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ever admitted it aloud. It was part of her husband’s heritage, and when she had married him she had accepted it. She held out her hand to her daughter. “Come now, my dearest, let us go without further ado. The others are already several miles ahead of us, and you know how I dislike galloping a camel. It makes me sick if I must do it for too long. Come along.”
    “Yes, Mama,” Zenobia sighed, defeated.
    The three had turned to go when they heard strange footsteps on the stairs outside the bedchamber door. Tamar stiffened, sensing danger. Then, pulling Zenobia from her mother, she pushed thegirl down and back under the bed with its bright, red satin hangings.
    “Stay there!” she hissed urgently, “and whatever happens do not come out until I tell you! Do you understand? Do not come out until I call you!”
    The door to the bedchamber was flung open before Zenobia could protest. She could not see from her hiding place that the room had suddenly been invaded by a small party of Roman soldiers.
    Tamar quickly stepped forward, saying, “Good morning, Centurion! How may I help you?”
    The centurion eyed her boldly, thinking as he did so that she was a fine figure of a woman with her big, pillowy tits, and that she looked clean, and disease-free. “Whose house is this?” he demanded.
    Tamar recognized his look. She prayed she could stay calm. “This is the house of Zabaai ben Selim, warrior chief of the Bedawi, Centurion. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Tamar bat Hammid, senior wife to Zabaai ben Selim. This other lady is my lord’s second wife, Iris bat Simon.”
    “Why are you alone? Where are the servants?” The centurion’s tone was arrogant.
    “I can see that you are new to Palmyra, Centurion. The Bedawi spend but half the year in Palmyra. The other half we spend in the desert. My husband left but a few minutes ago. Iris and I were checking to be sure that everything was secure. One cannot trust the slaves to see to it.” She paused a moment, hoping he would be satisfied and let them go. Seeing his intent still unchanged, she decided to attack. “May I ask why you have entered this house, Centurion? It is not the policy of the Roman Army to enter private houses within a friendly city. My husband is a well-respected citizen of this city, honored by all who know him. He holds Roman citizenship, Centurion, and is personally acquainted with the governor. I would also tell you that Zabaai ben Selim is cousin to this city’s ruler, Prince Odenathus.”
    He did not look at her directly when he said, “The gates were wide open as we rode by, and since we saw that the house appeared to be deserted we came to check that robbers were not stripping the property of a Roman citizen.”
    He was lying, and both of them knew it. The gates had been firmly locked behind Zabaai when he had left. Tamar was afraid, but she knew that to show fear would encourage these men inwhatever mischief they were planning. “As always,” she said, her voice heavy with sincerity, “the Romans are the keepers of the peace. I shall tell my lord Zabaai of your concern, Centurion. He will be well pleased.”
    She turned to Iris, who stood nervously behind her. “Come, Iris. We must hurry to meet our lord Zabaai. Our camels are in the stable, Centurion. Would one of your men be kind enough to fetch them for us?”
    “How do I know that you are who you say you are?” the centurion said. “You might be thieves for all I know, and then I should be in trouble with my commanding officer.”
    The ring of men was closing in about them.
    “My lord Zabaai, his wives, and his entire family are well known to the Roman governor of this city,” Tamar repeated threateningly. She was very afraid now. These, she realized, were not regular legionnaires. These were auxiliaries, barbarians recruited from Gallic and Germanic tribes, noted for being pitiless, without mercy or respect for anything—including women.
    “I am sure that you are both well