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hope!”
    Standing over them, Hassan gave a great sign. “Some say he is mad . . .”
    Quickly Maroof added, “And that the island savages eat human flesh and worship him as a god.”
    Balsora raised a hand. “I will send treasure with you,” he said earnestly. “Gold and precious stones, jewels by the handful, for you, your crew, and for Melanthius if he can restore my nephew.” He looked at the men and saw their doubt. “Jewels set by the master craftsmen of Persia and Byzantium,” he added, watching their eyes.
    Sinbad spoke slowly. “Should I undertake this voyage it would not be for gold and jewels . . .” He ignored the faint groans from Hassan and Maroof. He looked at Farah. “But for treasure far more precious.”
    Balsora’s face broke into a wide smile. He clapped Sinbad on the shoulder. “O my son, may Allah preserve you!” He heaved himself erect and went to the rail, where he shouted down to the one-eyed captain. “Zabid!”
    Zabid responded at once, turning to come up the gangplank swiftly. But a sudden, violent commotion among the horses caused him to whirl around. The animals were rearing and whinnying in panic. Two of the horse guards were thrown from their mounts. Zabid ran back to the quay, shouting curses and commands. The two fallen horsemen were badly shaken and groped clumsily on the mossy stone quay, entangled by their lances and swords.
    Captain Zabid ran toward the shore, where the main troop was stationed and where horses reared and twisted with loud snorts of fear. Sinbad and the others ran to the railing to watch as another horse reared, falling over backward and throwing its rider into the wet sand of the beach. A riderless horse bolted, neighing, kicking at the bales of cargo along the quay, then veering to tear away along the beach, kicking up puffs of sand. The horse angled up the embankment, to gallop through the Bedouin tents, where it uprooted a tent peg and brought down one of the wide, low shelters. There was dust and confusion, rearing horses, and cursing, angry men. There were shouts and conflicting orders.
    Then, striding through the panicking animals, coming out of the dust, was a procession that brought a gasp from Farah, a curse from Hassan, and caused Sinbad’s sword to come whispering from its scabbard. A group of attractive women surrounded a litter in which rode a hooded figure. The face was hidden. The attendant women were all beautiful and graceful, garbed exotically, but each with a completely impassive face.
    “Who is that?” Sinbad asked, angry at the superstitious fear that tugged at him.
    Farah answered coldly. “Queen Zenobia.”
    “Your mother?” Sinbad asked in confusion.
    “ Step mother . . . she was my father’s concubine.”
    “But I thought—”
    “My mother died when I was born,” Farah said in a chill voice, her eyes on the hooded figure. “It is said that Zenobia is a witch . . . and willed her death.”
    Balsora spoke fearfully. “Allah protect us . . . why is she here?”
    Zenobia gave an order to one of the eunuchs in her entourage and the emasculated male turned to run up the gangway. He was stopped by several of Sinbad’s sailors and the captain himself became aware that he had drawn his sword automatically.
    The eunuch addressed the sailors with a certain amount of imperiousness that Sinbad had noticed appeared in small people allied to powerful ones. “Her Highness, the Queen Zenobia, commands Captain Sinbad’s presence.”
    The eunuch turned back without waiting for an answer and Sinbad, amused and curious now and less afraid, stepped to the head of the gangway. He sheathed his sword as Balsora stepped to his side to whisper a warning.
    “Be careful, Sinbad. She is as dangerous as a scorpion.”
    Sinbad nodded and walked down the gangway. He let himself stride with an arrogant confidence, the sort of attitude that had given more than one thief or assassin a second thought about tangling with the tall, bearded