Still, the women watching Zenobia were envious of her. They could not help it. Here was a woman who had borne her late husband three children, and yet her body was that of a young girl. Her breasts, firm globes of perfection, thrust boldly forth. Her well-shaped arms and legs were in perfect proportion to her tall height. She had only a faintly rounded belly, and her buttocks were round and firm. Around her slender neck she wore a magnificent necklace of pigeon's blood rubies that set off her pale-golden skin and her flowing blue-black hair. Her high-arched feet were shod in the faintest wisps of red leather sandals. She held her arms before her as her slender wrists were imprisoned by the golden manacles she had worn when she left Palmyra. True to his word, Aurelian had had them lined in soft lamb's wool so they would not chafe her tender skin.

Aurelian! She wanted to kill him as she walked so bravely along, neither looking to the right or the left, hearing none of the lewd comments sent her way by the populace of Rome. That they hadn't rushed out to fondle her was only due to the fact that she was well guarded by a maniple of sixty men. Aurelian didn't mind showing off his new possession to all of Rome, but they might not touch that which was the emperor's toy. She had almost begun to like him, but thank the gods he had reverted to type so she might hate him again, and plot his downfall with a clear conscience no matter how kind he had been before this damnable triumph. No matter how kind he would be afterward, for he would be kind again.

They had quarreled that morning because he had wanted her small daughter, Mavia, to walk with her behind his chariot. She had screamed and railed at him for the suggestion, forbidding him to even come near the child; threatening mayhem if he so much as touched her little daughter. What kind of a monster was he, she had demanded, to attempt such brutality upon an innocent baby? The trauma could destroy Mavia, who had lived through the first siege of Palmyra, and still had bad dreams.

In the end the emperor had relented, and Mavia was taken on ahead to the villa in Tivoli that would be her new home. Aurelian, however, was furious, for Zenobia's anger had come not in private, but before his officers. When she had appeared for his triumph dressed in her gold and silver garments, he had furiously torn them from her beautiful body in front of all of his officers, stating that it was his wish she walk in his triumph nude, wearing only her ruby necklace and her sandals. She had been shocked by his actions, but had looked him straight in the eye, and said in her mocking voice, "As Caesar commands."

He had looked as if he wanted to hit her then and there, but instead he had replied as mockingly, "Yes, goddess, as Caesar commands. For you it will always be as Caesar commands, and should Caesar order you to couple with his entire Ninth Illyrian you would have to do so because Caesar would command. Remember that!”

His triumph was the hardest thing she had ever done in her entire life; but he would never know it, for her face and carriage were proud and defiant. Gaius Cicero had been visibly embarrassed as he had fastened the golden manacles around her wrists. She had come close to giggling hysterically at him because he was in such a quandary as to where to look next, and his eyes kept coming, fascinated, back to her marvelous breasts with their dark, honey-colored nipples. When he had led her from the emperor's tent, however, all mirth left her. Four entire legions had gaped at her beauty, and she saw many glances of lustful envy.

"It's a wonder one of his men doesn't assassinate him just to possess that woman," one tribune muttered softly to another, but she heard.

For a moment she thought she might be sick, for her stomach churned violently, bile rising up to the base of her throat before she was able to gain control of herself and swallow it back down again. Despite the warm day, she was cold, a coldness only intensified by the gentle breeze that brushed against her body, faintly damp with a sheen of perspiration. Briefly her legs were weak and she was unable to move for the shame, and then she slowly lifted her head and saw him staring at her, his lips curled in a faint smile of triumph.

Zenobia took a deep breath. As the sweet air filled her lungs, strength filled her soul and her silvery eyes mocked him back. The queen closed her ears to everything about her and, looking straight ahead, took her place behind the emperor's chariot. That was the trick, she realized with sudden clarity, to notice nothing, to hear nothing.

As she walked she sang songs in her head, and focused her eyes upon the chariot ahead of her, never looking either to the right or the left. She did not see the mob with its envious, lustful, pitying, vengeful, and cruel glances. She did not hear the ribald, even filthy comments hurled her way. She was Zenobia, the Queen of Palmyra, and could not be humbled by mere Romans.

