The Better of Two Men

by JD Smith

  ‘I understand,’ I say, although I am unsure. ‘What happened to Aurelia?’

  ‘She died, and it was only then I realised what she truly meant to me and to others.’

  I see tears in his eyes, but they do not spill and I am thankful for that for I do not know what to say to comfort him.

  ‘Do you still think of yourself as a slave, even now?’

  He smiles as if I ask a humorous question, although I do not think I have. I glance to his arm, the leather strap covering the mark I know to be there but have never seen.

  ‘Nothing can change what I was. I will always know what happened, just as I will always know it was Julius who changed that. I no longer think of myself as a slave; I simply hold knowledge that I was one for a time.’

  I find myself nodding. I understand his words, his reasoning. They make sense to me.

  ‘Do you think Julius dines with Teymour now?’ I ask.

  ‘Teymour will be drinking a toast to all our past adventures,’ he says. ‘And Julius will be filling his cup.’

  I walk down the steps of the inn after my grandfather, wood creaking beneath my feet, the smell of cooked meats and ale sweet in the air. We join Bamdad, tipping back the last of his cup. There is no woman upon his lap, no whore tempting him, and I am relieved not to witness that.

  He smiles as he sees me, and beckons me sit with him. It is then I see Rostram beside him, slave trader and pirate, his back turned, talking with another, and my heart churns and suddenly the room turns sickly-sweet. I notice him first for his soft brown hair, much lighter than many of our region. He has cut it shorter and neater since selling his boat. He looks almost respectable, but I remind myself he is a pirate. A man who cannot be trusted. I have seen him buy slaves and I have seen him set them free, and still his words ring in my ears: they have you to thank for that.

  He turns his head briefly, and I catch first his surprise at my presence, then an arrogant twist of his mouth as he turns back to his friend, Karaish.

  ‘Karaish has found a ship,’ Bamdad says. ‘But we need to wait a little longer for the cargo he wants to come in to the dock.’

  ‘We cannot stall,’ Grandfather replies.

  ‘Jadhima is dead. A little longer won’t change that. The news can hold,’ Bamdad says, and he beckons for more ale and winks at me.

  ‘I did not think you wanted to stay in Antioch long?’ my grandfather asks.

  There is a look in Bamdad’s eyes as if my grandfather has spoken the name of his family. He is shocked and he is surprised, but I can tell my grandfather is angry. He wants to move on, to head for Rome as quickly as we can, and we have not yet left the shores of Syria.

  ‘How long will we need to wait?’ I say.

  ‘Not long. You will not even notice the delay, Rubetta.’

  I sit down opposite Bamdad and take food from the centre of the table. I think of the fruit in my room and feel guilt at being wasteful. I shall eat it later, I promise myself.

  Grandfather does not sit. He is thinking what to say next, how to persuade his brothers that we cannot wait.

  ‘How long?’ he demands.

  Rostram turns his attention to us and says, ‘Two weeks, Zabdas. I need the cargo in order to make the trip worthwhile. If you want to go sooner, by all means leave now, but you will need to find another captain to take you.’

  My grandfather says nothing for a moment. Then he sits down beside me.

  ‘Very well. Fourteen days but not one sunrise more.’

  CHAPTER 10

  Zabdas – 261 AD

  Our company began travelling back to Palmyra within two days of Odenathus’ arrival at the house of Zabdilas. We were a sombre group; the news of more conflict in the east on everyone’s mind. Zenobia alone talked as we marched beneath a hot sun. She wanted an account of what had happened in Syria since we left for the Euphrates. She wanted to know where the pretenders were now, which legions they had taken and their location, how many others they had rallied, whether they were Roman legionaries or our men, specifically what correspondence had been exchanged, if we knew when they planned on turning against Rome and the likelihood of them defeating Gallienus.

  ‘That is the question I have most asked myself,’ Odenathus said. ‘If we join with them, and they have all of the forces in Syria supporting them, they would stand a far greater chance of success.’

