by JD Smith
And at night she would drink with us.
‘Another!’ Zenobia said to the table at large.
She grabbed the jug and filled the cups around the table, sloshing wine on the wooden top as she did so.
I was drunk enough to need to focus carefully in order to count coins into the centre of the table and reach for the dice. I realised that in the morning I would not remember that which I was concentrating so hard on now.
The soldiers around the table were common Roman legionaries. We trained all day in the heat, sweating, cursing, jesting and competing, and now it was time to enjoy ourselves.
Bamdad sat beside me and roared in support as I won the throw.
‘Here,’ Zenobia said, and thrust my cup at me. ‘You need to drink more, Zabdas. Our companions may not be winning at dice, but they are certainly ahead of you in other respects.’
Soldiers thumped their fists on the wooden table-top in agreement. Zenobia dazzled them with a smile and tipped her head in acceptance of their appreciation. She had discarded her jewels and her hair was no longer braded and without oils, but hung loose and tangled and damp with the efforts of training.
She reached across the table and collected the scattered dice. She shook them overhead and let them cascade onto the table once more.
‘It would seem I am lucky!’
Bamdad leaned in toward me, his breath on my cheek, and said, ‘If Odenathus saw this, he would not be pleased. She flirts with the men and for what? To make him jealous? It will not work, I can tell you that.’
‘Odenathus does not seem to care,’ I said in a hushed voice. ‘And I do not think this is to make him jealous.’ I looked at the faces of the men and they were enraptured. They loved her, as the men aboard the ship back from Rome had loved her. She drew their attention. She did not sit above them, but as one of them. And in turn many soldiers accepted her company without question or hostility or reluctance.
And yet in my more sober moments I had heard other words, the murmurs in court from Odenathus’ advisors. Some said she drowned herself in a mixture of sorrow and rejection, attempting to disguise her sadness and broken relations with the king. But I knew it was not that. Zenobia was much too clever and much more composed than to let herself be overcome. Each day she trained with us, and each night she drank and laughed with us. She was gaining in trust and respect day by day. She was a friend to the men, but as a queen and a woman, she earned a very delicate, generally unobtainable, presence amongst us. A few looked at her with dislike, thinking she tricked our king, worked some unseen magic upon him. More still suspected her betrayal of Emperor Valerian, and I began to hear whispers the Gods had sent her, and they began to see her as a woman who could bring us victory, as our hope; as our protector of the east.
At first I was certain Shapur was contemplating keeping the peace he had agreed with Zenobia as he paused for many days on the outskirts of the city of Edessa. Odenathus and Ballista did not wish to wage our smaller forces against them yet. Our armies must wait. We needed to hold back until we had the advantage, and it was Zabbai who found it.
The Persian army began to move, though something told us they were not falling back to their own lands, or pushing further into Roman lands; they were heading south. The south only held two things for them: the Euphrates and, beyond the river, the largest eastern city they had yet to conquer, the city so nearly given to them by Valerian, Odenathus’ city of marble: the south held Palmyra.
Zabbai knew the area well. He had defended these territories with the young prince Herodes for many years.
‘The Persians are travelling south on the west leg of the Euphrates,’ he said.
I packed away tents beneath a sweltering morning heat.
‘And us, what are we to do?’
‘We will travel on the east.’
Our combined armies set out the following daybreak, our shadows stretching long across the plain beyond the city. We left a small garrison at Edessa and travelled as fast as our baggage trains would allow. We took limited supplies in the hope that the supply chain previously arranged with Palmyra held, and that we would find food and provision in the days to come. We needed to cut the Persians off before they reached the desert plains in order to defend our city; our home. It was then, as we marched, heading toward home, toward the Persian army, that I felt the sense of return so familiar from mine and Zenobia’s journey back from Rome. I could not wait to see Palmyra, and with that longing came thoughts of Julius and how much I missed him, how I hoped to see him again soon as I had seen him so briefly at Zenobia’s marriage to Odenathus. Surely now, after so long, he might return home indefinitely?
The march proved hot. We Syrians sweated beneath our light armour, and the heat was even harder on the Roman soldiers who had come unprepared for the desert, clad in their iron and steel and padded tunics. But Ballista agreed with Odenathus; they would have the centurions press the men on remorselessly, without stopping, without rest. We all knew Palmyra could not fall, for if she fell so would the east and the supply of grain from Egypt to Rome.
When we finally crossed the river my will to stop the Persians, and my fear of not being able to do so in time, quelled the tiredness and hunger I felt. Provisions were near gone, but we made it before them: the Persians were nowhere in sight. Scouts returned to inform us that they were still on the move, coming slowly from the north, raiding along the way.
‘I only pray they do not know we have also moved south,’ Zabbai said to me as we made camp once more. I was adept now at constructing quickly the long, low black tents of our people, and talked as I worked.
‘You think we can still surprise them?’
‘If they believe that we think there is peace, then perhaps we can still surprise them.’ He cuffed me fondly round the head and I punched his arm back.
