shaking the sand from the long cloak, she set off down the beach seeking the cook fire. She did not have to go far. She regally accepted a tin plate with two smoking-hot portions of lamb kabob from the legionnaire who was designated cook. The chunks of lamb had been skewered on peeled sticks and interspersed with small onions and pieces of sweet, green pepper.

"Would you like some wine, Majesty?"

"The privileges of rank, Gaius Cicero?"

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps," he answered her, holding out a tin cup.

She hesitated for a moment, then took it from him with a nod of thanks.

"Do you wish company?" he pursued her.

"No," she said shortly, not even bothering to turn around as she made her way back down the beach.

He sighed. What a pity, he thought. He would have enjoyed her company. She was a beautiful woman, and her reputation was that of an intelligent and witty woman. He could understand, though. This was hardly a comfortable situation for her. Zenobia of Palmyra had never been beaten before, and defeat was never a pleasant thing. At least her capture would serve one good purpose. The Palmyrans would certainly surrender once they learned that their queen was in the hands of the emperor. A frown crossed Gaius Cicero's face. He did not have to wonder what Aurelian would do with Zenobia. The emperor had been like a young boy from the day of their arrival before the gates of Palmyra. He could not stop talking of her. It was obvious that he had been quite smitten, and Aurelian had never been one to deny himself a woman who took his fancy.

Shortly after sunset they departed the shores of the River Euphrates, retracing their steps of the last three days as they traveled westward back toward Palmyra. Zenobia sat her camel stoically, never complaining at the brisk pace set by Gaius Cicero, who was determined to bring his prisoner before the emperor as quickly as possible. There was always the chance that the Bedawi would learn of her capture and seek to rescue her.

As they moved across the desert, the shock of what had happened finally began to sink into her very soul. Why had the gods deserted her so cruelly in her hour of deepest need? How was she to tell Deliciae and her children of Rufus Curius's death? And what of the families of the Bedawi? How many widows and orphans had been made? Curse the Romans! Curse them all! Yes, even Marcus, who had betrayed her! How she hated them, and the hate was the first thing that she felt as she began to rise, phoenixlike, from the ashes of her first defeat.

I will not be beaten again, nor will I beg, she thought fiercely. Even if they take me to Rome, I will escape them somehow and return to Palmyra to rebuild my empire, Odenathus's empire. As the banners of the Roman army came into view and their enormous encampment became visible, as she saw the walls of the city once more, she sat proudly upon her camel, her head held high, looking straight ahead. Finally they stopped before a large tent, set upon a platform deep within the encampment.

Gaius Cicero was quickly at her side, helping her to dismount and then escorting her into the tent. As her eyes grew used to the gloom she saw a tall man with blond hair and a long, elegant bearded face standing in profile by a map stand.

"Hail, Caesar!" was Gaius Cicero's greeting.

The man turned. "Ah, Gaius, you are back." His glance flicked to Zenobia, swiftly taking her in. "I assume this is our rebellious queen?"

"Yes, Caesar!"

"You may leave us, Gaius, but wait outside. I will have further need of your services."

Aurelian now turned back to look at Zenobia again, and their eyes instantly locked in a battle of wills. He felt his heart quicken at the sight of her, for close up he realized that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was filthy from her travels, and her dark hair was dusty and matted; but still she was beautiful. She stared boldly at him, making him a little uncomfortable, although he would not show it. Finally he said, "You need a bath, Queen of Palmyra. You stink of camel."

She never even blinked. Instead, her sultry voice replied, "I have always hated blue-eyed Romans, and you do nothing to change my opinion, Emperor of the Romans."

His narrow lips twitched faintly as he suppressed a smile. She was not beaten, and he was glad. He wanted to tame this wild creature himself, and by the gods he would! "You are now my prisoner, Zenobia," he answered.

"You speak the obvious," was her quick retort. "I am your prisoner, but it will do you no good, Aurelian. Palmyra will not surrender!"

"No? Why did you flee to Persia?"

"I wanted Shapur's help," she said irritably, as if he were an idiot child. "I needed an ally to attack you from the rear in a pincer movement. You disturb the economy of this entire region, in fact the entire world, by this stupid attempt at war on us. I want you, and your puny army gone back to where you belong so the trade routes may once more be open."

"You wanted to end this war because you are running low on provisions in Palmyra," was his answer.

"Palmyra is more than well stocked with provisions for a long siege, Aurelian, but I do not choose to play with you any longer. Had I reached Persia I might have ended this madness quickly. Now it is not to be. Very well," and she shrugged, "I bow to the wisdom and the will of the gods."

"Without you your son will collapse. Once he knows that I possess the Queen of Palmyra, he will open the gates of the city and we will march triumphantly in."

"The king will never give in. I am ready to die for Palmyra, Aurelian, and Vaballathus knows it. For me there can be no greater honor than to give my life for my city."

Into his eyes crept an admiring look he could not suppress, and he said quietly, "You are too intelligent and too beautiful to die so needlessly, Zenobia of Palmyra. I will not allow it!"

"You will not allow it?" Her mocking laughter startled him. "What I will, Aurelian, you cannot prevent! How can you understand? You are a peasant who has clawed his way up the ladder of the Roman military! I descend from the great Queen Cleopatra."

"Who was beaten by the Romans," he reminded her.

"You will have another Masada on your hands before you take Palmyra from my son," she threatened.