  We rode back the way we had come only a few weeks before. Our legions remained on our frontier, but still we were accompanied by an entire cohort. Odenathus would not risk travelling alone across the desert plain.

  ‘What happens if we refuse to align with the pretenders? Will they march alone?’ Zenobia asked.

  ‘Politically, we cannot let that happen.’

  ‘Because we will have betrayed Gallienus by standing idly by,’ Zenobia surmised.

  ‘We would lose our position within the Empire if we were seen not to stand in their path. Unless they seize Gallienus’ title and power of course, then we would be looked upon unfavourably for not joining with them in the beginning. We are carefully and strategically aligned with Rome. I have invested years in securing the frontier and for that I am granted a certain imperium in Syria.’ His voice fell as his words hardened. ‘We could have lost that when you betrayed Valerian.’

  ‘You had already lost it,’ Zenobia said. ‘Now you have it back and more.’

  ‘We are fortunate in that.’

  The wind blew sand into my face and I cursed leaving Julius’ home, even though it meant returning to Palmyra. Odenathus, nervous of the eastern scene, demanded the entire household move to the safety of city walls. There had been no time to repair the fountain, and I had taken the only option I could in ensuring the remaining servants knew to tend the garden in the family’s absence.

  ‘My guess,’ Odenathus went on, ‘is that Ballista, Macrianus and Quietus care little for the eastern frontier or for us. It concerns me that they want only power, and are intent on rallying support and moving against Gallienus, thus sacrificing us to the Persians. We are, after all, geographically joined at the bottleneck. If they are foolish and short-sighted enough to cut off their grain supply from Egypt through Syria, we are no longer a part of the Empire. However, we need their legionaries still if we are to hold Shapur. Without them he will begin to push into Syria once more, and we will be in the same situation as we were before Valerian came.’

  ‘And so we stand against the pretenders,’ Zenobia replied, ‘because it is right for Palmyra and not for Rome.’

  Her words were hard, and Odenathus seemed to sway between anger and exasperation.

  ‘I pray that I could see the world as simply as you do, Zenobia. But you must know that I cannot. There is a delicate balance that must be maintained in order to control the powers battling for supremacy. We cannot abandon Rome as one would sell an errant slave. We must pray, too, that Rome will not abandon us.’

  Brief silence followed Odenathus’ words. Our group scattered tendrils of sand in its wake. Zenobia’s camel plodded along as Odenathus’ horse began to fail in the heat. I rode beside Zenobia, distant enough not to intrude upon their conversation, but close enough to hear Odenathus’ words, and know him wrong. Zenobia did not think politics simple, but she was determined to have what she desired for Syria, and for that she would sacrifice anything.

  ‘You assume I always wish to abandon Rome, Odenathus. I want what you want. I want Syria to be safe.’

  Odenathus adjusted himself in the saddle. ‘You talk as if there will always be a choice, between Rome and a free Syria, and that you can decide on a whim between the two. I voiced my concerns, my worries, when I said I thought your father right. On reflection I am a man of my word. I made a commitment to Rome and the Empire, and I should keep to it. We align ourselves with the heart of the Empire, not with those who wish to jostle amongst themselves. That was the source of so many heated disagreements between your father and me. He saw the Empire as an entity far from the lives we lived, that ruled us
with little care, and took but never gave back.

  ‘We have a choice between the Roman Emperor seated now at the height of power, and any other man who would claim imperium. They all serve Rome, to differing degrees. Neither choice would see us without loyalty to the Empire as a whole because we side with a representative of that Empire. And of course, siding with the Macriani and Ballista, should they lose, would mean Syria being cut off. Then you would have what you want. A free Syria, but at what cost?’

  Zenobia eased her camel in closer to her husband.

  ‘The right course for Palmyra at present would be to tie with Rome and stand against the usurpers.’ She reached across and placed a tender hand on Odenathus’ for a brief moment before the beasts meandered apart and broke the connection. ‘If I were a woman who always thought of Syria, I might urge you to create an alliance with the usurpers and secure Palmyra exclusive power in the east once these men had what they wanted. I understand what needs to be done. By taking this course you secure an even greater bond with Rome; and with Gallienus, whilst he rules. Confidence in your ability and loyalty as a client king will become surer, too. It was you who said we cannot abandon the Empire, not whilst we still require their legionaries and their faith in you.’

