Beloved by Bertrice Small Page A

drive the Romans from my city.”
    “May the gods grant your wish, my lord Prince. Too long has the golden yoke been about our necks, and each year the Romans take more and more of the riches that come to us from the Indies and Cathay. We are beggared trying to feed their rapacious appetites.”
    Odenathus nodded in agreement, and then said, “Will you present me to the captain of your camel corps? I should like to congratulate him on his leadership.”
    Zabaai hid a smile. “Of course, my lord.” He raised his hand in a signal, and the camel cavalry whirled away from him, galloped down a stretch of desert, and then turned to come racing furiously back to stop just short of the two men. “The prince would like to present his compliments, Captain,” Zabaai said.
    The leader of the corps slid from his mount and bowed smartly before the prince.
    “You handle your men well, Captain. I hope that someday we may ride together.”
    “It will be an honor, my lord, although I am not used to sharing my command with anyone.” The captain’s burnoose was tossed back, and the ruler of Palmyra found himself staring into the face of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She laughed at his surprise, and said, “Do you not recognize me, my cousin?”
    “Zenobia?”
He was astounded. This could not be Zenobia! Zenobia was a child. This statuesque goddess could not be theflat and leggy child he remembered. Three and a half years had passed since he had last seen her.
    “You’re staring,” she said.
    “What?” He was totally confused.
    “You are staring at me, my lord. Is something wrong?”
    “You’ve changed,” he managed to say in a somewhat strangled voice.
    “I am almost fifteen, my lord.”
    “Fifteen,” he repeated foolishly. By the gods, she was a glorious creature!
    “You may go now, Zenobia,” Zabaai dismissed her. “We will expect you at the evening meal.”
    “Yes, Father.” Zenobia turned and, grasping her camel’s bridle, swung herself back up into the saddle. Raising her hand as signal, she led her camel corps away as the two men re-entered Zabaai ben Selim’s tent.
    “Did you or did you not propose a match between your daughter and myself several years back, Zabaai?” the Palmyran prince demanded.
    “I did.”
    “The girl was to become my wife a year after she became a woman. Is that not correct?”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “Has she now reached her maturity?”
    “Yes, my lord.” It was all that Zabaai ben Selim could do to keep from laughing. Odenathus’s desire was so open as to be embarrassing.
    “Then why is she not my wife?” came the anguished cry.
    “Nothing was formally proposed, my lord. When you did not make formal application for my daughter’s hand I was forced to conclude that you were not seriously interested. Besides, your devotion to your favorite, Deliciae, is well known. She has given you two sons, has she not?”
    “Deliciae is a concubine,” Odenathus protested. “Her sons are not my heirs. Only my wife’s sons will hold that distinction.”
    “You do not have a wife,” Zabaai ben Selim reminded.
    “Do not toy with me, cousin,” Odenathus said. “You know full well that I want Zenobia to wife. You knew that the moment I saw her I would want her. Why did you simply not present her to me? Why that silly charade with the camel corps?”
    “It was no charade, my lord. Zenobia commands her own corps, and has for two years now. If I let you marry her it must be withthe understanding that she is free to go her own way. She is not an ornament to be housed like a fine jewel in the box of your harem. My daughter descends from the rulers of Egypt, and she is as free as the wind. You cannot pen the wind, Odenathus.”
    “I will agree to whatever you wish, Zabaai, but I want Zenobia!” the prince promised rashly.
    “The first thing I want is that you get to know one another. Zenobia may have the body of a woman, but she is yet a child where men are