The Better of Two Men
Page 8
I shook my head. ‘I know that voice and it is no servant.’
We walked through to the triclinium. A man stood centre, taller than any I had known, years painting lines and shadows on his face, and a weight of responsibility pushing down on huge, bear-like shoulders. He was a man constantly weary, and yet he stood sturdier any warrior.
I bowed low to Odenathus, King of Palmyra.
‘Would you take a seat, my Lord?’ Meskenit asked. ‘Zenobia is in the library. I will have someone fetch her.’ She sounded hesitant, and I guessed Odenathus’ visits to the house had been rare.
The King rubbed his face and sat down on the couch nearest him. I sat opposite, noticing several of Odenathus’ personal guard playing cards in the atrium. I inclined my head and they responded in kind. I had known those men for many years in my time as Zenobia’s guard and through my proximity to Odenathus himself, our time on the frontier pushing back the Persians as Zenobia retreated to Palmyra to give birth to Vaballathus. We were all brothers in common cause.
‘You are nearly as tall as I am, Zabdas,’ Odenathus said.
‘I ceased growing more than a year ago, my Lord. But perhaps.’
‘Then I am getting shorter. Or older? Gods know my bones feel it.’
He may have felt the ache of age, and he looked as tired as a slave at an oar, but he had not lost his formidable height and presence that he had always commanded.
Zenobia padded barefoot into the room and Odenathus stood to kiss her cheek.
‘That is the last time you ever go to the frontier, Zenobia.’ He sat down and lifted his legs up on the end of the couch with a groan. ‘Gods’ strength, I cannot bear it again. You make an old man ready to feast in the ancient halls of the gods want to turn back. I have let you go once too often and it cannot happen again. I cannot worry continuously for your safety, and I will not. You must stay here or in Palmyra. Your father would never forgive me if harm came to you.’
His last words slapped me and sent a sickness plunging in my stomach. Teymour had spoken the very same.
‘I will do whatever it is you wish of me,’ she replied.
The sickness left me as soon as it had come, for I could have laughed at Zenobia’s stretching of truth. Even Meskenit allowed a discreet cough. Zenobia had never done Odenathus’ bidding, or any man’s. She complied now but given a month or two and I could see her riding along the frontier, an army at her back, beside her husband.
‘You have your revenge?’ the King asked.
Zenobia nodded her confirmation. Though we both knew Amr was alive. It was Teymour on whom she had exacted revenge.
‘Good. I assume the Tanukh are not beyond regrouping? How long until they are strong enough to attempt to take the river once more?’
‘They have no boats,’ she said. ‘A good number of months. Perhaps a year. Maybe two.’
‘Meskenit, could I bother you to have some wine fetched?’ Odenathus said.
His voice was pleasant and enquiring, and yet Zenobia’s mother blushed and gestured a servant to bring jugs of their finest as she realised her error in not summoning it sooner.
Odenathus yawned. ‘We could do with a year of peace. What happened in the south?’
‘We killed Tanukh and we burned their fleet,’ Zenobia replied.
Odenathus took the cup offered to him, sipped, and visibly relaxed. I could not remember ever seeing him so anxious. He looked like a man on a battlefield after the fighting is done and the victory won, when all you want is a bed and a blanket.
‘That is some relief at least. The Tanukh are as bad as the Persians. Is Jadhima dead?’
Zenobia did not waver.
‘He is not, but his commander is, and so is Teymour.’
Odenathus appeared unsurprised. ‘Teymour? That is a loss. I know you were both close to the man. I trust he died a warrior’s death?’
‘He did,’ Zenobia confirmed.
The room fell quiet. Odenathus held out his cup for more wine, then looked at it thoughtfully. I tried to conjure hatred for the King, for sending Julius south, and for Teymour who had betrayed him, but I could not find it in me to hate him in those moments. I realised this was just the beginning, that the death of those around me was inevitable.
‘What of the Persians?’ Zenobia asked. ‘Something troubles you. Have they pushed back into Palmyra?’
‘The Persians are kept at bay for now, although it is taking much of our strength. If we could only push them back for good, let the kingdom breathe a while so that I might tend to everything else.’
‘The Tanukh will not trouble us for some time. What else needs your attention?’
Odenathus called for one of his men to come through from the atrium. The soldier handed the King a pouch and left.
‘I was warned by Commander Worod in Palmyra when I returned to see you and Vaballathus just after his birth, but I took no notice at the time. I became so consumed with pushing the Persians back and securing the safety of our frontier I could not see what was happening in my own kingdom. I have not always been blindly faithful to Rome, but I have often thought we were as one in common cause. I think your father was right, Zenobia. Julius always said we should break from Roman control, to rid ourselves of their policies and politics, that if we did we could know a free and united Syria. We would be wealthy enough to defend our borders, and in turn safe enough to live a peaceful life without worry. I was afraid that Rome would turn on us, a power far greater than ourselves, and that we would be forced to align instead with another empire, that of the Persians. Did I get it so wrong?’
Odenathus glanced at Zenobia, then shook his head as if he would give up on the world and everything he had worked so hard to maintain.
