He was being so gentle, she thought, so kind. All he wanted was to love her, for her to love him in return. It didn't mean that she had to trust him. She could never really trust any man again; but he was willing to take the pain away in exchange for her devotion. She didn't really love him, but she could pretend. All she had to do was stop fighting him, to relax and enjoy making love to him, to make him believe that she cared. Her stubborn pride had brought her to this, she mused, and she was tired of hurting.

She felt his staff, hard and pushing against her, as if it had a separate life of its own. Zenobia moved back and, raising herself carefully, caught him in her hand and guided him into her softness. Surprised by her sudden action, he could only gasp with delight as she gently rode him. Then he put his arms about her, rolled her over, and rode her. Slowly he pushed himself into her sheath, slowly he withdrew himself; repeating the movement until her relaxed body began to shudder with the splendor of her orgasm. Each movement of his weapon seemed to drive deeper, and she moaned with undiluted pleasure, straining to reach greater heights, finally falling away in a shower of stars while his body joined hers in fulfillment.

The terrible tension and ache gone from her frame, Zenobia fell into a peaceful sleep. At her side, the emperor considered the events of the last few minutes. She had been so sweet! So totally and incredibly sweet in her surrender. This was how he had always dreamed she would be with him, and at last the gods had answered his prayers. She was not broken, he knew, but he believed that she was at last his. He need have no fear of any man, even Marcus Alexander Britainus. Aurelian slept, secure for the first time since he had taken Zenobia for his own.

They slept for several long hours, and Zenobia awoke first. She lay quietly, remembering her mood of several hours ago, remembering what had passed between herself and Aurelian. She had not really promised him anything, and yet she had. But could she love him? No. The word slammed into her brain. She could not. He had taken from her almost everything that she held dear and sacred. Still she must survive to be revenged, and Mavia must be protected. If she suddenly scorned Rome's emperor after he opened himself to her he would surely kill her.

"What are you thinking of, Zenobia?" he asked her, his voice tearing at the silence.

"Of how kind you were to me last night," she replied.

"I love you," he said simply.

"I know," she replied, and he did not push her further than that.

The dawn was not even beginning to stain the east, yet he said, "Let us bathe."

"The slaves are not yet up," she protested.

"We will wake them," he returned.

"No," she said. "We will bathe each other, Roman." And she arose naked from the bed. Turning slightly, she glanced over her shoulder at him, her look provocative, and she held out her hand to him. "Well? Are you coming?"

He could feel his need for her stirring already, but he fought his urges back down and, taking her hand, stood up and followed her. The bath, which was located next door to Zenobia's chamber, was eerily silent, its oil lamps flickering and casting shadows upon the frescoed walls depicting scenes of nymphs being pursued by the usual satyrs and centaurs. She chuckled, and pleased by the warmth of the sound, Aurelian asked, "What amuses you, my love?"

"The walls, Roman. They are so typical."

"One may not expect originality in a state-owned villa," he teased her.

"Must I remain in this villa?"

"Perhaps at a later date we can discuss a larger home for you, goddess; but for now you will stay here."

"As you will," she answered him, and then reaching for the porcelain jar of soft soap, she scooped some out with three fingers and began to spread it over him. She worked slowly, her hands smoothing the soap into a rich cream as they moved in ever-widening circles over his hard body. He began to feel a delicious contentment at her touch, and almost fell back asleep standing in the bath. She roused him from his reverie, rinsing him off with several jars of warmed water and the command, "Go and soak in the hot tub now, Roman."

"Do I not get to wash you, goddess?" he asked.

"You will catch a chill standing here," she protested.

"I will wash you," he said, ending the matter, and then he took the soap from the jar and began to imitate her motions of a few moments earlier. Turning her so that her back was to him, he rubbed soap over her belly and upward to her breasts, cupping those sweet fruits in his palms, his thumbs gently rubbing around her erect nipples. She stood very still, barely breathing, as his hands moved with familiarity over her graceful form. Finally he rinsed her, and together they entered the hot tub.

"What will you do here in Rome?" he asked.

