The Better of Two Men

by JD Smith

  ‘People change much,’ he said. ‘It is living in a palace, with the high hopes and twisted policies that causes it. I never liked Palmyra.’

  ‘Palmyra?’ I said, a little surprised that he thought the city the cause, before laughing hollowly. ‘No, Teymour. It was not only Palmyra. It was more than an oasis in the desert that changed her. Zenobia is beloved of the gods.’

  He stopped and turned to me. ‘Do not speak nonsense, boy. No one warrants such favour. Belief in the gods is for fools. They toy with those who worship them.’

  ‘It is true. She is beloved of the gods, of Selene. How do you think she finds herself where she is? You do not know her anymore,’ I said. ‘Nor have you any notion of what she has done.’

  I continued walking and he caught up with a few long strides.

  ‘What happened when she met with Shapur? We heard things, but only reports and scandalous whispers.’

  I could have laughed. What Zenobia had accomplished at the end of the previous year was huge. First she had secured Roman legions in Syria, then she had met with the King of the Persians and she had struck a bargain that would rid Syria of Emperor Valerian, the man who was hampering our progress in the east, who could not command, who saw the destruction of our cities and was incapable of doing anything to stop it.

  ‘She turned traitor to Rome,’ I replied.

  ‘Traitor?’

  I could not conceal my exasperation, and let out a whistle of annoyance. Everyone knew. In our ranks, within the confines of the Syrian camp, they all suspected and spoke as much. They all knew. All, it seemed, except those further afield, who were not at our frontier.

  ‘She betrayed Valerian, Emperor of the Roman Empire, to the Persians.’ I half laughed that the man of such title could be betrayed by a girl, and yet it had been done. ‘It was no accident, no Persian trickery. And you think she is not beloved of the gods? She has grown and she is blessed and at times I wonder if she is unstoppable. Oh, much happened, Teymour. So much her father would have been proud of had he still been alive!’

  I spat the last words at him in anger and frustration. I turned and he grabbed my upper arm, pulled me about to face him. Without thought I snatched a dagger from my belt and within a heartbeat threatened to slice open his throat and drain his life onto the riverbank.

  ‘Was it cowardice or something else, the cause for your failure to lead the reserve and watch his back as you were supposed to; as he ordered you to? You let him down, Teymour. You failed him. And you killed him.’

  Teymour’s eyes filled with rage. I wanted to see guilt in them, remorse, shame. There was none.

  ‘What are you, Zabdas? Perhaps twenty years of age. You are barely a man. You understand nothing. We were cut off, I have told you this, I have told you both. There was nothing I could do. I would have saved Julius if I could.’

  ‘I have heard different,’ I said, my own rage screaming inside of me.

  ‘What? What is it you think you have heard, Zabdas? You listen to men who say I betrayed my own friend? Do you not think I did all I could to save him?’

  ‘Enough!’ The shout came from behind me, and a moment later a gentle yet firm hand found my shoulder and eased me back.

  ‘He is a liar, Zenobia.’ I punched Teymour’s breastplate hard with the heels of my hands. He staggered backwards on the rocks and fell with a grunt. ‘A fucking coward. A filthy, rotting, bastard liar.’

  I tucked the dagger in my belt and started forward.

  ‘Leave him be,’ Zenobia said, her voice stern.

  I drew a deep breath, and another. Then I turned away, clipping Zenobia’s arm as I did so.

  I began walking back to the fort, alert for fear of a dagger in my back. Knowing that the pain I felt would never bring Julius back, would not change the past. I wanted the hatred to stop, but I could not force it away as easily as I had pushed Teymour backwards. I needed to ride it until time healed my wounds. And then I felt ashamed. The meeting with Jadhima, conversing with Teymour; I had not been able to control myself. How easily I had let my anger take over and break from the bonds so carefully wrapped about me, as I had been taught.

  ‘Curb your emotions,’ Zenobia said as she caught up with me. ‘They will see you to the Otherworld.’

  I knew she was right. In battle I would already be dead.

  ‘You keep him alive,’ I replied, ‘and yet he let your father down. It is because of him Julius is dead.’

