Beloved

city without a thought. He does the next best thing-he welcomes them, and in doing so saves us all. Do not judge him too harshly. When the time is right he will drive them from our land, and we will once again be our own masters.'

'If I marry the prince will my children be his heirs? The gossips say he is quite fond of one of his concubines- and her children. I will have no one else's children supplanting mine.'

'Your children will be his legal heirs, my daughter.'

'Then I will marry him, Father.'

'Wait, my child,' Zabaai cautioned. 'Get to know him before you agree to this match. If you then still wish to wed him, so be it.'

'You say that eventually I must marry, Father. The prince has asked for me, and I will agree. If I must wed then at least it will be to a man who lives in Palmyra, so I may at last be free of your desert.' She twinkled mischievously at him, and Zabaai chuckled indulgently. How he loved this child. 'The prince is handsome,' continued Zenobia. 'He has always been kind to me, and I have never heard anyone say that he is not a fair or good ruler. There seems to be no malice in him at all.' Zenobia knew no matter how fair her father meant to be she could not refuse the prince. Still, she loved Zabaai all the more for pretending the choice was hers.

'You say nothing of love, my child. For a marriage to be successful mere must be love between a man and a woman. The moment I saw your mother those long years ago in Alexandria I knew I loved her, and she knew she loved me. Love sustains a man and woman in the hard times.'

'You and Mother were unusual, Father. Tamar tells me that love is something that grows between a man and a woman. I believe that, given time, I can love Odenathus, and he already loves me. I can tell. Did you see how foolishly he behaved today? I didn't mean to laugh at him, but he looked so silly with his mouth open.' She giggled with the memory.

Zabaai didn't think that this was the time to explain to his daughter the difference between lust and love. Let her believe that Odenathus was already in love with her. It wouldn't hurt to give the prince that small edge. 'Make yourself beautiful, my child,' he said, and then in a rare show of open affection he kissed her cheek. 'You may eat with us instead of the women this evening.'

Left alone, Zenobia turned to her mirror, a round of burnished silver. Pensively, she stared into it. Everyone said that she was a beauty, and compared to other girls her age she was. But would she be able to compete with the women of Palmyra? Would Odenathus think that she was beautiful? She knew all about his concubine, Deliciae, and she would have to accept the woman. A slave girl from northern Greece, Deliciae was said to be very beautiful, fair-skinned, azure-eyed, yellow-haired.

Zenobia looked at herself with a critical eye. Pale-gold skin, the cheeks of her oval face touched with apricot; long, thick, straight dark hair, silken to the touch, so perhaps it would be pleasing to him. She seemed to remember that he was always caressing her head.

She looked harder at herself. She was tall for a woman, she knew, but her body was flawless, her limbs well rounded without being fat, thanks to the active life she led. She gently slipped her slender hands beneath her breasts, and looked at them critically. They were round, firm, and full. She knew the value that men put on women's breasts, saw with satisfaction that she would not be found wanting there. Her waist was slender, the hips slim, but pleasingly rounded. Zenobia's gaze moved upward again in the mirror, to her face, and she stared hard.

The cheekbones were high, the nose quite straight and classic, the lips full and generous, the chin small, square, and determined. Her eyes, she decided, were her best feature. Almond-shaped, topped by slender, arched, black brows and thickly fringed with black lashes, they were deep gray with tiny golden flecks, like leaves in a winter pond. The color darkened to almost black when she was angry, remaining a deep gray at other times. They were the kind of eyes a man couldn't resist looking into. Although Zenobia was too young to realize it, her eyes were the mirror of her soul, telling anyone who was wise enough to look deeply into all her secrets.

'If he does not find you the most beautiful woman in the world then he is blind in both eyes, little sister.'

Zenobia turned her eyes from the mirror. 'It is his favorite concubine I am worried about, Akbar. Men of the desert are susceptible to fair women.'

'He has not married her,' came the reply.

