Longinus muffled a deep chuckle. Reaching for his goblet, he quaffed down the sweet red wine, and then, his brown eyes darting between the queen and Marcus, he watched to see what would happen.

"Zenobia! Have you gone mad?"

"No, Marcus, I have not. I was born and bred to be a warrior. It is true that I have yet to taste battle, but I am capable, as any of my guard could tell you had you ever bothered to ask. You, however, doubt my capability. Since you do I must obviously prove myself to you. I am now prepared to do so, so you had best defend yourself, my darling, lest I slice off an ear!" She punctuated her speech by whirling her sword in ever-widening circles over her head.

Marcus Britainus was momentarily surprised, but, realizing that she was serious, quickly stripped off his toga and his long tunic, keeping only his short tunica interior to cover him. He was somewhat annoyed by her actions. She was a woman! Why could she not behave like one, and remain home in Palmyra while he took her armies out and subdued the Eastern Empire? Too late he realized that it was he who had brought about this confrontation. If he had simply agreed to her accompanying them and let it go at that-but no! He had to behave like a great masculine brute. He knew her competence. He could not allow her a false victory, for she would know. Wondering how good she really was with the broadsword, he leapt forward, his blade on the attack.

With a grin Zenobia moved backward but a step, and then, rather than taking an attitude of defense, which was what he had expected, she rushed forward, her sword cutting through the air with a loud whooshing noise, and it was he who was forced to retreat. He parried blow after blow, and quickly discovered that she was not only adept with her sword, but tireless. With a leap he got behind her, but she was equally quick, and instantly turned to defend herself.

Metal clanged as weapon met weapon, and they were both soon dripping wet with their exertions. Longinus sat watching, totally fascinated by the spectacle before him. It did not even cross his mind that they might unwittingly hurt each other. Zenobia's concentration was grim as she parried his blow, staggering somewhat for he had put his entire weight behind it. Still she would not give him the victory for she was angry. How could he love her the way he did, and yet be so unaware of the warrior she was? It infuriated her!

He was surprised at her skill and her stamina. She was one of the finest swordsmen he had ever encountered; but the battle was getting them nowhere. Eventually one of them was going to draw blood, and that thought frightened him. He could not bear to hurt her.

"Zenobia! Give over, my darling. I was wrong, and I freely admit to it."

"What?" She lowered her blade and looked at him. Her wonderful breasts were rising and falling with her exertion.

"I was wrong," he repeated. "You are a warrior, a great warrior, but I am terrified that I might hurt you. Please let us stop this battle. If necessary I will concede you the victory."

"You will concede me the victory?!" Her voice was filled with righteous indignation. "I win my victories!"

He saw it coming and, heedless of the danger, he leapt swiftly forward and wrenched the broadsword from her hand. "No!" he shouted. "No, you little savage, I won't allow you to hurt either yourself or me!" And he flung both weapons across the room.

Furiously she launched herself at him, nails extended to rake his face, but he caught her wrists and squeezed until he saw the pain leap into her eyes. But she would not cry out. Instead her gray eyes darkened until they were almost black in her anger. He was just as angry. Yanking her into his arms, his mouth fiercely savaged hers, stoking the fires of her body until the nipples of her breasts were as hard and as sharp as her swordpoint had been. The desperate need to retaliate was deep within her, and furiously she bit his lips.

"Bitch!" he murmured against her mouth, and then his kisses grew soft, and filled with such intense passion that she could feel the anger flowing from both their bodies as another, sweeter need rose and took its place. The arms that had been locked tightly about her loosened, and she slipped her own arms up and around his neck, molding her lush soft curves to his hard body. How long they remained standing there kissing, she never knew; but suddenly he was drawing her camise off, his big hands caressing her back, cupping her buttocks, drawing her tightly against him, letting her feel his deep and hungry need.

"Longinus," she managed to whisper, wanting very much to satisfy his need and the equally deep need within her.

"Longinus is gone," was the answer, and quickly looking about the room, she saw that Marcus spoke the truth.

"Not here, not now," she whispered again, somewhat shy that they might be discovered.