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you brought me here," she smiled. "I imagine, however, that I shall do what all new residents of the city do. I shall sight-see, and I shall try to make friends."

"There will be many only too eager to make friends with you, Zenobia," he answered. "Beware of becoming involved in any political factions, goddess. There will be those who will seek to use you, for Rome is a sewer of intrigue."

She looked at him, somewhat amused. "I did not rule Palmyra all those years by not being aware of what went on around me. Rome has ever been a hotbed of conspiracy. You change emperors with the regularity of a popular courtesan changing lovers."

"Until now," he said. "I am the new Rome, Zenobia. I am leading my people back to the old ways, the right ways. Thanks to me, the empire is strong again, and it will grow stronger with each passing day. My heirs will be the new Caesars."

"Your heirs? You have no children, Roman. Of course there is your niece's child, isn't there?" Suddenly Zenobia wondered if it had been ambition that had caused Marcus to betray her.

"My niece's child?" For a brief moment he was puzzled, and then he realized that she had meant Carissa. By the gods she must not know that both Carissa and her infant had perished, and that Marcus Alexander Britainus was a free man! Suddenly Aurelian's old insecurities rose up to haunt him, and he quickly said, "Yes, there is that child, but perhaps, goddess, we might have a child. Because Ulpia has been barren all these years does not mean I might not have a son by you." He leaned over and placed a kiss upon her wet shoulder.

Cleopatra had had children by her Roman lovers, Zenobia thought, and those children had all met unfortunate ends at the hands of the empire, for they stood in the way of those who wanted power.

Aurelian sank his strong white teeth into her golden shoulder, and muttered, "Think of it, goddess! What a child I could get from your loins! He would rule the world!" He was actually beginning to believe he might sire a child on this woman.

Suddenly irritated, Zenobia shook him off and climbed from the heated tub. "I do not know if I want any more children," she said.

"It is not your decision to make, goddess," he said, almost smugly. "When Ulpia dies I shall make you my empress. Until then I will continue to pump my seed into your belly, and I will make offerings to the gods praying for a son to come forth from your womb."

Zenobia laughed, the sound a bitterly amused one that echoed about the tiled and frescoed walls of the bath. "The gods have deserted me and mine, Roman. Your prayers will be in vain." Then she walked from the caldarium of the bath, and he heard her splashing in the frigidarium next door.

Aurelian now stood up and came from the hot tub himself. Looking down, he saw that his lance was hard, straight, and very ready. He longed to move quickly into the next room and take her then and there upon the cold tiles of the bath floor; but instead, he stood quietly, breathing deeply, willing his desire away. He wanted her as he had had her last night: warm, and willing, and pleading with him. He was tired of the virago she could be, and he preferred her sweetness. She was gone from the frigidarium when he entered it, and so he quickly plunged into the cool waters of the pool and refreshed himself.

Returning to their bedchamber, he found her still nude, but dry, creaming herself with a marvelously rich lotion that was scented with hyacinths. Wordlessly he took the pale-green glass bottle from her hand, poured some of the liquid into his own hands and rubbed them together, then began to massage her slowly. She was still stiff with her anger, and he said softly, persuasively, "Would it be such a terrible thing to give me a child, goddess? I love you so very much."

"But I do not love you, Roman. I am trying to please you, but I cannot will my emotions, and I will not lie to you."

"The child will bring us closer together," he said as if it was already a certainty. "When you hold our son in your arms; when you put him to your milk-filled breasts as did proper Roman matrons of old; then, Zenobia, will your heart be filled with love for me. I know it!" He turned her about and kissed her passionately, willing her to respond. And suddenly Zenobia was filled with compassion for him.

Pulling her head away, she looked up into his blue eyes, and said, "Oh, Aurelian! Even you have a weakness. I had not believed it until now."

"Yes, Zenobia, I have a weakness. I crave immortality, and only through my descendants may I have that immortality. Give me a son, goddess! Give me a son!" He swept her up then, and laid her upon their bed, sprawling near her, pushing his way between her legs to moisten with his tongue that soft and most secret of places to prepare her for his entry.