Zenobia said nothing.
‘I am forty years of age and I thought I knew how to lead and how to be followed. I supported the Empire because I thought it kept us safe, but it does nothing more than house a horde of greed-infused men. Gods! When will they see what we do for them? I am not a jealous man, but I find now I am filled with resentment. I have given the lives of my subjects for what? What, Zenobia? For what reason did I send men to their deaths? How can I possibly justify my alignment with Rome when there is not even a single entity to align with?’
Odenathus went to speak again but instead drank and held his cup out once more. It worried me that he drank so openly. He had always been a man for a cup of wine or ale, but always an enjoyment and not to numb the pain of the present.
‘What has happened?’ Zenobia’s voice was calm yet troubled.
‘I was angry with you, wife. Angrier than any man can be when you forfeited the life of a Roman emperor to the Persians. But I knew also that you were right. Gallienus is an honourable man; a warlord like myself, so I knew that not only did we lose a weak emperor, but gained a man who understood us and my position, and would assist in defending the frontier on the Empire’s behalf. But alas, not everyone sees these things as I do.’
‘You are mistaken, my love,’ Zenobia said, her voice full of firm authority. ‘Many of us sat here, sitting in the council chambers in Palmyra, or standing at the frontier leading men on your behalf, understand you. But they also look to you. You have the power to control what happens next.’
‘Indeed, I do. But I want the power I have because I know I will do our people a justice and protect them. I do not think so well of myself that I am superior, but I know my intentions are for the good of all. How has it taken so long for me to realise that not all men want the best for those who seek guidance?’
Odenathus loosened the cord on the purse and tipped its contents onto the table. Coins rolled and scattered in every direction and each of us leaned forward to take one.
The inscriptions on the coins were in Latin and read Romae Aeternae, Spes Publica, Indulgentiae Aug, Aequitas Augg, Pietas Aug. They bore the names T. Fulvius Iunius Macrianus and T. Fulvius Iunius Quietus.
‘What of them?’ I asked, not understanding their significance.
I could scarce believe it and yet I should have known this might come. We all should have. Ballista knew of Zenobia’s intentions of handing Valerian over to the Persian King, Shapur. How had we been so blind as to think that he would support us thereafter in our bid to scourge Syria of her enemies? Instead he thought only of the purple and his own advancement.
‘We cannot ignore it,’ Zenobia said. ‘Not if they intend to control the whole of Syria.’
‘They have already proposed I support their cause.’
‘What do you intend to do?’ she replied.
‘I have yet to decide. They will doubtless try to force a decision soon as they attempt to secure their position here in Syria before moving west.’
Odenathus appeared shaken. I wondered why he had come here, to Julius’ home, before chiding myself for not seeing it immediately. He had come because he needed Zenobia; both her companionship and her support, but mostly because he could not make the decision, and he did not know what to do next. Odenathus was a strong man, but he was not ruthless. As for Zenobia, she was both decisive and already a traitor.
‘Do you know anything of these men Ballista has elevated?’ I said.
‘Nothing of note. I came across them a few times during Valerian’s reign. I suspect they were given the titles of emperor because they are favoured by the Romans here in Syria and because Ballista himself chose not to usurp. He is ageing and respected, but I think he knows well that he is a man who does better as puppet master. He is also respected amongst the legionaries with victorious campaigns to his name. The Romans believe that it was he who defeated Shapur in battle and not the Palmyrenes, which does not surprise. He is a favoured Roman after all.’ He smiled at Zenobia. Humorous but tired. It had been our force and strategy that had beaten the Persians the previous year.
‘You must make a decision soon, my love,’ she said.
I knew before she spoke that the decision would not be Odenathus’, but hers.
I did not consider what Aurelia might think as we sat at the table with the King talking of our alignment with Rome and all that went with it. As we said goodnight, I realised she was no longer with us. I could not even remember if she had sat down at all. I looked in our rooms, thinking to find her retired, but the bed was impressed only with the sleeping form of Sohrab, who had sought my golden Aurelia in the night.
I found her in the garden and she jumped a little as I snaked my arms around her waist, the scent of flowers whose name I could not remember clinging to her hair.
She sighed and put her hands on mine. ‘You are troubled,’ I whispered.
‘Who would better rule Syria and scourge the sands of Shapur? King Odenathus or Macrianus and his son?’
I sensed a trick in the question but not how to avoid it.
‘Odenathus knows these lands better than any man. He has the support of his people, and a right given by the gods to rule. He has pushed the Persians back, and he keeps Syria safe.’
Aurelia turned in my arms and looked up at me.
‘The fighting and jostling for power; it reminds me of my father. He is a merciless man and I know that these men, soldiers, commanders and generals are too. The talk of power and the politics are all too common in the houses of Rome. Who decides who is a better man to rule?’
I knew a little of Aurelia’s youth. I knew her father was a general in the Roman army, fighting against the Goths in the north of the Empire. I knew too that she was a bastard, finding herself in the care of an ex-senator of Rome, and that she had come to Palmyra to be with me. Now it seemed she did not want us to stand against Romans, whether they turned against their own people or not.