"Here and now," he answered, drawing her down onto a couch.

"Please, Marcus…" she pleaded.

"I very much please," he answered her, and then she felt his hands beneath her bottom, lifting her slightly, felt the hot tip of his shaft rubbing against her womanhood, felt herself encouraging him onward, and knew that she was lost.

There was no subtlety, for the need between them was too great. Again, again, and yet again he drove himself into her, and it was, he thought, like plunging into boiling honey. The sweetness flowed from her until he thought it could come no more; but yet again it flowed and in the end it was she who weakened him, and filled him with such delight that he cried out.

Her hands reached down and raised his face from her shoulder. She loved gazing into his eyes when they lay locked in passion. Kissing him with gentle little kisses, she said once more the words he never tired of hearing from her lips. "I love you, Marcus! I love you! Never leave me! Never!"

His sapphire-blue eyes bore into her, and told her all that his lips could not say at this tender and yet fiery moment. The deep and desperate loving began again, and she felt him growing and filling her with such pleasure that she believed for a long moment that death was but an instant away. Nothing, she reasoned, could be quite that wonderful, but he certainly was. Again, and yet once more he led her down passion's path until the rapture burst over her in a shower of tiny golden lights. Then she tumbled into a velvet abyss of warm, loving darkness that enfolded her, rocked her, protected her.

When she came to herself once more he was looking at her with a bemused expression. "Did all of this come about simply because I questioned your prowess with a broadsword?" he asked.

Weakened by his loving, she could only manage a soft chuckle. Unable to resist, he bent and tenderly covered her face with kisses. "I adore you, my Queen," he said quietly. "I adore you, beloved!"

"Then I have won this victory myself, Marcus," and her voice held a teasingly triumphant note.

He laughed then. He couldn't help it, for she had so very neatly outmaneuvered him. "You have won the victory fairly, beloved," he admitted.

There came a discreet knocking at the library door, and Marcus rose from the couch, snatching up his long tunic, sliding it over his big frame, reaffixing his toga. He looked to Zenobia who had as quickly redressed in her graceful long, white stola with its wide belt of gold squares studded with turquoise-blue chunks of Persian lapis. She nodded, and he said, "Enter!"

Cassius Longinus returned to the room, saying, "I assume you have reconciled your differences now, my children. It seemed to me when I was forced to hurriedly depart that you were well on your way to doing so."

They both laughed, and Zenobia replied, "We have indeed reconciled our differences, Longinus, and I have easily won the victory."

"Indeed the queen is invincible," the smiling Marcus agreed, and it seemed as if his words were prophetic of the months to come.


***

Palmyra's legions moved across Syria, subduing all rebellion in the name of the Roman Empire. Asia Minor was firmly cowed, and only then did Zenobia return to her oasis city.

There she found that in her absence her son, the boy king, had grown into a young man. He was fully as tall as she was, and so closely resembled his father, Odenathus, that it almost hurt her to look at him.

"Is it that I have been away so long," she marveled, "or have you really become a man?"

"I have become a man," he answered her. Gone was the squeaky voice of change that had bid her farewell. Now his voice was deep and sure.

"He has your knack for government," Longinus said quietly. "He has begun to rule, and rule well."

"Only under your guidance, and that of Marius Gracchus," the sixteen-year-old king replied graciously.

"Strange," Zenobia mused. "I had thought that you would prefer the military, like your father."

"I have not yet had the chance, Mother. You and Marcus have led the armies these many months."

"You were too young to go," she protested.

"But I am no longer too young. I will take the armies into Egypt when they go this winter. Palmyra's kings have always been good generals."

"No," she said quietly.

"What? Do you love war so, Mother?"

"I can see now that only your body has grown, Vaba. Your mind is yet that of a child."

"I am the king, and I will lead the armies!"

"I am the queen, and you are not yet of age. Until you are, my word is supreme in Palmyra! There is danger all about you. I will do everything in my power to protect you until you have a son of your own."

"I will choose my wife," he said, and she knew in that instant that he already had. She invoked the gods that the girl be suitable.