'She is a slave, Akbar. Men do not marry their slaves. They may love them, but they do not marry them. What if he loves her, but marries me simply for heirs? I have been surrounded by love my whole life, Akbar. I was conceived by a great love. I cannot live without it! What if he does not love me?'

'You do not have to marry him, little sister. Father has said he will not force you to it.'

'I am almost fifteen, my brother. Most girls my age have been married for two years, and already have children. What if I never find this love that exists between a man and a woman? If I do not marry Prince Odenathus, who will I marry, Akbar? Who will have an educated woman to wife? I often wonder if Mother and Father did not do me a great disservice educating me. Perhaps I would have been better off if I had learned nothing but woman's ways.' She sighed, and flung herself on her couch.

Akbar stared at his half-sister in surprise, and then he began to laugh. 'By Jupiter, you are afraid! Never did I think to see the day when Zenobia bat Zabaai would be afraid, but you are! You are afraid that Odenathus will not like you! You are afraid of a blue-eyed, yellow-haired whore! Zenobia, my sister, the poor Prince of Palmyra is already half in love with you. If you will be but kind to him he will be your devoted slave for the rest of your life. All he desires is a little encouragement. As to the concubine, Deliciae, of course he is fond of her. She is an amiable creature, surely you cannot be afraid of that piece of fluff?'

'She is so… so womanly, and I am more at home with a weapon than a perfume bottle!'

'You are unique, my sister.'

'Would you like a woman like me, Akbar?' The concern in her young face was so intense that he almost hurt for her.

'Too easy a conquest can be pleasant, but very boring, my sister. Be yourself with Odenathus. He will love you.' Akbar walked over to where his younger half-sister lounged, and bent to kiss her head. 'Stop brooding, foolish child, and make yourself beautiful for the prince. I will come back shortly, and escort you myself to Father's tent for the evening meal.'

When she looked up he was gone, and Bab was entering the tent. Dearest Bab, Zenobia thought affectionately. How she was going to enjoy living in a civilized city again! Bab had been her mother's servant, and had come with Iris from Alexandria. When Iris had died she had simply taken over Zenobia, and continued on with her duties. She was getting on in years now, thought Zenobia, and the traveling was becoming harder for her. She watched with loving eyes as the older woman moved about the tent preparing her mistress's clothing for the evening.

'Ah, your dear mother would be happy with this match,' Bab commented. 'It is your son who will be the next ruler of Palmyra after Odenathus.'

'At least if I do marry him,' Zenobia teased, 'you will spend your declining years within a city instead of out upon the desert.'

'Declining years?' Bab's lined and weathered face registered instant offense. 'And who is declining, I should like to know? I served your mother. I serve you, and I expect someday I shall serve your daughter. Declining years! Humph!' She bent over the cedar chest, and drew forth a soft white cotton chemise and a snow-white tunic. 'You'll wear these,' she said, holding them out.

Zenobia nodded and shrugged off the short black chiton she had been wearing. Bab took a small sea sponge and, dipping it in fragrant oil, smoothed it over her mistress's nude body. The young girl wrinkled her nose with delight. She loved the rich hyacinth fragrance, remembering that Iris had given her a small flacon of the perfume when she was ten. Bab slipped the chemise and then the tunic over Zenobia's head. The tunic was made of fine linen, and Bab belted it with a length of thin leather that had been gilded with silver leaf. There were matching silver sandals for Zenobia's slender feet.

The tunic was sleeveless and its neckline was draped low, revealing the soft perfection of her breasts. Bab sat the girl down while she brushed and brushed the long black hair, finally braiding it and looping it under once to be fastened with a pearl-and-diamond hair ornament. She then offered her young mistress a small jewel case, which Zenobia stared into for a few moments, studying the precious gems and metals. Finally she removed a carved silver bracelet, a smooth ivory one banded with silver, one of carved ivory, and another of polished blue lapis, which she slipped on one of her arms. Into her ears she fitted silver-and-lapis earrings, and upon her fingers went two rings, one a large creamy round pearl, the other a carved scarab of blue lapis that had belonged to her mother.