As they walked she noticed that his hand was callused and dry and firm. It was a good sign, she thought. "Directly above us is the planet Venus," she said. "When I was born Venus and Mars were in conjunction. The Chaldean astronomer who was present at my birth predicted that I should be fortunate in both love and war."

"And have you been?" he asked.

"I have always been loved by my brothers and my parents. Of war I know naught."

"Has no young man declared his undying affection for you?"

She stopped and pondered a moment. "There have been young men who act silly around me. They behave like young goats when they are trying to attract the attention of a desirable nanny."

"You mean they butt heads," he teased.

Zenobia giggled. 'They have done everything but that. I do not believe, however, that that is love."

"Perhaps you have not given them a chance to offer you love, just as you have been denying me that chance this evening." He turned her to him and they were face to face, but she shyly turned her head away. "Look at me, Zenobia," he commanded gently.

"I cannot," she whispered.

"What?" He teased her once again. "A girl who can lead a mounted troupe of soldiers cannot look at the man who would love her? I will not eat you up, Zenobia-at least not yet," he amended. "Look at me, my desert flower. Look into the eyes of the prince who would lay his heart at your feet." His hand raised her face up, and their eyes met. Zenobia shivered in the warm night.

Tenderly, Odenathus explored her face with his elegant fingers, outlining her jaw, brushing the tips of his fingers over her high cheekbones, down her nose, across her lips. "Your skin is like the petal of a rose, my flower," he murmured in a deep and passionate voice.

Zenobia was riveted to the ground. She thought she would faint, for she couldn't seem to catch her breath; and when she swayed uncertainly his muscled arm reached out to sweep her next to him. She had no idea how tempting she was to the prince, her moist coral lips slightly parted, her dark gray eyes wide. Her honest innocence was the most tantalizing and provocative spur to his passions; but Odenathus maintained a firm control over his own wants. It would be so easy to make love to her this very minute, he thought. It would be easy to sink onto the sand, drawing her down. How he would enjoy teaching this lovely girl the arts of love! But some deeper instinct warned him that now was not the time.

Instead he held her firmly and said in what he hoped passed for a normal voice, "We will get to know one another, my little flower. You know that I want you for my wife, but because I care for you I want you to be happy. If being my wife would bring you sadness then it cannot be. You would do me honor if you would stay at the palace this summer. Then we may get to know each other within the protective circle of our families."

"I… I must ask my father," she replied softly.

"I am sure that Zabaai ben Selim will agree." He let her go then and, taking her hand, again turned back to the encampment. Escorting her to her tent, he bowed politely and bid her a good night.

It was a bemused Zenobia who passed into her quarters. The desert night had grown cool, and Bab sat nodding by the brazier. Zenobia was relieved, for she didn't want to talk at this moment. She wanted time alone in the silence to think. She was quite confused. Prince Odenathus had roused something within her, but she could not be sure if it was the kind of love that grew between a man and a woman. How could she know? She had never felt that kind of love. Zenobia sighed so deeply that Bab awakened with a start.

"You are back, child?" The old woman rose slowly to her feet. "Let me help you get ready for bed. Was the evening a pleasant one for you? Did you walk with the prince? Did he kiss you?"

Zenobia laughed. "So many questions, Bab! Yes, the evening was pleasant and the prince did not kiss me, though I thought once he might."

"You did not hit him the way you have done with the young men of the tribe?" Bab fretted.

"No, I didn't, and had he tried to kiss me I wouldn't have."

The older woman nodded, satisfied. The prince obviously sought to win over her lovely child, and that was good. He was obviously a man of sensitivity, and that, too, was to be commended. Zenobia, little hornet that she was, could be won over by honeyed persuasion. Force would be fatal. Bab helped her young mistress to undress, and settled her in her bed. "Good night, my child," she said and, bending, kissed the girl's forehead.

"He wants me to spend the summer at the palace, Bab. Do you think Father will agree?"

"Of course he will agree! Go to sleep now, my dear, and dream beautiful dreams of your handsome prince."

"Good night, Bab," came the reply.


***

By noon the next day the camp was struck, and they were on the road back to the great oasis city. The prince rode next to Zenobia, who proved far more talkative in the saddle than she had been the previous evening. By the time the city came in sight two days later they were in the process of becoming friends. The prince left the caravan of Zabaai ben Selim at his home, and rode on to the palace to prepare for Zenobia's visit.

