The Fate of an Emperor (Overlord Book 2)

by JD Smith

  ‘But your emperor was confused. He thought it was a man who had betrayed him. You, King Odenathus, and not a woman.

  ‘Shapur told Caesar that it was not King Odenathus who betrayed him, but the Warrior Queen, wife to Odenathus, the one of black hair and black eyes and pearl teeth. He looked at the pitiful form before him and said, “Women of Persia held respect for Roman emperors, but no more. Many say you are the greatest, most powerful man in the world. But how can you be, when you are so easily betrayed by a woman?”

  ‘Life drained from your emperor’s face but still his eyes flared with arrogance. Shapur was intrigued by your Warrior Queen. Something about her interested him. She showed no fear walking into our camp and addressed Shapur as an equal. Her forthrightness amused him. Saved her, even. She came to him with a bargain: the Roman emperor for the lives of her people. He had been right to trust her. She had delivered on her word and betrayed the Roman. But Shapur planned to march on Palmyra anyway …’

  Odenathus grunted with impatience.

  ‘Shapur wanted to know more of the girl who had become a warrior queen, he wanted to know who she was, who her father was, what drove her ambition.

  ‘Valerian Caesar said that he thought your queen’s father a merchant and Shapur claimed she must be more than a merchant’s daughter. She spoke with a force known only to those of power. And then he commanded Caesar to sit. Told him he was an emperor and should be treated as one, and so I fetched him a stool.

  ‘In that very tent sat the two most powerful men in the world. Shapur followed his father, Ardashir, who built a strong empire. Rome is great, but she is falling. Persia will expand her borders to a far greater extent.

  ‘Shapur wanted to know whether your emperor felt the power. Whether he had pride in his empire. Caesars are entrusted with millions of lives, more land than they can ever walk on. He wanted to know how it made Caesar feel.

  ‘Your emperor’s face fell blank of expression, and then he murmured that he wanted to make the Empire what she had been. He wanted to make her strong once more.

  ‘Shapur asked why, and we waited to hear his words.

  ‘Caesar replied that my king had said it himself. That Rome was once great and he wanted to restore her.

  ‘Again Shapur asked why and Caesar cried out that it was because he wanted to be remembered.

  ‘Shapur agreed. Leaders want to be remembered. They want to succeed and be remembered for that. More than simply a man who plunges a country, an empire, into chaos. They want to do great things and be remembered for them.

  ‘The following day our army moved south and that evening your emperor was called to Shapur’s presence one more. He sat on the same stool and peered into the face his captor as my king asked to know more of you, Odenathus. He wanted to know who would command Rome’s eastern armies now their emperor was gone. Caesar snorted, held out his bound wrists, and demanded to be untied. Shapur replied that he would rather cut off his hands than untie them.’

  The Persian must have expected some reaction from Odenathus, for he paused. But Odenathus stared at him impassively.

  ‘Caesar claimed that his men would not follow you because you are a traitor. But they do not know, do they? The Romans do not know you Syrians betrayed their emperor?’ The Persian laughed again. ‘My king knew the Roman soldiers would not turn against you. He knew they had no idea you Syrians handed him to us. Your queen sat on the very same stool as your emperor when she promised Shapur his life.

  ‘Your emperor said that the Warrior Queen was a traitor, and how could my king trust a traitor. But Shapur does not trust her, he never did. He only hoped she would keep her word. And Shapur realised your people were not exchanging the emperor’s life for peace, but for something more. He wanted to know why the Warrior Queen really betrayed Caesar … whether your emperor stood in the way of Odenathus’ advancement. Either way, it did not matter, for the following day we would annihilate what remains of your forces. But we did not.

  ‘Shapur was injured in the battle and suffered fever for many days before he woke. His son, our prince Barhram, did not think he would live; none of us did. He spoke of your Warrior Queen on her horse, a breast exposed for the soldiers to see that a woman rode amongst them. Her long dark hair trailing down her back to rest on her horse. He spoke of her over and over.