Nearby, Zenobia laughed. She had marched on foot with me all day, despite the pack train carrying supplies and heavy cavalry with the Romans. Odenathus, back in command and frequently attending councils of war and meetings with Ballista, had not walked with us.
She sat cross-legged next to a hastily made camp fire. Leaning back on her arms, she allowed her head to fall back, looking up at the starry night. We should have been with the king, with his own personal guard, but Odenathus seemed not to care whose company she kept or her whereabouts, and she walked freely amongst the units with me by her side.
I sat down beside her.
‘When do you think they will come?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Zenobia replied, unmoving.
‘How do you know?’ Zabbai and I both asked together.
She let her head fall further back and closed her eyes briefly.
‘The goddess Selene is always with me. They will come tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow, the day after, the day after that. What does it matter? They come when they come,’ Zabbai said.
Aurelia approached. She was as pale as ever, her golden hair cascading down her back, as if sunlit even though the sun had dropped. She sat down beside me and put a hand on my knee.
‘I would pray they never come,’ she said, and smiled so affectionately that I wished for a moment that she were right, that we could escape the battle we faced.
Zabbai eased off his shoes and said, ‘Odenathus has ordered that you stay with Zenobia, Zabdas. You will be positioned with a guard well behind our lines. Shapur will be seething when he discovers we have cut him off from Palmyra, and if he should win the battle, and he should find Zenobia … do not let that happen, understand?’
Distracted, I did not answer as I saw Odenathus walk down the lines of tents, speaking to his men, giving orders, ensuring all was well. He glanced at Zenobia more than once. I prodded the embers of our fire, recalling Odenathus’ confession that Julius had made him swear to keep myself and Zenobia from harm. I had told Zenobia of this, and though she attempted to reassure me that she knew nothing of the promise, she seemed unsurprised.
With Zenobia’s assurance of our ene
my’s arrival the following day, we dispersed as the fire’s orange flames faded to a subtle glow. I did not sleep, lying awake throughout the night, my body tired but my mind fully awake, my restlessness owed to thoughts of the promise between Odenathus and Julius, the marital feud between the king and his queen, and because I was fearful of the Persians coming to face us for the first time on open ground.
Our legions were swollen with auxiliary troops, but we were far fewer in number than our enemy. I thought about it so much my head felt heavy and even closing my eyes did nothing to lessen the ache. Behind me, arms curled about me, Aurelia’s warm body pressed against mine and she whispered that I should sleep.
Sleep, I thought. How I wished it would find me.
CHAPTER 14
Zabdas – 260 AD
Morning came and our scouts returned to camp. They informed us the enemy were close, moving at a steady pace, and would indeed arrive this day. I readied myself with a trembling heart. The centuries were in formation by mid-morning; determined to gain every advantage possible. The women, the old and the sick were behind us with our carts. I hoped the Persians would not break through our force and reach them. I dared not think what would happen to Aurelia if they did and prayed to the gods that our enemy would be tired and weakened from their long march south; that we had been blessed with a full night’s sleep even though I had barely closed my eyes.
We stood on the plain. Thirty thousand men; those remaining of the seventy thousand we had once been when Emperor Valerian first came to Syria. The Persians we faced numbered more than one hundred thousand. The fear of my fellow warriors swelled the air around me. I felt my own fear, nervous and with a keen edge.
I was mounted on a camel beside Odenathus as messengers came to and fro, relaying the words of Ballista and the other commanders. Heavy plate armour covered his chest, over which a thick crimson cloak flicked in the breeze. Beside me an infantryman carried the king’s helmet beneath his arm.
‘Keep Zenobia from the battle, Zabdas,’ Odenathus said as he gestured to two commanders. ‘Stay with her and let no harm come to her. If we are defeated this day, ride hard south to her father. Take her to Julius and tell him I have fallen and the armies of Syria have been defeated. Tell him I am sorry for everything that has passed between us, and that I owe him a great deal.’
‘It will not come to that, my Lord.’
My hands shook and were clammy with sweat. I gripped the camel’s reins tighter. The king’s own horse agitated.
With the Emperor taken captive, the morale of the Roman force was low, despite the efforts of Ballista to rally the men beneath him. They had been hit with the humiliation of their emperor’s captivity, and were unable to find sufficient faith in their new leader. It would take time to earn their trust and respect.
Odenathus rode to the head of the army as, stilled by his arm, a group of messengers and I hung back. The king, powerful and confident on his Arabian warhorse, moved from side to side before the men. For a moment I thought him a god, but only for a moment. My attention turned as a cheer rose from the Roman cohorts for the first time, along with an almighty roar from the Syrian ranks. The men began to bang spear and sword on shield.
I saw her then. From between the cohorts came Zenobia. She could be called a goddess, so her beauty shone and so the posture she held commanded. She appeared impenetrable to the sharpest blade and the heaviest sword.
