"Zenobia! Zenobia!” Through the mists she could hear someone calling her name, and with a small protest she struggled to return to the sweet darkness; but the voice persisted. "Zenobia! Open your eyes, goddess! Open them!" Still protesting, she finally opened her eyes, although the effort was a mighty one, for her eyelids felt heavy. Before her foggy gaze Aurelian's face loomed, and to her surprise he appeared worried. Now as she focused and he became clearer, she could see relief etched upon his handsome face, even tenderness.

"I hate you," she managed to say weakly, and he laughed, elated.

"I thought I had killed you," he said, "and a dead queen is of no value to me."

She struck at him futilely, and with a growl of delight he gathered her into his arms and held her close. "Be quiet, goddess. I'm not going to hurt you. Just be quiet now." Because she was too ravaged to do anything more she lay quiet within his embrace; then reluctantly she began to relax. Soon she was dozing against his chest, and a lovely warmth began to penetrate her chilled frame.

When she awoke she knew that several hours had passed, for she could tell through a loose place in the tent that it was night. Carefully she eased herself out of his embrace. Her body ached in every joint. More than anything else in the world she longed for a hot bath, sweet-scented and soothing to ease her tired and sore mucles. With a sigh she knew that it would have to wait.

She looked over at Aurelian. He lay quiet, his breathing soft and even. Zenobia studied the emperor carefully. Her first brief impression of rugged handsomeness still held. He was surprisingly youthful-looking despite the fact that she knew him to be in late midlife. About his eyes and very gently etched into the skin on his upper cheekbones were the telltale signs of aging. Still, she thought, a touch bitterly, he was a damned satyr below the waist. He hadn't bothered to remove his short red military tunic during this last assault upon her, so she could see little of his body, but where the tunic rode high she could see the beginnings of a scar along his left thigh. From the width of it she suspected it was probably a spear wound. There were several other smaller scars upon his legs and arms, enough to show he had done his battle time, but not enough to say he was careless.

Even in sleep the line of his mouth indicated that he was a tough, stubborn man rarely given to softness or compassion. She shuddered remembering their battle of that afternoon. Never had she felt so… so possessed, or less in control of her own body and mind. When he had forced her to look at him she had come totally under his control, and she knew that he had reveled in her weakness. Zenobia vowed that she would not let that happen again. The next time he demanded she look into his eyes, she would appear to give her complete concentration, but in reality she would unfocus her eyes.

Quietly she rose from the bed and stretched slowly, easing some of the tension from her battered body. She was unaware that he watched her through slitted eyes, for not once had his breathing altered to warn her that he was awake. She had a fine body, he thought, despite the fact that she was over thirty. He liked her long legs, sleek flanks, barely rounded belly, and particularly her full but firm breasts. He liked women with big breasts, but often with age those fine breasts sagged. Ulpia's certainly had.

As he watched Zenobia raise the lid on her small trunk and pull forth a robe in which to clothe herself, he wondered about Carissa. She would have had her child by now. Was it the male child she had been so sure she carried? He also wondered whose child it actually was. Oh, there was always the possibility that he had finally fathered a child, but he seriously doubted it. People liked to believe that his lack of sons was poor Ulpia's fault, but he knew that it was not.

Before his marriage he had occasionally kept a mistress, and none had ever presented him with a bastard child. Since his marriage he had kept a steady stream of minor courtesans, and certainly none of them had borne him children. Only Carissa had ever claimed that he had fathered her child. He was dubious, but since he had never intended divorcing Ulpia to marry his venal little niece, he did not argue with her. Possibly the child was his. He had to admit that he was curious.

Aurelian opened his blue eyes and watched Zenobia as a cat watches its prey. He certainly felt sorry for Marcus Alexander, but then to the victor belonged the spoils, and he, Aurelian, was the victor.

11

"Please, Carissa, please help yourself and let us be done with this birth." Ulpia Severina, Empress of the Romans, leaned over her niece and tried to encourage the girl.

"It hurts," Carissa whined petulantly.

"I know, dearest, but you must push the babe out."

"How could you know? You are barren, aunt," was the cruel reply. Carissa turned her head away from Ulpia, and groaned.

