Beloved (17 page)

“No, your Highness,” he answered her in an even voice, although he was tempted to laugh. “I take my height from my mother’s people, the Dobunni. My grandfather was their prince.” He smiled down at her. “If I may say it, you are tall for a woman, Highness.”

“I take my height from my mother’s people too, Marcus Alexander Britainus. My mother was an Alexandrian Greek descended from Queen Cleopatra.” Zenobia was openly proud.

“How fitting that Queen Cleopatra’s beautiful young descendent should be the Princess of Palmyra, Highness,” came the reply.

Zenobia looked up at the Roman, but the deep blue eyes held no trace of mockery, only the deepest respect. “This is a better beginning, Marcus Alexander Britainus,” she answered him.

That, he was amused to note to himself, was the only reference she made to their first meeting.

“Severus tells me that you seek to purchase furniture, Highness; yet I have heard Palmyra’s palace is most beautifully decorated.”

“Palmyra’s palace is, but the house that my husband and I share within the palace gardens is but newly built.”

“My warehouses are full, your Highness, and I, myself, will escort you.”

“Remain here,” Zenobia commanded her half-dozen maidens. For the first time he noticed the women who accompanied her; fluttering butterflies, all of whom admired him openly.

“Please follow me, your Highness,” he said, leading her from the bright atrium, through a corridor, and finally into a huge room filled with furnishings of every description; great bolts of multicolored silks, linens, and wools; and decorations of every type.

Stunned, Zenobia stood looking at it all. This gave him a moment to feast his eyes upon her perfect beauty. She was even fairer than he remembered. Her skin glowed with a radiance that told him she was well loved. His envy of Odenathus was tinged
with sadness. She was wearing a sleeveless, low-necked pale-lavender-colored stola that had been belted at the waist with three narrow strips of gilded leather. Her long dark hair was no longer loose and flowing as he remembered it. Instead, it was parted in the middle and drawn into a heavy coil at the nape of her neck, affixed with amethyst-studded gold combs and long matching pins.

“It is so much,” her awed voice brought him out of his daydream.

“The shipment arrived but yesterday,” he answered.

“I have visited several other warehouses, Marcus Alexander Britainus, but I have seen nothing to compare with your merchandise.” She paused a moment, and then looked up at him. “Marcus Alexander Britainus, I need your help.”

“My help?”
He felt his heartbeat accelerate.

“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 than the last. The cabinets were compartmented, but had no sliding drawers, locks, or hinges. She chose a dozen ironbound
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 think 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 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.