  ‘His time will come.’

  Holding her robes, she stepped easily over the uneven ground.

  Exasperated, I said, ‘You know as well as I do that if it were not for him, your father would still be with us. Why are you not angry?’

  Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. ‘I am angry, Zabdas. Of course I am.’

  ‘Then why not punish him?’ The overwhelming satisfaction at the thought of his death caused a second wave of shame, and yet still I craved it.

  Movement sounded behind us and Zenobia glanced back over her shoulder. I followed her line of sight. Teymour walked straight up the incline, taking the higher path back to the fort.

  ‘He has a part to play.’

  The fort was large, but protected by a small garrison. The majority of our soldiers manned the ships blocking the river. From the top of the walls we had a good view of those vessels, a stretch of the river and the surrounding area. In the morning the rocks sloping either side of the river glowed warm yellow, by midday they were bleached and as pale as my woman’s skin, and in the afternoon they took an orange hue. The Tanukh were camped further downstream, tucked in a valley beyond our line of vision, but our eyes in the hills kept watch.

  A relay of shouts bellowed back and forth at our approach and the fort gates swung open. We entered and a slave greeted us with skins of water.

  The cool wetness hit my dusty throat.

  ‘Gratitude.’

  A soldier bounded down from one of the ramparts and into our path. His hair was untamed, his eyes wild as he towered over us. A commanding officer like me, he was here to enforce Zenobia’s power over the garrison. He instilled fear in many, threatened to skin alive the younger soldiers, and was arrogant in the face of the enemy. Some said he was a little mad, but I knew him as a friend.

  Zenobia gave him a curt nod. ‘Bamdad.’

  ‘What happened?’

  I glanced to Zenobia, waiting to hear her words, wondering if she would describe what had happened, the way Jadhima had grabbed her. She looked tired, suddenly older.

  ‘Zabdas will tell you.’

  Bracelets clinked down her arm as she lifted a water-skin to her lips, before passing it back to the slave and walking away.

  Bamdad looked at me expectantly.

  With a sigh and a quick decision on the details I would omit I said, ‘Zenobia gave them three days to hand over Julius’ killer. After that we burn the remainder of their fleet.’

  His laughter was jovial, yet somewhat disturbing to those who did not know him. Even I did not share the enthusiasm as he grinned at me. ‘I expected as much. But my words referred to the sullen shit that came back a few moments before you. Short with the gate lads, refused to talk of the meet. Thought for a moment there I’d have to send out a search party for the pair of you.’ He laughed again.

  I rubbed my face.

  ‘It is nothing. I lost my temper, that is all. Teymour thinks we should all treat him the same after what happened to Julius.’

  ‘And you are surprised by that?’ He slapped my shoulder and pulled me toward him. ‘Look, I’m hungry, boy. Let us find something to eat.’

  I never minded Bamdad calling me boy. He never did before the men, but when we were alone together there was something comforting in the way he watched over those younger than him. He pretended not to care, but there was always an eye keeping check.

  We walked to the kitchens and Bamdad continued, ‘Does Zenobia truly believe the King of the Tanukh will give her what she wants?’

  ‘Her father’s killer
? Only the gods know that. Jadhima might not know who it was, and if he does, he may not put forward the right man. But there were soldiers with Julius who survived, and they will be able to confirm.’

  ‘Why not put a rope around Teymour’s neck and hang him from the scaffold?’

  ‘Zenobia is adamant he remains alive.’

  ‘She is a woman I will never understand.’

  ‘Neither will I,’ I murmured.

  Soldiers nodded at us in passing. The garrison might have been small, but the men Zenobia had brought with us, combined with those previously under Julius’ command, made a hard-working force.

  A slave girl dropped a basket of sheets. I stooped to help her pick them up and carried on my way.

  ‘I thought Julius and Teymour were close,’ Bamdad said.

  I remembered how close they’d been. I remembered Julius seeking me out when I was thirteen, with Teymour at his side. They had been friends. Surely Julius had trusted him. But then I wondered, and spoke my doubts aloud to Bamdad.