"Come, Ulpia," said Dagian's soothing voice, and her strong, kindly hands gently pulled the empress away from the bedside. "Come and have some wine with me; The midwife will care for Carissa quite well."

Dumbly Ulpia nodded and allowed herself to be led from Car-issa's bedchamber and back into the sunny atrium. Two slaves hurried forward bearing comfortable chairs, which they placed by the pool. A third slave placed a tray with a decanter of wine and two chased silver goblets upon a low round table. Dagian waved her servants away, then poured out the sweet golden wine and handed Ulpia a gobletful.

"Marcus should be with her," the empress murmured. "This is her first child."

"Ulpia, you cannot keep up the pretense any longer. Theirs was not a love match. If you do not know the truth then I will tell it to you now. The emperor forced this marriage upon my son. He was contracted to a lady in Palmyra with whom he is deeply in love. I know that however much you may love Carissa you do not for a moment believe the baby she is about to birth is my son's. They have been married four months, and he has been back in Rome just over that time."

"She thinks her child is Aurelian's," the empress whispered low, and Dagian's eyes widened slightly. "She does not know," Ulpia continued softly, "that my husband is sterile. Never once in all the years we have been married have I conceived; nor have any of his women." Her faded brown eyes grew wet with tears. "I had a baby once, Dagian. He was a beautiful little boy. They took him away from me. That is why I was married to Aurelian. He knew my shame, and threatened to expose it if my father did not allow the marriage."

She sighed and wiped the tears that had strayed to her cheeks. "You must not think badly of him. He has always been a good husband to me; respectful and kind. He is a weak man where women are concerned, though, and Carissa is ambitious. I doubt even she knows the child's father."

"Does the emperor know you know all this?" Dagian asked.

"Of course not. In the tradition of this family, I have all these years been the perfect Roman wife. I have ignored his women as beneath my notice."

"But your own niece?" Dagian was somewhat taken aback.

"I am well into my middle years, Dagian. I did not want to lose my husband, and by keeping silent I have kept him all this time."

Dagian smiled in spite of herself. There were those who thought Ulpia Severina stupid, but she was really quite clever. "But how can you love your niece when you know that she has betrayed you so disgracefully?"

"I cannot stand the little bitch," was the reply. "But I will never give Carissa the pleasure of knowing she has hurt me."

A terrible shriek rent the stillness of the house, and the two women rose and hurried back to Carissa's bedchamber. They were joined by Marcus, who had come from the study where he now spent most of his time. Within the room was a sweet, unpleasant smell, and the two women wrinkled their noses slightly. Marcus strode to the windows and flung open the shutters, allowing in some fresh warm air.

Upon the bed Carissa writhed, moaning and praying for release. "Help me, Mother Juno! Help your daughter to birth an emperor!"

"The pretensions of the vixen," Ulpia murmured.

The midwife took the three aside for a moment while her assistant aided the straining woman. "There is something wrong, noble master and ladies. The child was not positioned properly, but I turned it. Still, it did not feel right, and the mother will not help herself. The longer the birth takes, the harder on both her and the baby. She has lost too much blood already, and I am truly worried."

"Can I be of help?" Marcus asked.

"Sit by your wife, and encourage her." The midwife looked apologetic. "She is not an easy patient, sir," she explained.

"I don't imagine she is," he answered. "Carissa likes things easy, and instantly. It must have come as quite a shock to her that the child has not leapt fully clothed from her womb."

"Marcus!" Dagian was scandalized, but Ulpia put a gentle hand upon Marcus's arm.

"We have all suffered by Carissa's actions, Marcus," she said.

He looked long at her, and then with a sigh he sat down next to his wife. "You are going to have to push, Carissa," he said quietly. "The longer you delay doing your part the harder it is on your child."

She turned her face to him, but seeing concern in place of his usual mockery, she relaxed. "Will you stay with me?"

"Yes, I will stay until the child is born."

"And you will accept the child as your own?"

"No," he said. "I will not."

"You must!”

"No one in Rome believes for an instant that I fathered your child, Carissa. I will support you both, but that is all!"