Bertrice Small - Beloved

Palmyra, queen city of the Eastern Empire, lay almost halfway between the equally ancient city of Baghdad and the blue Mediterranean sea. It was said to have been founded by Solomon, a fact of which the Palmyrans were mightily proud. Built upon and around the great oasis where the major caravan routes between east and west crossed, it was the city through which all the riches of the world passed en route west to Europe or east to Persia, Cathay, and the Indies. Greeks and Romans, Syrians and Jews, Arab merchants of all tribes gathered here, building great storehouses and warehouses in which safely to keep the silks, carpets, spices, ivory, jewels, grain, and dates that passed through their hands. They built luxurious villas in which to house their families, as well as their concubines, for as all inanimate valuables arrived in Palmyra so did the choicest of the world's slaves.

The architects of the city had a passion for columns, and all the major buildings were adorned with them. About the central courtyard of one temple were raised three hundred seventy graceful colonnades; and upon projecting stones half way up each column stood statues of Palmyra's most famous men. The city's main avenue was lined on each side with two rows of pillars, seven hundred and fifty to a side; and the Temple of Jupiter had a mile-long colonnade consisting of fifteen hundred Corinthian columns.

The city had been built for merchants by a wise king, and a thousand years later it was still firmly controlled by commercial interests. The main business and shopping streets were all covered over, so even in the heat of a summer noon one could conduct his business in relative comfort. Although not prone to attack due to its inaccessible location, Palmyrans had raised around the city a wall seven miles long, to discourage the boldness of desert raiders.

This was the kingdom over which Zenobia bat Zabaai would soon reign as wife to its prince. Zabaai ben Selim was suddenly and for the first time really considering the serious responsibility he was placing upon his only daughter's shoulders. He sat comfortably in Odenathus's private library, a carved alabaster goblet of fine Cyrenean wine clutched in his hand. Behind him, a deaf-mute black slave plied a large woven palm fan, creating just enough breeze to ease the still heat of the late afternoon.

As he had come into the city today he had looked at it as if for the first time in his entire life. When one is used to something, one sees with dulled eyes, he thought. He had been born here on this oasis, and the city had always been a part of his life. Today he had really looked, and what he had seen made him think. It was not just the magnificent architecture of the city, but the marvelous parks kept green by the oasis's underground springs that suddenly stunned Zabaai. The intellect behind the creation of the city was overwhelming.

Zenobia, he knew, would not be content simply to be an ornament and a broodmare. What part would she play, he wondered, in the government of this city? Palmyran princesses were famed for their beauty, not their administrative abilities. He shook his head wearily. Had his ambition for his beloved child outstripped his good sense?"

"Zabaai, my cousin!" Odenathus hurried into the room, his white robes whirling about him. "Forgive me for keeping you waiting."

"I have been comfortable in these pleasant surroundings, my lord Prince."

"I have asked you here so we may discuss the terms of this marriage before I call in the scribes. What will you give as dowry?"

"I shall give a thousand pure-bred goats, five hundred white and five hundred black. There will be two hundred and fifty fighting camels; and a hundred Arabian horses; not to mention jewelry, clothing, household goods, and the deed to her mother's house."

The prince was astounded by the magnificence of Zenobia's dowry. Never had he suspected that it would be so large; but then her father could easily afford it, for his herds were enormous.

The dowry agreement was drawn up by the prince's scribe, who set his quill flying across the parchment as each point was stated. A transfer of goods between the bride's father and her husband would make Odenathus Zenobia's legal lord according to the Bedawi laws; but the prince was Hellenized, as had been Zenobia's mother and the bride herself. They would be married in the atrium of Zabaai's home, the exact date depending on the omens to be taken this very evening by the temple priests.

Al-Zena was sent for, and she and the prince's Greek secretary witnessed the signing of the document of betrothal and the formal words in which Odenathus said to his future father-in-law, "Do you promise to give me your daughter as wife?"

"May the gods grant their blessing. I promise," Zabaai said.

"May the gods grant their blessing!" Odenathus finished.

"So," Al-Zena said sourly, "you are really going to do it."

"You disapprove of this match, my Princess?"

"Do not be offended, Zabaai ben Selim. I think your daughter a sweet child, but I cannot see the necessity for my son to marry. He already has children."

"Palmyra has never been governed by a bastard line," came the sharp reply. "Surely you must know the law."

Odenathus hid a smile as his mother, very discomfited, replied stiffly, "You have always been most outspoken, Zabaai ben Selim. I can only hope your daughter does not take after you."

"Zenobia is herself. She will be a credit to the city."

"Indeed!" Al-Zena snapped, and she turned and abruptly left the library.

Zabaai ben Selim smiled blandly at the prince, and said, "You will want to see Zenobia before we leave." It was a statement.

"Leave? " The prince was somewhat taken aback.

"Now that the betrothal is official, my lord, Zenobia must return home. She cannot stay here in the palace under the circumstances. She will return on her wedding day. You may not see each other until then."

"But I thought we might spend this time getting to know one another better," he protested, disappointed.

"Alas, custom demands we be discreet," came the reply.

"Whose customs?" Odenathus demanded.

"Ancient Bedawi customs, my Lord," was the silken answer. "There will be plenty of time for you and my daughter to get to know one another after the wedding."

"I will have the priests from the Temple of Jupiter sacrifice a lamb this very night to determine the date," the prince said. "But first I will go to Zenobia, and bid her farewell."

"I will await your return, my Lord." Settling back in his chair, Zabaai held out his goblet for the slave to refill. He watched with dancing dark eyes as the young man hurried from the room. How very eager he was, and a brief separation would whet his appetite even further for this marriage. Al-Zena might carp and complain, but Zabaai wagered with himself that Odenathus's few sweet memories of Zenobia would spur him eagerly on toward their wedding day.

Odenathus did not go directly to the apartments where Zenobia was housed. First he stopped at his treasury; walking into the roomy jewelry vault, he carefully selected a ring that would be his betrothal gift to his future wife. It was not a hard choice, for he had seen the ring months before when it had been discovered by his treasurer in a rotting leather bag, hidden on a back shelf. The treasurer had been quite excited, saying that the ring was one sent to King Solomon from Sheba's queen as a token of her affection, and was catalogued in the ancient records of the treasury.

Having made his choice, the prince hurried to find Zenobia. He was met, however, in the apartment's anteroom by Bab. The older woman looked him up and down, nodding approvingly. "She is just come from her bath, Highness. If you will wait but a minute my lady will be fit to receive you."