"Majesty, they were terrified, and could not get themselves and their valuables into the city quickly enough. They had no time for us. I have a small bake shop. Normally I baked for my neighborhood, but now I am forced to sell my wares to the Romans. I still have my father and son to support. Please forgive me, Majesty," and Keleos fell on her knees, her hands outstretched in supplication.
"You are forgiven, Keleos," Zenobia replied. "You did what was necessary to survive, to insure the survival of your family."
The woman crawled the short distance between herself and the queen, and prostrating herself further kissed Zenobia's feet. "May the gods bless you, my Queen," she sobbed.
"Get up, Keleos!" Zenobia commanded, and when the woman had scrambled to her feet the queen said, "I would like you to help me wash my hair."
"Gladly, Majesty!" Within minutes Keleos had everything prepared, and was washing Zenobia's hair with some of the soap that had been brought for the queen's bath. They used one of the extra wooden buckets filled with warmed water that had been left. Zenobia could feel the sandy grit of the desert as Keleos soaped it free, and with another bucket of water rinsed it away. It took three latherings, but eventually Zenobia's hair was clean. Keleos wrung the queen's long mane of excess water, and then taking a towel rubbed and rubbed. The hair was quickly dry in the hot desert air. Thanking the woman for her aid, Zenobia dismissed her.
Quickly she stripped her filthy clothes off, and kicking them aside sat down in the round, wooden tub, laving warmish water over her shoulders. Taking a bit of soap, she washed herself and then settled back a moment to enjoy a small soak and the solitude. She wondered how soon he would come and demand her surrender. It would take everything strong within her character to give him her body without flinching. She hated the very thought of his touch, for instinctively she knew he would demand far more than she was ever going to give, and the ensuing battle would be exhausting. Finally she stood up, and with a little smile realized that she faced a predicament of sorts. She could not redress in her dirty garments, and there was no large and dry towel with which to dry and wrap herself. The small towel that had been used for her hair now lay in a sodden lump upon the floor.
Stepping from the tub, she reached for the towel and mopped herself damp. The air would quickly dry the rest of her, but there still remained the problem of what to wear. She looked about the room. There was nothing. She made a sound of annoyance, which was answered by a soft laugh. Furious, and quite heedless of her own nudity, she whirled about to face Aurelian.
"How dare you spy on me!"
"It is my tent," he answered.
"You ordered me placed here," she snapped. "I should as soon have had my own tent."
He walked across the floor to where she stood and, catching her face between his two hands, looked down into her angry eyes. "The wishes of a captive are never considered, Zenobia." Then, to her surprise, he released her. Slowly he walked around her, studying her from every angle, but not yet touching her. Finally he said, "You were once described to me as the goddess incarnate, but seeing you now I must say, with apologies to the beauteous Venus, that the gentleman was not generous enough in his praise. If I put you on the block there is not enough gold in the entire world to secure your purchase, Zenobia."
"Then I may assume you will not put me on the block," she answered him coldly.
He laughed. "Only because I cannot gain enough for you," he teased.
"I did not think you were a procurer, Aurelian. Your reputation is that of a warrior."
He laughed again. "You can fight like a guttersnipe, goddess, but it will avail you nothing. I am Aurelian, and I never lose a battle."
"You may have me, Roman, for I cannot hope to overcome your physical strength; but Palmyra's gates will still be closed to you!" She stood tall, glaring icily at him, totally unconcerned by her total nudity; and Aurelian was further intrigued and inflamed by Zenobia. This is a woman, he thought admiringly.
"You are a brave creature, goddess," he said quietly, "but you are still just a woman as I am just a man. My spies tell me that there has been no man in your life since Marcus Alexander Britainus left you to return to Rome." He was pleased to see her grow pale at the mention of Marcus's name, and he continued. "He was your lover, and I do not doubt that he was a magnificent one. My niece is already with child." Zenobia's eyes closed for a moment, and she clutched at the hanging divider to keep from swaying.
"You are a bastard!" she managed to hiss at him.
He laughed pleasantly. "You are beautiful, and I desire you, goddess." Now he reached out with gentle fingers to caress her creamy shoulder, stroking with a delicate touch, watching while she fought down the urge to shudder, which finally she was unable to suppress. "Are you beginning to understand what it means to be an imperial captive, goddess?" he asked her.
"I am not afraid," she said low.
"I know that," was his answer, "but you have caused me no end of trouble, goddess, and you must be punished for it."
"So you will force me to be your mistress? Yes, Aurelian, that will indeed be punishment," she replied. "I am accustomed to choosing my own lovers."
Again he laughed. "What a defiant goddess you are, Zenobia. You were a virgin when you married Odenathus at fifteen. Marcus Alexander Britainus has been your only lover. You are an appallingly moral woman, goddess. Half, nay, most of the women in Rome have had half a dozen lovers before they marry. You have known two men, and it shall be for me as if you were a virgin."
"Take me then!" she cried half angrily, half fearfully. "I will neither yield nor give you anything of myself!"
His light blue eyes glittered with anticipation, the tiny flecks of black and copper within them dancing wildly. His fingers closed about her shoulder, and he drew her to him. She stood perfectly still, neither resisting him nor accepting him, as his arm went tightly about her waist, molding her hard against him. The hand that had been on her shoulder took her face between thumb and forefinger, tipping it upward as his head came slowly down to claim her mouth with his. With frightening expertise he forced her lips apart, invading her mouth with a velvety tongue, exploring, taunting, demanding!
I will show no emotion, she thought, but it took every bit of control not to struggle, not to tear herself away from this man whose mouth was so insistent. She wanted to run, to hide from him, for he frightened her although she would never admit it. There was a look about him that said he would not be denied, and in her entire life she had never known that a man could be like this. She had always been loved gently as a woman, first by Odenathus, and then by Marcus. This man did not seek her love, he sought her very soul! She had to stop him, but without his knowing the terrible effect he was having on her. Pulling her mouth away from his, she said coldly, "Enough! If you wish to couple with me then let us get on with it!"
If she had hit him the effect would not have been any more jolting, but then he began to chuckle, and the chuckle grew into a rumble of pleased laughter. "Brava, goddess! Magnificent! And it almost worked, but almost is not good enough." He set her back from him and studied her once more.
Zenobia was shocked. She had expected to cool his ardor by her disdain, and she had instead aroused his admiration. The next move was up to him, so she stood silently sneaking a careful look at him from beneath her thick, black lashes while she waited. She had to admit that he was a very handsome man in a virile, rugged sort of way. He was at least an inch over six feet in height, with a powerfully built body. He had a surprisingly elegant head for one of low birth, she thought. It was oval in shape, with high, well-sculpted cheekbones, a straight patrician nose almost classic in its perfection, extremely sensuous lips, a square chin with a deep cleft that was fairly well hidden by his well-cropped, short beard. The beard, like his close-clipped curly hair, had only faint touches of silver to mar its beautiful golden-blond color. The well-spaced, round eyes were sky blue with their odd-colored flecks, and edged in short, sandy lashes. They were eyes that pierced, but never divulged what they thought.