He was greeted by his mother, Al-Zena, who had been a Persian princess. Al-Zena meant "the woman" in the Persian language; a feminine woman who personified beauty, love, and fidelity. Odenathus's elegant mother was all of these things. She was petite in stature, athough quite regal. Her skin was as white as snow, her hair and eyes black as night. Al-Zena loved her son, her only child, above all else; but she was a strong-willed woman who wanted no serious rivals for her son's attention. She held Palmyra in contempt, forever comparing it unfavorably to her beloved Persian cities. As a consequence, she was not popular among Palmyra's citizens, although her son, who loved and championed his city, was.

She knew that Odenathus was back within the palace before he had passed through the gates; but she waited for him to come to her. Pacing the outer chamber of her apartments, she glanced at herself in the silver mirror and was reassured by what she saw. She was still beautiful, her face still virtually unlined at forty; her midnight-black hair unsilvered; her eyes clear. She wore garments in the Parthian fashion, cherry-red trousers, a pale-pink sleeveless blouse, a long-sleeved cherry-red tunic embroidered in gold threads and small fresh-water pearls. Upon her feet were golden leather sandals. Her hair was piled high upon her head in an arrangement of braids and curls, and dressed with twinkling bits of garnet glass.

She saw the admiration in his eyes as he entered the room, and was pleased. "Odenathus, my love," she murmured in her strangely husky voice, a voice that was in direct contrast with her very female appearance. "I have missed you," she said, embracing him. "Where have you been these past few days?"

He smiled broadly at her, and drew her to the cushioned bench. "I have been in the desert, Mother, at the camp of my cousin, Zabaai ben Selim. I have invited his daughter, Zenobia, to spend the summer here at our palace." Al-Zena felt a chill of premonition and, sure enough, her son continued, "I would like to marry Zenobia, but she is young, and hesitant. I thought if she spent her summer here and came to know us she would be less unsure. Although her father can order her to wed with me I should far prefer it if she wanted to do so."

Al-Zena was totally unprepared for her son's news. She needed time to think, but first she would try the obvious. "Odenathus, there is plenty of time for you to marry. Why this haste?"

"Mother, I am twenty-five. I need heirs."

"And what are Deliciae's children?"

"They are my sons, but they cannot be my heirs. They are the children of a slave, a concubine. You know all of this, Mother. You know that I must marry one day."

"But a Bedawi girl? Odenathus, surely you can do better than that?"

"Zenobia is but half Bedawi, as am I, Mother." He smiled a bit ruefully. He was more than well aware of her overpossessiveness, although she assumed him ignorant of her feelings. "Her mother was a direct descendant of Queen Cleopatra, and Zenobia is a beautiful and intelligent girl. I want her for my wife, and I shall have her."

Al-Zena tried another tack, one that would give her time to think. "Of course, my son, I am only concerned for your happiness. Poor Deliciae! She will be simply heartbroken to learn that she is to be replaced in your affections."

"Deliciae has no illusions as to her place in my life," Odenathus said sharply. "You will see that Zenobia is made welcome, won't you, Mother?"

"Since you are so determined to have her to wife, my son, I shall treat her as I would my own daughter," came the sweet reply, and Odenathus rose and kissed his mother.

"I ask nothing more of you," he said, and left her, to visit with his favorite concubine, Deliciae.

No sooner had he gone than Al-Zena picked up a porcelain vase and flung it to the floor in a fit of temper. A wife! By the gods she had hoped to prevent such a thing. Heirs! He wanted heirs for this dung heap of a city! Palmyra, for all its boast of being founded by King Solomon, couldn't compare with her ancient Persian cities of culture and learning. This place to which she had been exiled these past twenty-six years was but a dung heap in a desert! Well, he wasn't married yet. Perhaps if she worked on that stupid little fool, Deliciae… If Odenathus wanted the Bedawi girl, let him couple with her. But make her his wife? Never!


***

Deliciae had greeted her master warmly, pressing her ripe body against his in a provocative manner, holding her face up to him for a kiss. "Welcome, my lord. I have missed you greatly, as have your sons."