Bertrice Small - Beloved

"We won at Masada, too," he said quietly.

"A victory over a fortress of corpses?" she replied scornfully.

"A victory nevertheless, Zenobia. But enough of this! Gaius," he called, and instantly Gaius Cicero re-entered the tent. "Gaius, take the queen to my sleeping tent, and see that she has a bath." His bold look told her what would come later.

Zenobia drew her breath in sharply.

A slow smile lit his features, and his light blue eyes danced with amusement for a moment.

"Come, Majesty." Gaius was at her elbow, leading her away.

She followed him down the line of tents, her mind quickly working. Aurelian lusted after her. She shuddered. He would have her, she knew. But if she must take the emperor as a lover then it would be on her terms, not his. He would expect resistance, she knew, and instinctively she realized that resistance would give him pleasure. Therefore she would not fight him physically, but with her mind. She would yield her body, but nothing more. Aurelian might be a peasant, but he was an uncommonly intelligent one. He would want all of her. He would not get it, and it would drive him mad. This was one Roman who would not betray her because he would not control any part of her mind and heart. Rather, she would control him.

Gaius Cicero stopped before a large tent and ushered her into it. "I will send some men with water and a tub for you," he said, and he flushed with embarrassment.

"Be sure the water is heated," she said calmly. "I dislike cold baths, and I will need warm water and soft soap to clean the desert from my hair and skin. I assume that you have soap in your encampment, Gaius Cicero? Of course you do. The camp followers would bathe, at least occasionally, wouldn't they?"

"I will see what I can find," he muttered, turning his flushed face away from her.

"Thank you," was her polite reply, and he was quickly gone. Zenobia sighed and gazed around the tent. It was divided into two sections. The larger section, in which she stood, was simply furnished with a low round table where, she assumed, the emperor must eat. There were several large seating pillows strewn carelessly about it. There were two chairs set up in another part of the tent and some trunks, but nothing more. The wooden floor was well worn from many campaigns, and spread with several sheepskins. There were a few brass oil lamps, nothing opulent. All in all, it was quite plain. A soldier's tent without a doubt.

Walking across the floor, she pulled aside the woven woolen divider. Behind it was a rather large and comfortable sleeping couch, but other than that the smaller section was empty.

"It certainly lacks the amenities," Zenobia observed softly to herself. She heard the sound of feet coming in and out of the main section of the tent, and turned to see a procession of straining legionnaires lugging large containers of water into the tent and emptying them into a round, wooden tub. "Is there a respectable woman in this camp?" she demanded loudly.

The legionnaires stopped, startled, at the sound of her voice. They stared openmouthed at her for a moment, and then one, braver than the others, replied, "There are several good women, Majesty."

"Have one sent to me then," she said. "I will need help washing my hair."

"Yes, Majesty," the brave legionnaire answered. "I will fetch a woman immediately," and he hurried from the tent.

Zenobia hid a smile as she stood watching her water bearers. The last of them gone, she saw a woman standing in the entry of the tent. Zenobia waved her into the room. "What is your name?" she asked.

"I am called Keleos, Majesty."

“What do you do among the Romans? Your speech is of Palmyra."

"I am Palmyran, Majesty."

"Then why are you not safely within the gates of the city, Keleos?"

"I am a widow, Majesty. I live with my aged father and my son, who is a cripple, just outside the walls. Neither my father nor my child could be moved, and so I was forced to remain in my home despite the Romans."

"Could your neighbors not help you, Keleos?"

"Majesty, they were terrified, and could not get themselves and their valuables into the city quickly enough. They had no time for us. I have a small bake shop. Normally I baked for my neighborhood, but now I am forced to sell my wares to the Romans. I still have my father and son to support. Please forgive me, Majesty," and Keleos fell on her knees, her hands outstretched in supplication.

"You are forgiven, Keleos," Zenobia replied. "You did what was necessary to survive, to insure the survival of your family."

The woman crawled the short distance between herself and the queen, and prostrating herself further kissed Zenobia's feet. "May the gods bless you, my Queen," she sobbed.

"Get up, Keleos!" Zenobia commanded, and when the woman had scrambled to her feet the queen said, "I would like you to help me wash my hair."

"Gladly, Majesty!" Within minutes Keleos had everything prepared, and was washing Zenobia's hair with some of the soap that had been brought for the queen's bath. They used one of the extra wooden buckets filled with warmed water that had been left. Zenobia could feel the sandy grit of the desert as Keleos soaped it free, and with another bucket of water rinsed it away. It took three latherings, but eventually Zenobia's hair was clean. Keleos wrung the queen's long mane of excess water, and then taking a towel rubbed and rubbed. The hair was quickly dry in the hot desert air. Thanking the woman for her aid, Zenobia dismissed her.

Quickly she stripped her filthy clothes off, and kicking them aside sat down in the round, wooden tub, laving warmish water over her shoulders. Taking a bit of soap, she washed herself and then settled back a moment to enjoy a small soak and the solitude. She wondered how soon he would come and demand her surrender. It would take everything strong within her character to give him her body without flinching. She hated the very thought of his touch, for instinctively she knew he would demand far more than she was ever going to give, and the ensuing battle would be exhausting. Finally she stood up, and with a little smile realized that she faced a predicament of sorts. She could not redress in her dirty garments, and there was no large and dry towel with which to dry and wrap herself. The small towel that had been used for her hair now lay in a sodden lump upon the floor.

Stepping from the tub, she reached for the towel and mopped herself damp. The air would quickly dry the rest of her, but there still remained the problem of what to wear. She looked about the room. There was nothing. She made a sound of annoyance, which was answered by a soft laugh. Furious, and quite heedless of her own nudity, she whirled about to face Aurelian.

"How dare you spy on me!"

"It is my tent," he answered.

"You ordered me placed here," she snapped. "I should as soon have had my own tent."

He walked across the floor to where she stood and, catching her face between his two hands, looked down into her angry eyes. "The wishes of a captive are never considered, Zenobia." Then, to her surprise, he released her. Slowly he walked around her, studying her from every angle, but not yet touching her. Finally he said, "You were once described to me as the goddess incarnate, but seeing you now I must say, with apologies to the beauteous Venus, that the gentleman was not generous enough in his praise. If I put you on the block there is not enough gold in the entire world to secure your purchase, Zenobia."

"Then I may assume you will not put me on the block," she answered him coldly.

He laughed. "Only because I cannot gain enough for you," he teased.

"I did not think you were a procurer, Aurelian. Your reputation is that of a warrior."

He laughed again. "You can fight like a guttersnipe, goddess, but it will avail you nothing. I am Aurelian, and I never lose a battle."