She wore a simple robe of transparent silk. Her hair hung down her back, a great cascade of black curls. There were no jewels upon her person, no fineries of the east of any kind. As she reached the front of the gathered army, she turned the armoured horse and faced us. I could see now that her silks hung loosely upon her frame, and fell to reveal her left breast, proving to the gathered men that she was indeed a woman; that she would bring them victory.
She held the gaze of those before her as silence fell. There was no humour in her face now, no trace of the drunken flirtation of the previous nights in camp.
‘I returned from the Persian camp,’ she said, her voice in harmony with the breeze. ‘I returned from King Shapur himself untouched, unharmed. I am a woman, but a woman who is blessed by the gods, by Selene. And they are all here with us this day.’
She paused, and the army was quieter than ever.
‘The enemy that face us threaten the empire we are sworn to protect. I have met their king and he is weak. He cares only for plunder and rape and raiding. He wants our riches and our women. He does not want to rule our people, but to crush them beneath his greed. He would take every life here without mercy, without care, the same as he took captive our emperor, Valerian Caesar.
‘I knew a man once; a man loyal to Rome. A man who gave everything to protect the empire he was born to serve. He had beliefs. He had pride. He gave an oath.’
Her words were carried back through the ranks and she surveyed the modest army before her.
‘He had honour.’
A cheer rose, until shouts of who this man was carried forward, back through the ranks of warriors, back to Zenobia. Some yelled that it was Valerian, others that Gallienus was the man spoken so proudly of. But I knew.
‘You have the fortune of fighting beside this man today.’ She thrust her arm in the direction of Odenathus. ‘The King of Palmyra was a soldier, like each and every one of you. He fights for you and with you. He has kept the Persian scum at bay. He kept them at bay for the empire he serves, for her people and for his people. Help him today. Help him rid our lands of the enemy …’
The army erupted in cheers and I too shouted my agreement, that I too would rid of us our enemies.
Zenobia raised her right arm and punched the sky.
‘For the Empire,’ she shouted.
‘For the Empire,’ the troops shouted back. All down the lines the echo of her words rippled.
‘For Rome.’
‘For Rome,’ the echo replied.
‘For Emperor Gallienus!’
More cheers of support rang out. Zenobia’s face was alive. Upon her horse she sat straight and tall, surveying the men littered across the plain. I looked at her and I realised my own excitement and fear and above all my captivation with this girl who could rally such excitement from the men about to face battle.
For a moment I had forgotten what it was to risk my life, that a horde of Persians were headed toward us; that I would likely die on these sands and never again see the moon in the sky, never see the beauty of the stars or my sweet Aurelia’s face again. I would be behind the army with Zenobia, but what would stop them? Could I truly outrun the charging Persians and see the south if the worst came?
As the chanting died I saw only thin lines of infantry that would tear apart when the enemy hit.
Zenobia edged her horse nearer to Odenathus and mouthed something. No one would have been able to hear what she said, just as I could not, but I knew what passed between them. She had said: ‘For Palmyra and for Syria.’
I expected rage to contort Odenathus’ features. She had defied him. She had lied to him. She was a traitor to Rome. But then he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and closed his eyes as if in thanks. He stood before the Persians, one force against another, and finally the day had come when he could fight to the last.
Behind the king and queen of Palmyra, great plumes of sand filled the air. I felt cold dread. A moment later, the horizon filled with a hundred thousand Persian warriors.
CHAPTER 15
Zabdas – 290 AD (Present day)
We sail in the dark, the breeze cold and the moonlight shining on the water. There are no clouds these past few days, and little to hinder our progress downriver.
Samira is asleep now in the cabin with my men. She does not wish to sleep alone, and I cannot blame her for that. My men will watch over her and no harm shall befall her, I promise myself.
I stand now hunched, looking over the deck and the rippling sails. I ponder everything I had said so far and everything I needed to say. I will take Samira to R
ome, to a place where she has never been before, and she will know the wonders of that city.
This was her father’s wish, arranged since her birth, another promise I must keep, I think, and realise I will never be free of my oaths and my promises, always in my own debt.
Samira has asked me many times where her father comes into the tale, and each time I remind her that he was much younger than me. In our tale he has not yet been born. And whenever she asks guilt consumes me. Vaballathus had been a young man full of determination and clear vision. He knew what he wanted to achieve, and he could hold the desire for revenge with a burning passion. And as much as I am content in Bamdad’s company as he guides the ship in the night, I cannot help but wish Vaballathus was still amongst us. I miss his jokes and his wide, white smile that brought his face alive. He was daring, a man who walked with purpose, someone who took risks and reaped reward.
But his last risk had seen him fail just as I had seen others fail before him. He had bargained everything for the greatest prize. He gave his life for the chance to kill our enemy.
Bamdad joins me and I sense his concern, the furrow in his brow and the words on his lips that he will not speak.
‘You should get some rest,’ he says.
I think of it, of closing my eyes and letting sleep take me. I have not slept fully in days. A flicker of light on the horizon and a feeling of being watched disturbs me more than I dared voice.
‘You have noticed it too,’ he says, following my gaze.
