"The Bedawi are great fighters when they have to be, Marcus Alexander Britainus. When I was thirteen my father began to train me, as he had trained all my brothers in the art of desert warfare; as even today he trains his youngest sons."

"Whom do you fight, my Princess?"

"The Bedawi have few enemies," came the reply, "but, as my father has said, we must never grow soft."

"So all your brothers lead camel corps."

"Oh no, Marcus Alexander Britainus! To lead a Bedawi camel corps you must be the best. Only three of my older brothers and I have our own troupe, although one of my younger brothers appears promising." She smiled a shy smile at him. "You have been so kind, Marcus Alexander Britainus. Now I must choose fabrics. Lead on, please."

The conversation was closed, and he knew that he could not reopen it. She was young and she was inexperienced. He would question Antonius Porcius. The whole idea of this slender and delicate-looking creature being a warrior fascinated him. He smiled in return and said, "I will have a chair brought so you may sit, your Highness. The slaves will bring the fabrics to you."

He gave several sharp orders, and Zenobia quickly found herself comfortably seated, an alabaster goblet of cool juice in her hand. Another terse command from Marcus Alexander Britainus, and the slaves began to bring great bolts of fabric, unrolling several lengths of silks so she might see them properly. Zenobia's eyes widened at the glorious colors that were spread before her like a thousand sunrises and sunsets rolled into one. There were solid colors; and brocades and silks shot through with gold and silver threads.

The delicately woven wools were both local and imported, and there were many shades ranging from dark red to black. The best linen was from Egypt, he informed her, and cotton was grown only in the eastern provinces.

"I don't know where to begin," she said, and so he advised her as to which fabrics were best, showing her how to match colors and textures to make a pleasing effect. Bending over her, he breathed the subtle scent of hyacinths that she always wore; tortured himself with quick glimpses of her pale-gold breasts rising and falling calmly above her stola's low neckline. With superhuman effort he restrained the emotion that encouraged him to turn her to him and cover those luscious breasts with hot kisses.

"You have been so wonderfully kind, Marcus Alexander Britainus." Her voice came at him from a million miles away. "I did not, until today, believe there was any kindness in the Romans. I see now that I was wrong."

"There is good as well as evil in all peoples, your Highness. If I have taught you not to make quick judgments then I may count it a victory for Palmyra and her peoples."

"My husband rules Palmyra, not I."

"All women rule their husbands, your Highness. I have that on the best authority, for my mother and my sisters have often told me so."

Zenobia laughed. "I am rebuked," she said, rising from her chair. "Tell me now, Marcus Alexander Britainus, when will all these wonderful things I have purchased be delivered to the palace?"

"I will have them sent tomorrow, your Highness. They might come today, but we will need time to upholster your couches. If you will permit it I will escort you to your litter now."

He stood outside his warehouse and watched as the large litter, filled to overflowing with Zenobia and her maidens, disappeared down the street, escorted not, he noticed, by Palmyran soldiers, but Bedawi warriors. He knew now more than ever that this exquisite woman was the only woman for him. Whatever happened he must remain near her. He wasn't sure quite yet how he was going to do it, but somehow he would.


* * *

As if Venus herself had heard his wish and taken pity on him, the opportunity presented itself the following day, when he personally oversaw the delivery of Zenobia's purchases to the palace.

She greeted him gaily, then began to direct the slaves as to where they might put each article. Then Odenathus joined them, kissing his young wife's cheek, and smiling indulgently at her explanations.

"I should not have been able to do any of this, my Hawk, had it not been for Marcus Alexander Britainus."

"Then we owe you a debt, Marcus Alexander Britainus," Odenathus said. "Indeed, you are not in the mold of our average merchant. You seem more educated, a patrician I would swear."

"My family is patrician, your Highness. The Alexander family dates back to the earliest days of Rome. The key to our survival, I suspect, is that we have never involved ourselves in political intrigues. Each generation has been taught that only by hard work will they profit. The family estate, which is located in the hills outside of Rome near Tiber, was given to us in the first days of the republic. My grandfather, who is the current head of the Alexander family, still oversees the farm and the vineyards."

