"I do not know if that will now be possible," Dagian said. The woman to whom my son was betrothed is Zenobia, the Queen of Palmyra."
"Oh dear," Ulpia murmured. "That does put a different complexion upon the matter, doesn't it? Aurelian would be very angry with me if under those circumstances I allowed Marcus to leave Italy." She sighed, perplexed, and then her face brightened. "Well, Marcus will simply have to wait for his queen to come to him. I know that Aurelian plans to march her in his triumph when he returns to Rome. The queen will, of course, be an imperial captive, but I shall see that my husband gives her to Marcus. Aurelian is always very generous with me, for I ask little of him and I have always been discreet." She smiled at Dagian. "Go to your son, and tell him that everything will be settled soon. I will help to prepare Carissa for her last journey."
Dagian left Carissa's bedchamber. She wondered if Zenobia would survive her war with Rome. Was she already defeated, or had she surprised imperial Rome once again by defeating them? News took so long to get to Italy from Syria. Marcus's mother said a quick prayer to the gods that they protect Zenobia of Palmyra.
The gods, however, had chosen to be fickle toward the mortal who until recently had always been their favorite. She had spent another night of unrelenting combat in Aurelian's bed, and she wondered why Venus had left him so long upon the earth. The man was insatiable and apparently inexhaustible; but then, Zenobia thought with the barest hint of a smile, even the goddess had to rest. It was a pity she could not. The dawn had barely broken when they were engaged in battle of another kind.
"You will walk behind my chariot," he had announced to her as they rose from the bed.
Shocked, she had taken a moment to comprehend him, and then she had spun about, shouting, "Never!”
"Or I can drag you behind my chariot," was the choice offered next.
"Then you will drag me," she declared dramatically. "I will never enter my city in defeat! You have not defeated me, Aurelian!"
"Yes, I have," he mocked her, his sky-blue eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "What a stubborn goddess you are, Zenobia. I have defeated you honestly, both in the field and in my bed. If you do not play your part today in my triumph then I shall not allow you ever again to set foot within your city. How will you then spin your webs, my adorable spider? More important, how will you guide your son?"
Her teeth bared at him and her fists clenched angrily, she realized how securely she was entrapped. She knew that he would not relent once his decision was made.
"You will come meekly?" he demanded.
"I will come."
He chuckled at the fine disjunction between his question and her answer.
A slave brought them breakfast, and he noted with some amusement that her irritation had not affected her appetite. She neatly peeled and sectioned a small orange, which she then placed in a little bowl and covered with yogurt. A thick slice of freshly baked bread was lavishly spread with honey and set upon the red Arrentine pottery plate with two hard-boiled eggs and a handful of plump, ripe black olives. Totally ignoring him, she proceeded to consume this bounty, washing it down with a goblet of pomegranate juice. Then, without so much as a word to him, she rose up and left the tent. He wanted to laugh, but Zenobia's dignity was already worn thin and the emperor needed her cooperation.
To drag her shrieking into Palmyra would not win the city's sympathy, and even the young king might think differently about cooperating with Rome under those circumstances. He was, after all, her son, for all her usurpation of his office. He wanted her walking under her own power behind him, in a gesture that all of Palmyra would understand. Seeing her acceptance of Rome, the citizenry would then bow their own necks to the imperial yoke. Let her walk off her bad temper and come to terms with herself before his triumph. Had their positions been reversed she would, he knew, have treated him no differently. Let her be aware of that. Having settled it in his own mind, Aurelian proceeded to eat his own breakfast.
When he had finished he called for Gaius Cicero. "You are responsible for the queen," he said quietly. "I do not believe you will have any difficulty with her. We have spoken this morning, and she understands my wishes completely. You will see that she is in her place behind my chariot as I enter into Palmyra."
"Yes, Caesar!" came the dutiful answer.
At the appointed hour the Roman army was drawn up in full formation before the main gates of Palmyra. At their front was Aurelian in his battle chariot, looking eminently powerful and regal. His gold breastplate, with its raised design of Mars, the god of war, in various victories, gleamed in the morning sunlight; his long red military cloak blew gently in the faint breeze; but his elegant helmet could not hide the stern features of his face. He stood tall, erect, quiet. Behind him his waiting legions shuffled nervously.
The emperor turned to see Zenobia, in her place behind his chariot, turning away from his gaze. The gods! he silently cursed. Just to look at her aroused his desire. She wore no mourning this day, but rather was dressed as she had been the first day his army had arrived at Palmyra's gates those months back. In her golden kalasiris she looked no more like a beaten adversary than a bird of paradise. Her collar of rubies, rose quartz, and diamonds glittered brightly, its brilliance echoed by her golden circlet of vine leaves with their ribboned brilliants. She was in truth a golden goddess incarnate, and she had managed by her dress to change the lesson he had intended to teach the people of Palmyra.
A tiny smile twitched his lips, softening for a moment his stern features. She had somehow turned another defeat into a victory for herself. He would remember that. He had once accused her of being overproud, and by the gods she could give lessons in it! He turned back to face the gates of Palmyra, and as if his look were a signal, they began to slowly open.
Aurelian felt tense. He wondered if they would choose to fight at the last minute. Usually the walls of the city were crowded with spectators, but this morning not one person was to be seen upon them. He could plainly hear the creak of protest from the gate's hinges as it yawned wider and wider. Once open, the entry to Palmyra resembled a gaping mouth void of teeth.
Then from out of the entry came a man in a simple white linen tunic and a red-and-white-striped toga bordered in purple. In his hands he carried the symbolic gold keys to the city. With great dignity the man made his way forward to stand before Aurelian's chariot. "Hail, Caesar!" he said in a loud voice. "I am Cassius Longinus, the king's chief advisor. On His Majesty's instructions I present to you the keys to Palmyra."
"Where is the king?" demanded the emperor.
"His Majesty awaits you at the palace, Caesar. The young queen was ill this day, and as they are recently wed, the king would not leave her side."
Aurelian raised an eyebrow. No wonder Zenobia was loath to let the boy rule. A king who put his woman before his position was certainly doomed. "Walk beside your queen, Cassius Longinus, as I enter the city. I assume your main avenue leads to the royal palace."
"It does, Caesar." Longinus moved behind the chariot to where Zenobia stood. "Majesty," he said low. "Thank the gods you are safe!"
"By rights, Longinus, I should be dead now but that my son has forgotten his duty."
He put a comforting hand upon her. "We will talk later," he said, and then they moved forward.
The Roman legionnaires jogged along nervously, facing straight ahead, their eyes shifting from right to left. The streets were quiet and empty, the shops closed, the people seemingly nonexistent. An unnatural silence hung over the city as Aurelian and his army made their way down the main avenue.