Marcus Alexander stood amid the front rank of the crowd near the senate, and when he saw her his heart leapt within his chest. Then, realizing that she had been forced to walk naked before plebes and patricians alike, his anger toward the emperor burned hot, almost consuming him where he stood.

Zenobia! Beloved! Aching with her shame he called to her with his heart. There was much he owed Aurelian for what the emperor had done to their lives; and he intended to repay him in full, measure for measure. Marcus Alexander Britainus could no longer fool himself. He loved Zenobia. He would love her always. Once he had told her that he had loved her from the beginnings of time, and that he should love her until long after their memories had faded from the earth. In his disappointment and his anger he had believed that that had changed. But nothing had changed. He loved her. He- wanted her for his wife still, and by the gods he would have her if he had to strangle Aurelian with his bare hands.

Turning, he pushed his way through the crowds and walked back to his chariot. Grimly he drove back along the Via Flaminia to Tivoli, and to his waiting mother.

"Did you see her?" were Dagian's first words as he entered the villa garden.

"All of Rome saw her," Marcus said furiously. "Aurelian made her walk nude, the bastard!"

Dagian's usually pale skin lightened even more. "The poor thing," she said.

"Poor?" he laughed harshly. "Praise the gods that Zenobia is prouder than Venus herself! She walked like the queen she is, her head held high, her eyes straight ahead. If Aurelian meant to humble her he only forced her to build her defenses higher. She won't forgive him the insult, Mother."

"And you, Marcus? Do you forgive her?"

He had to laugh. "Yes, Mother, but I beg you in the name of all the gods I know, and those that I don't, never to tell her that. You were right. There is nothing to forgive, and I've been a fool. Whatever Aurelian thinks, Zenobia is not his."

"She is not yours either, my son."

"I know that, Mother. I am the one who must ask the forgiveness of Zenobia."

Dagian smiled. "At last you grow wise, Marcus!" she said.

"Do you think I have a chance to regain her, Mother?"

"Who can predict a woman's heart, Marcus," Dagian said wisely. "We must remember all the suffering that she has undergone at Rome's hands. I sense that Zenobia will not forgive that easily."

Had Dagian, however, seen Zenobia at the very moment she spoke she would have been astonished. Having reached the senate buildings, and the end of Aurelian's formal triumph, Palmyra's queen was wrapped in a cloak by the emperor himself, and led inside to hear the senate's judgment on her. The senate, recognizing their captive's bravery, applauded her wildly as she entered their chamber, and with a soft smile upon her lips Zenobia accepted their tribute with all the graciousness she possessed. It had been a far better show than if they had pitted her in the arena against the beasts, and they were all now quite pleased with their decision to grant her life and pension her off. She would be an interesting addition to their jaded social life. Now after she thanked them for their mercy, a faint smile of amusement upon her lips, the emperor bundled her off, then returned to escort the senate to the public games that he was sponsoring this day to honor his triumph in the East.

Taking Senator Tacitus by the arm, the emperor led them forth from the senate. Since the distance between the Forum and the Colosseum was not great, they walked, and the populace gave way to them as they came forward, cheering Aurelian, who had given them this day off, and free food and entertainment.

Zenobia awaited Aurelian at the Colosseum, and together they entered the imperial box. Seeing them, all Rome rose to its feet and cheered the handsome emperor in his purple and gold robes; his beautiful captive queen, an exquisite vision now in a simple white silk kalasiris, a jeweled collar of silver set with rich turquoise-blue Persian lapis resting upon her chest. She had dressed to please the Roman crowds, with carved silver snake bracelets on her arms and chunks of Persian lapis hanging from her ears. They would never forget her nude beauty of this morning, but her magnificent attire equally pleased them. Her fantastic cloth-of-silver cape blew in the afternoon breeze, and once she and Aurelian had finished acknowledging the crowds, she removed it.

Suddenly at the back of the box a small commotion arose, and Zenobia turned to see a woman being helped into the box by Senator Tacitus. She was of medium height, and had a faded prettiness about her. "Who is that woman?" she asked the emperor.

He turned, and swore softly beneath his breath. Then he rose and assisted the woman forward to seat her at the front of the box.