your merchandise.' She paused a moment, and then looked up at him. 'Marcus Alexander Britainus, I need your help.'
'Can you keep a secret? You must, for I should die of embarrassment if anyone knew. For some reason I trust you although you are a Roman; a blue-eyed Roman at that. Yet my instinct tells me to trust you. Will you keep my secret?'
He nodded.
'Thank you.' She drew a deep breath. 'I know nothing about furnishing a home, Marcus Alexander Britainus. Nothing at all! All my life has been spent either in a tent trekking the desert, or in my mother's house here in Palmyra. Mother's house was a part of her dowry, and she furnished it before I was born. She never had any need to purchase things, and she died before she might teach me that which a good wife should know.
'Can you help me; tell me what I will need?'
He knew what that speech had cost her, for she was very proud; and he had an almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and take her into his arms to soothe her. Instead he mastered himself, and said quietly, 'I am honored, my Princess, that you have entrusted me with your confidence. I will endeavour not to fail you.'
'You are a diplomat as well as a businessman, Marcus Alexander Britainus.' Her gray eyes regarded him carefully. 'The empire has lost a valuable servant in you.'
'Part of being a businessman is being a diplomat, Highness,' he replied smoothly. 'Shall we begin with the couches?'
Zenobia laughed, and nodded. 'By all means let us begin with the couches,' she agreed.
He led her into a section of the warehouse that was completely filled with couches, carefully lined up side by side, row upon row. They were extremely ornamental, made of finely grained and finished woods, the arms and legs carved ornately or inlaid with tortoiseshell, ivory, even precious metals. Several couches had frames of solid silver and legs inlaid with jewels, or carved in high relief to depict scenes of the gods in various attitudes of play. There was a couch with a rather graphic scene of Jupiter as the swan seducing the maiden, Leda. Zenobia, Marcus noted, quickly turned away from that particular piece of furniture. For some reason her modesty pleased him.
'There are no cushions or coverings for the couches?' she asked.
'Most merchants have such items already made and on the couches, Highness. I, however, prefer to allow my customer a choice of fabric, for I should hate to lose a sale because you disliked the color of the cushions.'
'That is very clever of you, Marcus Alexander Britainus.'
He chuckled with delight, for it gave him great pleasure to be complimented by this girl. Quietly he listened to her needs, and then suggested several possibilities, always explaining why he chose one couch over another so she might learn, but leaving the final decision to her.
They next moved on to chairs. They were not upholstered, but they did have fabric cushions. The tables were elegant with supports and tops of marble, solid or veneered woods, or thin sheets of precious metals such as gold or silver. The most beautiful and the most expensive table in the warehouse was a round one made from cross sections of exquisitely marked, perfectly matched African cedar. Zenobia reverently rubbed her hand over the surface of the table, almost purring her pleasure.
'Do not tell me,' Marcus teased her. 'You must have it.'
'Am I wrong to choose it?' she inquired hesitantly.
'No. It is a fine piece; in fact, to my mind, it is one of the best tables ever done. It will be fearfully expensive though, Highness.'
Her winged brows raised themselves slightly. 'I do not recall asking you the price, Marcus Alexander Britainus.'
Just the faint hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. 'Shall we move on to chests and cabinets, your Highness?'
Zenobia followed him into another section of the warehouse with what she hoped was a regal step. There, with Marcus's aid she picked several wooden cabinets, each one more beautifully decorated man the last. The cabinets were compartmented, but had no sliding drawers, locks, or hinges. She chose a dozen iron-bound wooden chests with ornamental locks and hinges of dark bronze, then moved on to purchase footed charcoal-burning iron floor stoves, to heat the rooms on chilly evenings and winter days.
Next Zenobia bought lamps to light her home, exclaiming with delight at the variety available to her. Following Marcus's advice, she chose only lamps made of metals, for they, he assured her, would last a lifetime. There were lamps with handles that could be carried from room to room; some that would be suspended from the ceilings by chains; and others that would be kept on stands or tripods. The lamps were graceful in form, and all had been finely crafted, precious and semiprecious stones set within the gold and silver.
It had taken over two hours for Zenobia to make her purchases, and now she must choose fabrics for her couches and pillows. 'I am exhausted,' she complained to Marcus. 'I mink I should rather lead my camel corps in a desert drill than shop.'
'Your camel corps?' He kept his voice curious but impersonal.
'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