  ‘Both my king and your Roman emperor were defeated by a woman; the same woman. The Warrior Queen had taken control of the armies of Rome and Syria.

  ‘Shapur thought the Roman emperor weak, being betrayed by a woman and captured by his enemy; said he had disgraced the whole of Rome when he met my king on the plain. Rome: The Greatest Empire in the World,’ the Persian spat. ‘No. My king’s empire, the Sassanian Empire, will be far greater!’

  Pouja gave a short huff and instructed the Persian to continue.

  ‘Shapur said he knew the warrior queen was clever, knew there was more to her, but he never believed her to be so capable. Not only had she turned traitor to Rome, she had led the Roman army to victory where the emperor could not. That is why he thought Valerian Caesar betrayed. Not because she thought to buy peace, but because he stood between her and victory.

  ‘My king might have suffered defeat, but he has men enough to compile an army thrice over. He will still be remembered as the man who captured a Caesar. And so he gave my people your emperor’s life.’

  It took a moment before I realized what he said. Valerian: dead. I looked at the men around me. Pouja’s face was set hard as he stared at the Persian captive. Zabbai glanced to Odenathus, worry in his expression. Odenathus scratched his bearded cheek.

  The Persian looked at us, a manic grin spreading over his features.

  ‘He pissed himself as we tied him to the frame,’ he taunted. ‘He pleaded for his life as we stripped him of his clothes.

  Odenathus took two long strides toward him and punched the Persian in the face. ‘Is that your message? That is what you came here to tell me? That your king killed an emperor? Has he no respect?’

  As Odenathus spoke the words, I looked around me at the Syrian generals and in each of their faces I saw the same regret, that we had needed to do what we had done to secure our victory, but none of us liked it, that there was no respect to be found in us either, the men who had handed Valerian over to Shapur.

  Odenathus turned his back and the Persian hissed a stream of words. The translator looked petrified as Odenathus turned to him for a translation.

  ‘He screamed as we stripped him of flesh.’

  The Persian laughed. I felt only repulsion. It had occurred to me that Valerian would be dead, indeed everyone in our camp had rumoured that outcome, but to hear of his last days, knowing his demise had been secured with my own life, turned my stomach.

  Pouja looked to Odenathus for response.

  ‘Make sure he knows nothing else then kill him,’ Odenathus said.

  Pouja nodded as two soldiers dragged the Persian away.

  ‘Then it is confirmed. One co-emperor is dead,’ Zabbai mused.

  ‘It would seem so,’ Odenathus replied. He rubbed his knuckles and watched as the Persian laughed maniacally in the distance.

  ‘What happens now?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Odenathus said. ‘Gallienus is sole emperor. Ballista commands the Roman legionaries and we continue pushing the Persians back.’

  ‘When the Romans discover Valerian is no longer a captive but a corpse, there could well be usurpers, and it could stem from here, in the east. Gallienus resides in the west ...’ Zabbai noted, and even I heard the question in his voice. The question as to whether Odenathus himself would think to attempt usurpation.

  ‘Then it is for us to make sure there are no usurpers,’ Odenathus said. ‘You are dismissed, Zabbai. I need a moment alone with Zabdas.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Odenathus and I had become closer during the time we had spent pressing the Persians back across the Euphrates. My position in the army had been elevated; I was
one of the king’s personal men and something of a confidante. He had warmed to me, I think. And my respect for him grew as I saw his command and authority of the eastern legions and his determination that we would not lose, we would not be pushed out of our own lands, and we would suffer no longer as we had done under the command of Valerian.

  Since the battle, since I had seen Zenobia’s love for him and finally accepted it, I felt I was working with him rather than against him for the first time.

  ‘Walk with me.’

  I obeyed and we began to stroll toward the edge of the camp.

  ‘I must thank you,’ he said, ‘for your part in Zenobia’s return to Palmyra. I understand it was you and Aurelia who persuaded her it was the best possible place for her and our child.’

  His sudden gratitude surprised me. It had been months since Zenobia’s return to the city. There had been many opportunities for him to speak of it. And even then it had been her own choice, needing no persuasion from me or anyone else.