‘Are you protective of your fellow Romans? Do you think them right to attempt usurpation?’
‘That is not what I said, Zabdas. Rome is ruled by the strongest. By the man who can win her. If Ballista or one of the brothers defeats Gallienus, they will hold imperium. Odenathus needs to tread with care. I love this country and its people. I love you. But I am afraid of what will come in this fight for power.’
‘There is no need to be afraid. Odenathus will make the right decision.’
‘I have no doubt of that, but will Zenobia?’
I could not answer Aurelia. In her eyes I saw sincerity and worry. I could have persuaded myself I saw spite, but I knew Aurelia and I knew I did not. She was softly spoken and concerned, yet they were not the words I wished to hear. I wanted to defend Zenobia, to claim that she always did what was right, but the complexity of Zenobia’s will and desires and Aurelia’s Roman blood made me question myself before I could utter any words.
I kissed her instead.
Afterwards, lying awake with the King and Queen of Palmyra beneath the same roof, I wondered of the whispers they spoke and decisions made as others slept. I worried that Zenobia’s efforts in defeating Valerian the previous year were in vain now others attempted to take command of the legions Odenathus had secured and led against Shapur.
Aurelia’s mention of a fight for power stayed with me as the sun bleached my room in the early hours. There would always be a fight, and there would always be men who could not divide power amongst themselves.
And I wondered which of the usurpers wanted it all.
CHAPTER 9
Samira – 290 AD (Present day)
We are lodged in rooms in the city. They are cheap and clean but they are nice for the housekeeper has dressed the little table in the corner of the rooms with flowers. Beside them, pages of Grandfather’s tale lie read and re-read.
I watch out of the window, shaded from the sun, desperate to escape these walls and journey on and yet reluctant to step out into the blinding heat.
Bamdad has promised me the west is cooler. But I have never known the east, never experienced the climates spoken of by the travellers and merchants who have come and gone through my village. I will be content to discover it all for myself, to see it all with my own eyes and here, on the edge of the Mediterranean, I am excited.
I am watching and I am waiting.
I am peeking through the window and I fool myself it is because I cannot wait to leave and yet I know and I admit to myself briefly that it is not.
A slave girl knocks at my door and disturbs my thoughts, the lies and the foolishness I conjure in my mind. She sets down a tray of fruit and wine and I know my grandfather has sent it up from the drinking house below where I sit. He is with Bamdad, a cup in his hand, a girl upon Bamdad’s lap. I have never seen it but I know men like Bamdad, I know what he does when I am not there, his flirtation with women.
They do not know him, the scarlet women, not like I do. He is kind and he is gentle but to them he is a man full of drink with coin. He will pay them for an act I have never before experienced, and in the morning as I pass them by I will see their stubborn pride covering shame and be grateful to my grandfather for everything he has done for me.
Grandfather blames himself each day for the things he believes he should have done. For not spending time with me before and for being away with my father so much. But I do not, and he will never understand. I am thankful to him for protecting me, both near and from afar.
He is a man who cares too much.
For me.
The sun moves and penetrates the window slit, blinding me. I shield my eyes with my hand and look down into the street. People walk about their business as if I do not look upon them, watch them, witness the chatter between them, the whispers here and laughter there.
I think again of Aurelia and the sadness I feel for her. So warm and caring a girl. I cannot believe
my grandfather’s words, that he did not love her more than he seemed to.
There is a knock on my door and it is my grandfather.
‘I do not like leaving you alone,’ he says. ‘Join us.’
He holds out his hand, gesturing to the stairs, but I feel unable to summon the will to move, so warm is the sun, so lost in thought have I been.
‘Did you love Aurelia? Truly love her?’ I ask, glancing to the papyrus on the table. I am curious. I think he is a man who cares too much, but I cannot understand his love for two people: Zenobia and Aurelia.
‘My darling Samira,’ he replies, ‘there is so much you will learn about life. So many things to which you will not allocate blame or judgement as the years pass.’
He sits on a stool beside the table and takes a grape from the tray.
‘I loved Aurelia as a girl, an innocent and delicate girl. She was always beside me, offering her unwavering support. I admit I never deserved her, not for a heartbeat. I was complacent because she offered herself to me without question or argument. And so she became a part of me.
‘The time we spent together, when I think back on it, was so short. It was natural that I was drawn to Zenobia, because of how often we were in one another’s company. I suppose if I had spent equal time with Aurelia then I would have felt much closer to her. There was a simplicity about her, yet so much beauty. I used to believe Zenobia held influence over me, but Aurelia had such a way of guiding my decisions, of gently putting across her opinion as if it were my own, that I barely realised.’
‘Like Zenobia over Odenathus?’
‘Not like that, no. Odenathus knew he was being influenced by Zenobia, do not mistake that. He did not always do as she wished, but I think he was torn. He believed in her and her cause, but he was also loyal. More loyal than any man I have ever known.’
The words sound strange, for him to say now that another was the most loyal man he had ever known, when I consider that man to be my grandfather. It is he who has stayed for so many years in Syria, protecting her without glory and coin, title or ambition.