"Yet you are a merchant, Marcus Alexander Britainus. Why is that?" Palmyra's prince demanded.

"My father was a younger son, your Highness. Unlike others in his family, he chose to serve the government. Eventually he was sent to Britain as governor. There, he met and married my mother; and there, he began, in order to finance his growing family, to purchase and send back to Rome rare articles of beauty. When he was finally recalled to Rome he discovered that he had a burgeoning business. My grandfather allowed my father to start his own branch of the family. He continued to pursue his business, finding it preferable to life in the country. My younger brother, Aulus, resides in Britain, where he purchases goods to send back to Italy. I was sent here to obtain the magnificent goods of the Far East, and to send the luxuries of the West, east."

Odenathus eyed the tall Roman. "You have served with the army?"

"Yes, your Highness. With the Praetorian under the young Emperor Gordianus, in Africa."

Odenathus was impressed. "My wedding gift from the emperor is that I am to be made commander of Rome's legions here in Palmyra."

“A magnificent gift, Highness, I have no doubt you will bring glory to the region," replied Marcus.

"I think that Marcus Alexander Britainus should stay for the evening meal, my Hawk," Zenobia said. She turned to Marcus. "You will stay, won't you?"

The prince smiled. "I'm afraid you cannot refuse us, Marcus Alexander Britainus."

There was no way Marcus could decline gracefully. The truth was that he did not want to, for though it pained him to see the prince being so affectionate with Zenobia, at least he, Marcus, was with her also.

The winter dining room of the little palace faced south, and its walls were overlaid with thin slabs of pale yellow marble, its cornices and baseboards of carved and gilded wood matching the latticework that covered the windows. The east and west walls of the room had magnificent frescoes, bright with gold leaf, brilliant colors, and mosaic work. One showed a party of hunters after hippopotami and crocodiles on the Nile; the other offered mounted hunters with their sleek, fleet dogs chasing down gazelles in the desert. The floor was done in tiny pieces of blue, green, and yellow mosaic. Three dining couches, each one sectioned to seat three people, were set about a square dining table.

The prince took the center couch, Zenobia sat to his left, and Marcus was placed on his right in the place of honor. Marcus ate automatically, not even noticing the food served to him on silver plates. He was far too busy answering the many questions Zenobia fired at him.

He spoke of different philosophies for a time, then she looked shrewdly at him, saying, "Do you believe in these things, Marcus Alexander Britainus?"

He smiled at her. "I am a realist. I believe in that which I can see."

"I do not mean to offend. I am simply curious. There is so much I do not know of this world, and I want to learn!"

"The most beautiful woman in Palmyra," the prince remarked, "and she is not satisfied with all she has."

"It is not enough to be beautiful, my Hawk. If you had wanted a fluffy kitten of a wife, you would have been married long since."

"What is it you want to know, my Princess? I will gladly share my little knowledge with you."

The prince nodded, and Zenobia said bleakly, "Marcus Alexander Britainus, I do not even know what the sea looks like, and that, my Roman friend, is but the beginning of my ignorance."

He began to speak, and in his eloquence he made wonderful word pictures that allowed them to see the sea and the ships upon it. He told of Rome set upon her seven green hills; and Britain, the land of his birth, with its misty wet weather and even greener hills. He spoke of his service in Africa, that primitive land of fierce contrasts; and all the while Zenobia sat motionless, absorbing his every word like a sponge. The night darkened beyond the dining room windows, and the servants cleared away the fruit and honeyed nut cakes. The goblets were refilled with aromatic red wine, and Marcus spoke on until, out of the comer of his eye, he saw the prince yawning behind his hand.

"It is late," he said, "and I have been droning on like a schoolmaster."

"You have barely begun to tell me what I seek to know," Zenobia murmured.

"Perhaps then Marcus Alexander Britainus will come again and tell us of his experiences," the prince said politely.

'Tomorrow," Zenobia replied.

"Tomorrow?" Both men looked startled.

"Yes, tomorrow. You must command him, my Hawk, to come each day for an hour, and teach me of the world beyond our city."

Odenathus seemed annoyed, and glanced somewhat irritably at the Roman. "Marcus Alexander Britainus is a busy man, my flower."