  ‘No, my lord, you are wrong. You know Zenobia cannot be easily persuaded. She went to Palmyra for yours and the child’s sake alone; no other.’

  ‘You are right, she cannot be easily persuaded. I of all people know that.’

  Odenathus clasped his hands behind his back and looked out across the blank sands.

  ‘A messenger arrived this morning, from Palmyra. Zenobia has given birth to a son. To my son.’

  I had expected the news eventually, indeed I had been known to look in the direction of the city some mornings, waiting for the rider who would bring the news, yet still I felt the hot lick of resentment.

  I caught myself.

  ‘That is most welcome news.’

  ‘It is great news.’ He smiled and I thought how I happy I would be when a child of my own came.

  ‘They are both well?’

  ‘I believe so. I tell you this, Zabdas, because I know Zenobia is a sister to you, and because she expressed a wish for you to travel back with me to Palmyra. I think maybe she misses being at the frontier, perhaps being with me, but I know she will be missing your friendship and your company a great deal. You have always been there for her when she needed you.’

  ‘I think you are right, she will be missing the frontier most.’

  We both laughed at that.

  ‘The army and the influence she is capable of wielding, you mean?’ he said.

  I thought the words bitter, but his expression danced with amusement as he continued to look across the plain. All of this was his land. He had kingship, Roman legions bolstering his own Syrian forces, he had victory over the Persians, loyal Stratego and friends, a queen whose will was stronger than any other; and now he had another son. His kingdom was finally solidifying.

  ‘Will Prince Herodes travel back with us?’ I asked.

  ‘He will not. Herodes I will leave in command of the army, here, alongside Zabbai and Pouja. The more Syrian generals I can keep in command the better at the moment. Ballista and the Roman generals are already talking of moving their legions. They are hard men to keep under control. It will just be us and a small escort returning to the city.’ He breathed in deeply and looked down at me as I stared up at him. Even now, after I had grown into a man, still he towered above me.

  ‘When do we leave?’

  ‘Our frontier is secure. A visit home could not have come at a better time. We will leave at first light. I have missed my city. My home.’

  CHAPTER 19

  Samira – 290 AD (Present day)

  ‘I know you never speak of it,’ my grandfather says to Bamdad. ‘But tell me something. When you killed Mareades all those years ago, did it bring you peace?’

  Bamdad sighs and I see the raw hurt in his face, a flicker of what has gone before, and the memories he would rather shake.

  ‘You have told Samira what happened?’ Bamdad says, gesturing to me.

  ‘You have read what I have told her,’ Grandfather replies.

  Bamdad shadows his eyes from the rising sun and looks at the horizon and then behind us, to the banks that move ever further away, and the places we have left behind.

  ‘I found no peace in the death of that man,’ Bamdad says. ‘He was betrayed by the priest and by those who refused to believe him, and in turn he betrayed the whole city. My years are greater than yours, and still I find myself haunted. Still I feel loss; nothing will make it go away. Have you found peace now Jadhima is dead? I see you grimace at the mention of him, as if the pain should have disappeared, but it has not.’

  I see the hurt in my grandfather’s face, and I think something has passed between these two men, those who are my family.

  ‘I thought I would,’ Grandfather replies. ‘I thought as his life ebbed from him, the pain would ebb from me. Nothing has changed; nothing but the fact that Vaballathus is no longer with us. I should have known. You know how many lives I have taken in revenge. This was no different. And it will never end.’

  Bamdad shakes his head. It is as if the argument has gone out of him, as if he no longer wishes to speak heated words and dig up a past both would rather forget.

  ‘Do not dwell on it,’ he says, slapping his friend on his back and walking away. ‘Perhaps if Amr finds us and wishes to take revenge for the death of his uncle, we can relieve some of our pain with a few more deaths to our blades?’

  ‘When they are dead, I shall tell you.’