  ‘Grudging friends perhaps,’ I said. ‘I was never sure. They fought together years ago, then Julius became a merchant and employed Teymour. When Julius came out of retirement to lead men here, he brought Teymour as his right hand. How close they really were I do not know.’

  Bamdad grunted, somewhere between acknowledgement and agreement.

  ‘He asked Julius for Zenobia’s hand in marriage once,’ I murmured, ‘many years ago, when she was just a child. Julius declined, but it was Zenobia’s will.’

  ‘And now she is Queen of Palmyra?’ Bamdad shook his head. ‘Bel’s balls, he set his sights high with that one. He never stood a chance. No doubt he felt a fool when her father turned him down.’

  ‘Indeed. Julius delivered the rejection.’

  ‘Did Teymour know that it was Zenobia who did not want him, or did he believe Julius made the decision?’

  I gave a small shrug. Zenobia had become King Odenathus’ second wife. And Teymour had lost her confidence.

  We sat down at one of the long benches in the kitchen at the heart of the fort. Bamdad gestured for food to be brought over. A servant girl hurried across with a jug of wine and cups and placed them upon the bench. Bamdad lifted the jug and poured two generous measures. A moment later the girl returned with a platter of meat and fruit and bread.

  The girl turned to leave and Bamdad gripped her arm.

  ‘You feed us well again.’

  The girl blushed and nodded.

  ‘It never goes unnoticed.’

  Her cheeks turned a deeper hue. Bamdad released his grip and she left.

  ‘She is sweet on you,’ he said to me.

  ‘I doubt that,’ I replied, unamused. Aurelia flickered across my vision, my Roman girl, sweet and innocent and safe in Palmyra. I had not wanted to leave her, but this was no place for her and I could not bear the thought of her coming to harm, so I had left her in the great city of the east, behind walls of stone and guarded by soldiers, with the promise of a swift return.

  ‘Of course she is,’ Bamdad said. ‘You’re a strapping lad. Not as good looking as I am of course, but you have the ear of the Queen. And not just any simpering, coin-counting, child-suckled queen. Zenobia’s got more power as Odenathus’ wife than any woman in this kingdom. It is known by all that she is growing in strength, commands men, and that she faced Shapur himself.’ He ripped a chunk off the half loaf and stuffed it into his mouth, before continuing in a muffled voice, ‘The people respect her. They think that god of hers, Selene, is with her.’

  He was right; Zenobia did possess an unusual amount of power. She held the power her marriage had secured her, both in the eyes of our people and Rome, and bargaining powers none had foreseen when she first entered Palmyra’s court. On occasions I teased myself that I was the closest person to her in the world; her half-brother, stepping into the sandals of confidant and friend. Closer even than the King himself. But then she would make a decision, act upon an instinct that had never occurred to me, look at me as if I had just appeared in her life, and it was at those times that I realised no one really knew her.

  ‘I do not see how being close to Zenobia attracts young women,’ I said.

  ‘Gods, Zabdas! They want advancement. Servants under the Queen in the royal house are better paid. Women bedding commanders and generals and kings are favoured. They think if they whisper in your ear whilst you are between their legs, you will speak to the right people, influence where required, and better them. Zeus, if it were me I’d promise them the bloody stars to have them dance on my lap.’

  I laughed, despite my distaste.

  ‘You have had no need to make promises in the past. And the coin you have now attracts many,’ I said, thinking how easily women came to his bed, how his own promotion combined with charm meant that he never had to reach into his pocket for a whore.

  Bamdad shifted uncomfortably and gestured to a passing servant for another pitcher of wine.

  I sighed in frustration.

  ‘To whom do you owe coin?’

  Bamdad snatched a jug from an approaching girl and sloshed red liquid in our cups.

  ‘You are like a brother to me, Bamdad. Tell me, what debt do you find yourself in now?’

  ‘It is none of your concern, Zabdas. I can handle my own debts.’

  ‘If you need money, then you only have to ask.’

  Bamdad drained his cup and slammed it down on the table.

  ‘I might talk of whores and favours, but I will not ask you for a single coin.’

