“It would please me if you read these dispatches over-I understand that you know Latin as well as Greek and Egyptian. I believe that I understand them well enough, but I would be sure. Come back when you are done, but no sooner than the second watch change. I have much to do before then.”

Ahmet felt one of his eyebrows raise; the second watch was near midnight. Regardless, he bowed and took his leave. Despite her jest, he thought that he would avail himself of the baths and a good scraping, now that they had hot water.

After the bell that sounded the change of the second watch, Ahmet came again to the offices of the commander of the camp. Only two of the Bactrians were on guard, but they let him pass without qualm, standing quiet and watchful in the shadows of the entranceway. The clerks and scribes were gone too, leaving the Queen sitting alone at her desk, the only sound the scratching of her pen on the rough paper.

Save for the watchmen, the camp slept heavily, exhausted from the hard march north from Damascus. The army had been slow to move with each contingent stopping and starting at its own schedule. Three days forth from the city, Zenobia had launched into a whirlwind of reorganization that had delayed them again. Now the army was divided into four main banda, as the Eastern Empire would name them-the light horse, regardless of their tribe or affiliation, was under the command of ibn’Adi, and Mohammed was his chief lieutenant. The cataphracts and cli-banari, those noblemen with heavy armor for themselves and their mounts, armed with lances, maces, and long swords, were led by the queen’s cousin, Zabda of the house of Odenathus. The masses of foot archers, spearmen and slingers were the command of Akhimos Galerius, a Syrian Prince who had served in the armies of the Eastern Empire. The Nabateans remained the sole sore point-Aretas had utterly refused to give up his personal guardsmen, who numbered no less than two thousand heavy horse in full armor. Zenobia had, perforce, made him commander of the reserve, which also consisted of her personal household troops and a contingent of Persian knights from the far southeast of Iran. Another of Zenobia’s cousins, Zabbai, was custodian of the baggage train and the hospital.

Ahmet sat quietly, placing the two scrolls in front of him, and waited for the Queen’s notice.

She wrote quickly, in a strong hand, with neat letters. In profile, her face was strong. Her brow was high and traced by the delicate arch of her eyebrows. Her neck, cast in partial shadow by the candles that lighted the desk, was smooth and supple. Tiny gold earrings with ruby centerpieces hung from her ears. Her upper arms were adorned with gold circlets fashioned in the shape of asps. Their eyes were sparks of jet. Something tickled in the back of Ahmet’s memory, seeing that and how her hair was arranged in a golden net. When he focused on it, it escaped him.

At last she finished the document and sprinkled fine sand over its surface. Looking up, she smiled at him briefly while she rolled the blotter across the surface. Her seal, in purple wax, completed the document.

“Done,” she said, sighing in weariness. “You have read the dispatches?”

Ahmet nodded.

She stood, bracing herself against him as he stepped to assist her. She shook her left foot, trying to restore circulation. “Behind this room is a stairway that leads to the roof. Let us go there.”

She picked up a lantern that had been set by the end of the bench, along with a smoldering taper. Bending down, she lit the oil wick and then raised it to her shoulder. The Queen drew aside a drape that hung in a doorway at the back of the office. In the hallway beyond, a narrow staircase rose up to the right side, and after a moment of climbing worn stone steps, they came to the roof. A triangular vault capped each of the rooms below, and these made valleys in the rooftop. Zenobia walked forward carefully, picking her way along the tops of the walls, avoiding the slate roofs or the expanses of curved red tile. At last they came to the side of the principia that faced the baths. A narrow, dark alleyway divided the two buildings. From this vantage, few of the lights of the camp could be made out. It was dark and the sky seemed crowded with stars.

Zenobia sat and leaned against the sloping wall behind her.

“Sit,” she said, and pinched out the wick of the lantern. Ahmet settled beside her in the dark and found, to his surprise, that a thick woolen blanket had been laid there. A breeze drifted in from the hills, and he could smell the spices and perfume in her hair. The Queen drew another blanket around herself and the priest, settling in close to him. Seemingly of its own will Ahmet’s arm circled her waist and drew her“ closer. She sighed softly and laid her head on his chest. Her own hand, small and delicate, found his.

After a time, when he had thought that she had fallen asleep and the moon had ridden up over the barren hills, she stirred and squeezed his hand.

“Did you read the dispatches?” she said in a sleepy voice.

“Yes.” His own voice was husky. Her warmth was disconcerting in the chill of evening.

“What do you think?”

It was his turn to sigh. The reports sent by Palmyrene merchants in the ports of Alexandria,, Tyre, Sidon, and- most damning-Caesarea Maritima told the same grim story. Though at first he had scarcely dared credit it, now it seemed undeniable.

“I think that your man in Caesarea has the right of it. The three Legions that the Empire withdrew to the coast are not returning. The two Legions that the Emperors promised your man Adathus are nowhere to be found. We are alone, with Shahin’s army at Antioch ready to overwhelm the whole coast. Are you going to press on, into the north?”

Zenobia shifted in his arms, sliding into his lap. For a moment, his brain turned off entirely, but when it worked again, she was leaning back against his chest with his arms crossed over her breasts, her hair tickling his nose.

“Almost four hundred years ago, a King of Palmyra faced worse odds. He smashed the Persians in open battle at Nicephorum when the Empire was divided in civil war.

The Emperor Gallienus rewarded him with the titles of dux Romanorum and restitutor totius Orientis. Since those days the Kings and Queens of Palmyra have stood by the Empire as a shield against Persia. My namesake, the first Queen Zenobia, married the Emperor Aurelian, giving up her throne to a cousin, Timolaus. It is my duty to protect these lands from the invaders.“

“Even,” Ahmet said into the soft cloud of her hair, “when Rome does not stand with you?”

She laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “Rome assumes, but it does not ensure. Because we have always stood at the side of the Empire, they think that we will always stand by them. Aretas reminds me of this with each new sun. Yet… Heraclius is a wise king, and cunning. If he has withdrawn his” forces from Syria, it must be to gather them for some other strategy. I know that he will not abandon these provinces. If nothing else, he is Roman, and the taxes are too rich to give up! We have some part, unrevealed, to play in that stratagem. If we can play it out to our favor, then things will go well indeed.“

“Your chiefs seem to fear battle with Persia,” Ahmet said slowly. “They are unsure, they waver. If they knew that Rome was not coming, then they would flee into the desert.”

Zenobia snorted in disgust. “I know them. They are weak. They talk among themselves of grand dreams and great plans, yet when the hounds corner the stag, they balk and fall back from the kill. I will have to drive the spear into its heart, even in the face of sharp horns! If I lead, they will follow-for what better moves a man than his pride? If I, a woman, will dare the Tiger of Persia, how can they say that they were any less brave? I will go north, and they will follow. Shahin’s army is great, but the Boar is not with him, and I am Shahin’s master.”