Bertrice Small - Beloved

Naked now, he reached out to place a hand about her small waist. Because of his height most women were always too tiny against him, but Zenobia was just right, her dark head almost to his shoulder. He drew her nearer, feeling the small round of her belly as it pressed against him. Reaching out, she caressed his cheek. There was neither shame nor shyness between them.

He tipped her face upward so he might look at her. "I love you," he said quietly. "I have always loved you. I have loved you from the beginnings of time, and I shall love you long after our memories have faded from this earth." Then, picking her up in his arms, he returned her to the sleeping couch and lay down next to her.

For some minutes they lay together holding hands, and then her voice, soft with confusion, said, "I do not understand this, Marcus, and yet I desire you. I want you to make love to me. Why?"

"You must find your own answers, my beloved, but I shall never force you to anything you do not want. I will rise now, and go if that be your wish."

"No!“

At that he drew her into his strong arms again, and kissed her with such passion that she could not restrain herself from responding. She matched him kiss for kiss, tasting him, scorching him with her own fire until a flame began to leap upward within him; a flame born from the ever-burning embers of his love for her. It burned and twisted within him, and he grew warmer and warmer with his own desire to possess her.

Straddling her, he sat back upon his heels. His big hand reached out to cup and admire her breasts. They overflowed his hands again and again as he attempted to contain their beauty. Her eyes had closed, and as he gazed down upon her purple-shadowed eyelids, he wondered if she was even aware of him. "Zenobia," he said, and her eyes opened and she smiled up at him.

"I am here."

Drawing him down, she brushed her lips over his, and once more they kissed with steadily building passion. Now he allowed his hands the freedom they had so longed for, the freedom to caress her marvelous body. He stroked her back, revealing in its long line, the curve of her buttocks. Turning her over so that she lay face down, he began a worshipful adoration of her body, and kissed slowly and hungrily along the same path that his hand had taken, not stopping at her buttocks, however, but continuing down her legs to her slender feet.

Zenobia sighed luxuriously, for Odenathus had never made love to her like this. Marcus was a tender lover, considerate and passionate, preparing her carefully. Why she did not feel guilt she did not understand. Perhaps it was because she had not sought this wonder, this delight, and to find it now on this night of great tragedy was a miracle, a gift from the gods. She would not question further.

Turning her onto her back again, he pressed feathery kisses up her legs to the soft insides of her thighs, but going no farther for that was a special pleasure to reserve for another time. His tongue teased her navel, and she wriggled with pleasure as once more he found her breasts. This time he sucked her honey-colored nipples until they were tight crests of pure sensation.

Now his large body covered her, their mouths warred together again, and she felt him pressing against her. With a sigh she opened her legs to him, murmuring against his mouth, "Oh, yes, my darling! Yes!" Tenderly and with infinite care, he entered her. Zenobia quickly realized that his lance must be enormous, and she winced slightly. He stopped, giving her body time to stretch for him. Once more he thrust, and to her amazement she began to feel the magic beginning. It was too soon, she thought frantically, but she could not stop it.

With a gasp she cried out, opening her eyes to find his blue eyes blazing down on her. He saw her gray orbs glaze over as the first wave of pleasure washed over her. "No!" she sobbed. "It is too soon!"

But he soothed her. "It is just the beginning, beloved! I will give you more joy than you ever believed possible." He kept his word, bringing her pleasure several times before he finally took his own, his powerful seed overflowing her womb.

They fell asleep, clutching each other, their strong, beautiful bodies intertwined. But afraid for her reputation, he slept lightly, waking fully before dawn. Looking down on her, he was filled with tenderness. He wanted to waken her and make love to her again, but she slept very, very deeply, her body healing itself from the shock of last night's events. So he rose quietly and dressed himself. She would be all right when she awoke, and he had best leave lest some gossip see him.

A faint noise caused him to turn to the door where, to his surprise, Longinus stood, shocked. "How could you take advantage of her?" he whispered furiously. "She trusted you, Marcus!"

"I did not take advantage, Longinus. It happened."

