Before new arrivals had finished clearing the gate, Malcolm reminded Margo to take a reading with her ATLS. He pulled her off to one side and put her through the drill of ATLS readings and log updates, then checked her work. He glanced carefully through her notations, double-checked her ATLS readings, and nodded. “Very good. You’re getting the hang of it.”
She beamed
He finished his own notations then put away his equipment in the carefully disguised bag he would carry. Malcolm then adjusted his slave’s collar and scrutinized the drape of Margo’s provincial garb.
”I want her to look like a trader from somewhere really remote,” Kit had said in the back room of Connie Logan’s Clothes and Stuff. “Ideas?”
”Roman Syria,” Malcolm -had suggested at once. -Palmyra’s perfect.”
”Why Palmyra?” Margo asked curiously.
”Palmyrenes were almost unknown in Rome of A.D. 47. No one should question your complete lack of ancient languages-which also means they won’t be able to question you about ‘home.’ And since they can’t talk directly with you, I’ll be able to `translate’-and I do know the answers. Palmyra was only incorporated as an autonomous part of Roman Syria thirty-seven years before A.D. 47, with very tenuous trading ties to Rome, at best.”
The costume Connie had come up with was delightful: draped folds of a Parthian-style tunic with voluminous trousers and leggings embroidered in wine-red designs. Metal “suspenders” supported the leggings, fastening them to the tunic’s gold-embroidered hem. The trousers and even the long, narrow sleeves fell in a series of soft, U-shaped drapes down arms and legs. Overhanging the draped tunic came a cloak that fell in loose folds down the back. The shoes were elaborately embroidered “Persian” slippers. Capping off the costume came a cloth belt from which hung a scabbard for a long dagger.