  ‘It is not like that,’ I said. ‘If you are in trouble, if there is something I can do to help, then I want to.’

  He grabbed the jug off the table and refilled his cup. Silence, tense and unreadable. My position of wealth was recent, and this was not the first time it had produced a hint of envy on his part. Two weeks prior I discovered he owed several soldiers money from gambling. Knowing I had the means to pay them, and that Bamdad and I were close, they had approached me and threatened he would have to pay by other means should the coinage not be produced. I naively hurried to settle the debts.

  A few days later he discovered what had happened. It took him ten days to speak to me; it took him the same ten days to raise the funds to pay me back.

  He drained the wine without making eye contact and thrust the empty vessel across the table.

  ‘You know something, Zabdas? Brothers we may well call ourselves, but we are not the same people. We are not of the same blood. Sweet Bel, I might have risen my standing in the army, but that does not mean we are two in the same person. You are the one with the ear of the Queen. You are the one lapping from the same dish as the King. Give me strength, but never patronise me, or by the gods you will lose every person you call friend.’

  He stood and kicked his stool away, looked about to say something more, but instead turned and left.

  Dregs of wine seeped into the grain of the table top as I pondered Bamdad’s last words. I would lose every person I called friend. Was that a threat, or would it be through my own patronising idiocy that it came to pass? I never intended to offend him. I had spent my whole youth with nothing; my life owned by another from five to thirteen. Now I had acquired unexpected wealth to call my own, yet it came with a hefty price.

  I left the kitchens and cut a path back to my rooms. Night was drawing in and torch-light around the fortifications threw long shadows. Guards standing sentry nodded as I passed. I saw Bamdad on the wall looking out, his expression grim. I could offer an apology, but I did not wish to face him so soon after our exchange – not yet, not with embarrassment at his words lingering. Instead I continued on.

  I reached my bedchamber, reflecting upon the day’s events. I kicked off my boots, unfastened my leather breastplate, pissed in a pot in the corner of the room and sank down in the cot. For a while I just lay there, picturing Jadhima’s face and arrogant manner. Zenobia had been fearless in her determination to meet with him, whereas I, although desperate to face t
he people who had taken Julius’ life, was less willing, and had wished our company comprised more than three. And then there was Teymour.

  I reached beneath the blanket lining the cot and retrieved a piece of papyrus. I held it up, squinting in the dim light. There was no need to read the words; I knew them by heart. I knew all letters I received like the contours of Aurelia’s body. I ran my fingertips over the surface, reminding myself how much I missed the person who had written them. Then I closed my eyes as the words filled my mind …

  My dearest, most beloved Zenobia,

  How I long to see my darling daughters! I received your last correspondence along with letters from mutual friends and colleagues. I am told we are winning the war against the Persians, and that your part has been extensive. I say now, I was rather shocked to hear that Emperor Valerian had been taken captive, but it appears your husband did not let pass the opportunity to take control of the Roman legions in Syria – it seems Odenathus finally grasps the power he has accumulated. It is for you to ensure that continues. There will be many who will try to usurp, and gain control over the eastern half of the Empire with their emperor gone.

  Here in the south, the situation is stable for the time being. I have written in more detail to Odenathus. We control the west bank of the river, and are holding well, despite many attacks from the Tanukh. Trade is improving. It will be a prosperous year to come, I imagine. But I worry a little, too. Teymour leads men under my command, yet he lacks the discipline he once showed and the respect I thought he held for me. I heard that he is securing friends within our small force, and wishes to open new trade routes with the Tanukh. Perhaps he thinks it would be profitable, but they are not people to be trusted, no matter what deal might be struck. I worry too that he never mentioned this to me, and that we are no longer the close companions we once were. Am I really a man to be envied? Odenathus was always jealous of my freedom to choose my own path, and yet here I am as he requested me. I confess to you now that I am uncomfortable with the prospect that I may have to face Teymour and tell him of what I know and all that I suspect, that we might soon break our one-time friendship finally and forever. I do not wish that; indeed I have never wished to have bad feelings with any man, but it seems it is sometimes inevitable.