  Not whilst we still require …

  She could not stomach aligning completely with a nation greater than Syria. I could see beneath the surface of her olive skin and sand-brushed lips, the struggle to commit, even in words, to Odenathus’ vision. But it was her unexpected wish to side with Gallienus and Rome that I knew troubled the King.

  Our journey felt as though it lasted a decade with the sands endless, but more so because I dwelt on the desire to remain in Julius’ home, close to the memories of him, away from the policies and politics, enjoying a simple life. A life where I could be with Aurelia, leaving Zenobia and Odenathus to politics and war. After Julius’ death, being a soldier no longer held the same appeal. Not now that we had our revenge. And I began to think a house and trade would suit me better.

  I was beginning to learn about myself and my own desires. For too long I had been a slave, then followed Zenobia as she strived for what she wanted. I had become a man and my opinions swayed and matured, and the politics Zenobia had understood for much longer than I began to solidify in my mind.

  With that solidification, however, came two different opinions. I could understand both Odenathus’ and Zenobia’s desires for the country over which they jointly maintained control. I respected Odenathus’ wish to remain loyal to Rome, and the safety that allegiance would bring. But I could sympathise, too, with Zenobia’s determination to create a free Syria, enabling the people to make their own decisions and live under a rule from the heart of the country, in Palmyra, rather than abide by laws made many hundreds of miles away in Rome. It was her father’s wish, the one reason Julius and Odenathus had parted. Neither could agree, and I already sensed a divide forming between the King and his Queen as she rallied against his ideals.

  If she had been an older woman, had Odenathus taken a wife of his own generation instead of a girl so young her body curved no more than a boy’s, perhaps then he would have found a woman who would stand silently beside him, supporting his opinion without question. Instead Zenobia’s drive was a constant, her determination unyielding, and the lengths she would go to secure what she desired traitorous. Which part of her Odenathus loved most I could not be certain. Their marriage was not a political one. She was the daughter of a famous Stratego, a friend and a comrade. But even so, he had married her for something more – that absolute certainty of what she wanted, her desires for Syria that he had once failed to embrace in his friend. Perhaps it was those elements, and that she was fertile and forward. The truth was that she loved him also. Tears could only be shed for one man, and they were reserved for the King.

  I dropped back to where Aurelia rode in a carriage with the children. She alone seemed to understand my constant turmoil. Her father, estranged and yet a prominent political and military figure, meant Aurelia had led a lonely existence.

  Aurelia spoke of her father little, and even then only when she wished to warn me of the type of man he was, and to avoid becoming anything like him. For myself, I think I resented her prejudice. I could not understand her dislike of him, where I would have craved to be close, to build bridges. He was a powerful man, from her words, one that could have taken her in as his daughter but chose not to. And yet he was still her father, her blood, and under all my pretence of listening to worries and concerns, I always felt she should be grateful for having a father at all.

  ‘Are the children well?’ I asked as we rested by the side of the road. The whole train came to a halt as the men sat around, eating from their packs and talking. I lost sight of Zenobia and Odenathus, but once she was in the King’s company, my duty to remain by her side was not usually required.

  ‘I do not think they wish to be moved back to Palmyra,’ she said. ‘Sohrab was settled in Meskenit’s home. He found normality there, that we did not find within the palace walls.’

  ‘He will grow to like Palmyra, I am sure.’

  Aurelia shouted for him not to stray too far, and Vaballathus, swaddled and held safely in Meskenit’s arms, cried at the sudden noise.

  ‘You must remember that Sohrab was born and spent much time in the Zabdilas household. He loves it there. It makes him feel safe.’