  Grandfather does not look at me, as if he wishes I had not heard the words exchanged, the mention of my father, the regret and the pain he feels. He does not seem to realise that I feel it too. Time, I think, we need a little time for the memories to fade. It has only been a few weeks since I rode into Palmyra beside Bamdad, and my grandfather gave me the news of my father’s passing.

  ‘I can barely believe the Persians went back on their word,’ I say to ease the silence. ‘That they could think to march on Palmyra; that Shapur could turn against Zenobia after she had given them the emperor.’

  ‘Zenobia never doubted they would.’

  ‘And you won?’

  ‘We won that battle, yes, and we won more. We were pushing them back, further and further. Our confidence grew, and we began to believe we could push them back beyond our original frontier.’

  I think of Aurelia, sweet Aurelia, the girl who loved my grandfather so much that she would have done anything for him. That she waited months for his return, for the moments she would spend with him, and that he thought more of Zenobia than he did of her.

  ‘Who did you love?’ I ask, and I am surprised by my own blunt question. ‘Zenobia or Aurelia?’

  ‘I loved them both. Aurelia deserved more than I ever gave her. I took her from Rome and I felt always guilty for that, because I could not give her everything, just as Julius could not give Meskenit as much as he wanted when he brought her to Palmyra from Egypt. I admit I loved Zenobia more than a sister; more than a queen. I doted on her, I wanted to be at her side, I was jealous of her husband and would have done anything she asked of me. But her desires and ambitions distanced her from everyone. And despite how close we became, I could not have her. No one could. She was well-born, married to the most powerful man in Syria, she had given birth to his child, and though it pained me every moment of every day, I set my desire aside, just as I always had.’

  I cannot help but think of the love my grandfather had for her, and that it would never be returned. And I wonder did she love him at all. She must have done, I tell myself, for the reluctance she showed at leaving him in the Persian camp.

  ‘And Julius loved you like a son,’ I say. ‘He must have been so proud of you. For everything you did.’

  Grandfather smiles.

  ‘When I think back, I hardly knew Julius. But through his beliefs, through Zenobia and his family and all who knew him, I felt I did. Zenobia’s beauty might have been carved by the same tool as her mother’s, but she was definitely her father’s daughter, I have no doubt of that.’

  He turns and looks back u
priver and I know that tears sting his eyes.

  The next day I find my grandfather and Rostram talking. We approach Hama and we can move no further along the river. We must continue on foot or camel and wind our way towards Antioch.

  ‘If that is what you want,’ I hear my grandfather say.

  ‘It is the advantage, my friend, of being a free man who can do as he likes,’ Rostram replies.

  ‘Then so be it.’

  Grandfather leaves, touching my arm as he does so, and I hear him bellow across the deck to Bamdad.

  I am left four paces from Rostram, and he looks at me and nods in acknowledgement but says nothing.

  I look around the boat, awkward and uncomfortable and thinking that I might turn and walk away as if I had never approached, as if I had not come to speak with my grandfather, as if he had not brushed past me to talk with Bamdad. I can think only of Bamdad holding me as I wept, of the tears that stung my eyes and the loneliness I felt, and that I had wished it was Rostram and I do not know why.

  ‘I will miss this boat,’ I say, looking about me, for something to say rather than because the words are true. In fact I will not miss it, the stench of slavery and the rotting wood. I will be glad to have two feet upon the land once more. To feel the ground and to know that it does not move beneath me.

  ‘You may wish you were still aboard but I will not,’ he says, and sits upon a crate, hands clasped before him and elbows on his knees, and through squinted eyes he looks about us.

  ‘You will not?’ I ask, confused.

  ‘That is what your grandfather and I discussed. I am selling this boat.’

  ‘Oh.’ I am unsure what else to say, what more I can speak. ‘You will buy another?’

  ‘Once we reach the sea. Your grandfather is pleased. He thinks it is time that I ceased trading in slaves and began trading in goods.’

  ‘I think he is right,’ I say, and I can feel myself nodding, the reprimand in my voice. And then I realise what he has said, that he will buy a ship when he reaches the Mediterranean.

  ‘You will journey with us?’ I say.