The simplicity of the explanation convinced Cassius Longinus of its truth, although he found that he was still distressed. In his own way he loved Zenobia, too.

"Come with me," he said coolly. "I will take you to my own quarters, for it will be necessary for you to be here this morning."

"I would never hurt her, Longinus."

Cassius Longinus turned to the Roman, a look of sadness in his brown eyes. "I know that," he sighed. "How long is it that you have loved her, Marcus? I understand, but you must be cautious. Her position is so very precarious right now."

"We will be careful, Longinus."

"Love her if you will, Marcus, but be warned that Palmyra must come first. If Zenobia was given the choice between you and this city today, Palmyra would come before you. Never force her to that decision."

The Roman was somewhat taken aback. "Surely you make mock of me, Longinus. Zenobia is a woman who needs to be loved. She cannot live without it."

Cassius Longinus shook his head. "Because she melted into your arms last night in a moment of weakness, do not be fooled. Zenobia is not a weak-willed woman who can be content keeping her husband's house, and wiping the runny noses and wet bottoms of her children. She was born for greatness! The signs were all there at her birth, and she has only just begun to fulfill her promise."

"You behave like a girl having her first child instead of a woman who has already birthed two sons," old Bab snapped to Zenobia.

Zenobia gritted her teeth as another pain rippled across her belly and back. "Vaba and Demi were easy births," she groaned. "This child seems not to want to be born."

"Poor little mite," Bab murmured. "It will never know its father. It is almost as if the gods had gifted you after all these years-to give you this last child of King Odenathus but nine months after his death." She shook her head again. "Poor little mite," she repeated.

"It truly is a miracle," said Julia, leaning over her old friend and wiping the perspiration from her forehead.

"At least the succession is well served," said Zenobia, breathing easier as the pain receded. "Three sons is even better than two."

Julia laughed. "It could be a daughter this time, Zenobia."

"No," came the certain reply. "Odenathus and I spawned only sons-strong sons for our Palmyran dynasty!"

"Well," Julia said, "I, for one, am delighted to have a son and a daughter. Gaius was for Antonius, but Flavia is for me."

"She certainly is," Zenobia chuckled. "Not only is she your image, but even her mannerisms are yours." A spasm crossed her face. "Ah, Mother Juno!" she cried out.

"Push, my baby, push!" Bab commanded.

Zenobia did as her old nurse commanded, but even though she worked hard at birthing this child, it would still be several hours before she gained her goal.

Outside, in the queen's antechamber, Cassius Longinus and Marcus Britainus waited. The two men had become quite good friends over the last months. Indeed, Marcus did not know what he would have done without the wisdom and friendship of Zenobia's trusted councillor. He might have gone mad without it, for fate had dealt him one more blow, the gods having given him a glimpse of paradise had then as quickly snatched it away.

The morning following Odenathus's death he had waited for Zenobia to summon him, but instead he had been summoned to a council meeting to receive his instructions. Her behavior toward him was as it had always been, polite and pleasant. Ah well, he had thought, she is the queen, and will wait until after the nine days of sorrow and the funeral are over. It is only right.

The king's body had been washed and prepared. He had been dressed in a finely woven tunica palmata, which was a purple and gold embroidered ceremonial tunic reaching to the ankle, and worn with a beautifully spun light wool toga picta of Tyrian purple embroidered in gold-thread figures representing the gods. Upon his feet were gold sandals, and a victory wreath of beaten gold laurel leaves adorned his dark head.

He was placed on his funeral couch in the atrium of the palace, his feet toward the door, to lie in state until the time came for his funeral. About the couch were masses of flowers, and incense burned in silver braziers. At the head and the foot of the couch were gold lamps burning scented oil. Before the doors of the palace were set branches of pine and cypress, a warning that it was contaminated by death. When all was in readiness the doors of the palace were opened to the public in order that they might enter in and mourn their king. The people came in a steady stream for a full day and night and another morning before Odenathus's body was carried to his tomb outside the city walls, for it was forbidden for a cemetery to be within the gates of a city.