  I could not understand why he would feel safer in the house of Zabdilas. Palmyra was a fortress of garrisoned walls, housing a large portion of Odenathus’ army; a force that would swell when we arrived. Love could not describe my sentiment for the place I always wanted to return to. As much as I had relaxed and appreciated our calming stay with Meskenit and her family in the house I knew as Julius’, and as much as I could have stayed there enjoying the quiet in the wake of revenge, Palmyra drew me in, startled me each time I entered the city, and that could not be matched.

  ‘He will learn to feel safe in the city.’

  Aurelia called Sohrab again. Then she said: ‘May I ask you a question?’

  I felt my stomach plunge, as it always did when I was uncertain.

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘He might not be our own child, and I know the lies that left his mother’s lips and that he cannot be yours, but you find it hard to embrace him. Would you be so dismissive of your own child as you have been of him? You do not seem to take joy in his company as I do.’

  Aurelia’s questioning rendered me speechless. I could not say I cared for the boy at all, only that I saw Aurelia’s pleasure in his company. I had never put aside time to spend with him. That was a lie. I could have spent the years that I had grown in Palmyra, training as a soldier, knowing his company and perhaps earning his affection, but I could never overcome the lies his mother had told, claiming him mine when he was not. Then when Aurelia took charge of the boy and sought to educate him in the palace, I thought perhaps then I should, for duty or conscience I know not, accept that Aurelia had taken to him and mothered him.

  ‘I take no joy in his company because he takes so little in mine,’ I said at last.

  ‘He is a boy, Zabdas, barely eight years old. It is for you to encourage him. Show him who you are, what interests you. Show him and teach him. You need to earn his love, but first you must gain his trust.’

  Horns sounded the warning that we would move again soon.

  ‘Why does it matter to you so much? You said yourself, he is not my son.’

  ‘Did it matter to Julius that you were not of his blood? He left you a fortune to call your own not because he was obliged to, but because he wanted to,’ she said with a gentleness I did not deserve. There was something in Aurelia that, on occasions, I found a little patronising. And yet I knew she was right.

  ‘It was not the same. Not as this. Julius and I, we held a respect for one another, and I loved him.’

  ‘And you love Vaballathus in turn?’

  I began to feel uneasy and asked the gods to spare
me the exchange. The whole country readied itself for the continuous war, and Aurelia concerned herself with how many hours I spent with a boy I neither loved nor cared for.

  I shuffled along the dirt so we sat close, side by side, and I kissed her cheek.

  ‘I love you all,’ I said. ‘Sohrab and I, we need a little more time. Perhaps in Palmyra we shall find that. I saw him only briefly when I returned from the frontier, and there is much I can show him.’ I kissed her again and saw that she did not believe my words. Her eyes, swirls of blue topaz, moved over me. Tears formed on their glassy surface and she tried to hold them back. I knew then something more disturbed her, but I was afraid to ask.

  She placed a hand on my face and stroked my beard.

  ‘You are right, Zabdas. You have much to show him. For me, and for his sake, ensure you spend that time with him once we reach the city. He has no parents of his own, just as you did not whilst you were a slave, and just as I have not. It is important to us both.’

  The horns sounded again and the train of men scrambled to their feet and prepared to move on with a great rustle of armour and weaponry. I helped Aurelia up and when I did, I noticed her robes curved as they clung to her belly. We had lain together often in the last few weeks under Meskenit’s roof and her pale face was tired. How had I not noticed before?

  ‘Are you well?’

  Aurelia conjured a smile. ‘Of course.’ And she walked back to the cart to continue the journey.

  I dared not ask her if she was with child, and yet it was clear she was. What were her reasons for concealing it from me? Did she worry for the health of the unborn, or did she wait for me to prove myself a father? To treat Sohrab as Julius had treated me?

  I held that thought as we trekked the last miles to the desert oasis of Palmyra. I wanted my child to be born within the safety of those city walls, raised alongside Vaballathus and tutored beside him too. I imagined a boy, and thought of the pair growing as brothers, something I had never known before becoming a part of the army. Herodes was Odenathus’ eldest son, so for Vaballathus demands would be fewer and he would have time to nurture a friendship that I began to hope he would have with my son.