by JD Smith
The man continued to write. Moments passed and Zenobia glanced to me, a look of puzzlement and exasperation. Eventually he looked up. He was middle years, a hunched figure, lean but not strong. He stared long at each of us, then set his stylus aside and sat back in his chair.
‘You requested an audience with me and have travelled far. This scroll states you have important matters to discuss. Odenathus is a most trustworthy and valued king. I do not have much time, but you may speak freely of what it is you require.’
His voice surprised me, high-pitched, unnatural. He spoke Latin, but as with Regulus and Aurelia, I understood most of what had been said. He was not as I imagined. No superiority in his presence or command in his tone. His long, thin face home to sunken eyes and drooping cheeks.
‘Greetings, Valerian Caesar,’ Zenobia said, inclining her head. ‘We appreciate you are a busy man and I thank you for taking the time to grant audience.’
He leant back further in his chair and said, ‘And you are Zenobia Julia Zabdilas. Have we met before? I cannot remember a woman travelling from the east to request audience in the past.’
‘This is my first visit to Rome.’
He bit the skin on his fingers. ‘But you are familiar. Not in looks, but you remind me of someone. A servant, perhaps,’ he said, and I wondered if his words deliberate.
‘My father visited this city many times. It is him you will recall.’
The emperor’s eyes grew small.
‘Indeed, it could be.’
His gaze wandered around his room, as though he did not recognize it, lost in thought, our presence no longer focussing his attention. Then his eyes flicked back to Zenobia.
‘Zabdilas?’
‘Julius,’ Zenobia said.
‘I am sure I recall a man of that name. There are many names which begin with a ‘z’ in Syria, no?’
Zenobia inclined her head.
‘Take a seat,’ he said, gesturing chairs on the opposite side of his desk.
Zenobia sat and Zabbai and I followed.
‘Caesar, we are here to plead for aid,’ Zabbai said.
Valerian’s eyes sparked. We amused him.
‘The Persian king, Shapur I, continues to press the east hard,’ Zabbai explained. ‘But Syria can no longer hold his armies. Much land has been lost. We require aid or the east shall fall. It may already have.’
‘I have reports from my commanding officers in the east. They admit land has been lost, but they are confident the frontier can be held for the time being.’
‘I doubt that,’ Zenobia said.
‘You have a map?’ Zabbai interjected, before Zenobia could say more.
‘What? A map? I … of course, here.’ He gestured a slave who retrieved a scroll from one of many pocket shelves. I moved desk clutter aside. Once unrolled, the scroll displayed a great web of countries, and dotted across the lands, cities were marked like flies. On the left: Britanniae, Hispaniae, Galliae and Viennensis. On the right: Pannoniae, Moesiae, Dacia, Thraciae, Asiana, Pontica and Oriens. Below, Africa and Egypt sat on the opposite side of the Mediterranium. In the centre: Italia. Every piece of land, every island under Roman control, contained on one scroll. Palmyra a beetle in the desert.
Zabbai moved to the right of the map, and peered at a black speck.
‘This was the border between Syria and Persis.’ He swept his finger across the map.
Valerian sat up, stiff in his chair, brow creased, but said nothing.
‘They have crossed the Euphrates here and here,’ Zabbai went on. ‘They have taken Nisibis, now they are heading for Carrhae and on to Edessa, then every other city in Syria. After Syria they move into Asia Minor.’ He dotted his finger at various places. ‘Your legions fail to hold them, and Bedouin warriors face the rising of the south. The Tanukh press the river hard. Odenathus concentrates a sizeable portion of the Syrian forces there.’
Valerian sank back in his chair, features composed in thought.
‘We need more men,’ Zabbai said, ‘to push the Persians across the Tigris. If your legions stationed in Syria have not already requested reinforcements, they should have. They are pressed as we are.’
Valerian looked at the map. Shook his head.
‘I must think of the military front as a whole. The Empire is vast and under a greater threat than ever before. In the east we encounter the Persian threat, as you say, in the west the presence of the Saxons, Franks and Alemanni. The Vandals and Goths hit hard in the north. These are just a few of the pressures I face, and all are larger and more formidable than we politicians have previously understood.
‘So,’ he said, as if concluding the conversation, ‘we move to a time of defence rather than attack. Conquering will no longer be an option for the present; that has been obvious for some time. Our leaders in military circles need to do everything they can to hold and defeat our enemies, but where the danger is less, so must our concern be.’
‘You must understand,’ Zabbai said, ‘King Odenathus cannot hold the frontier, and your forces in Syria are next to none. Shapur’s forces have grown strong, and meanwhile the Tanukh attempt to take the southern Euphrates. Our scouts tell us the Persian army number a hundred thousand or more, whilst our own numbers diminish. If Rome does nothing the east will fall, and with it your trade routes.’
‘There are Roman legions already in Syria. My own men tell me our client king can hold the frontier with the legions already deployed there. He has done so for years.’
‘I beg you,’ Zenobia said. ‘The east will fall.’
Valerian scratched his forehead. ‘My son will continue targeting his forces to the west, as he has been doing these past months. Meanwhile, I will join the armies facing the Goths, and Odenathus and the eastern based legions will continue to defend against the Persians until one or both of the other fronts are stable enough to withdraw and move forces. This is the best I can offer. I have already talked with my advisors, and this is the most beneficial option.’
Zenobia leaned forward. ‘Caesar, we are here to express the precariousness of our situation. Perhaps, if you yourself cannot lead men east, you can spare legions to assist the defence?’
‘It is not that simple,’ Valerian said stiffly. ‘Arrangements and details of the campaign in the north take time. Until then, legions cannot be despatched elsewhere. I cannot send men east until I have secured the north.’
Valerian flicked his hand and a slave moved forward and rolled up the map. The emperor did not look at us, but waited as if expecting us to leave.
Zabbai’s eyes widened.
‘Caesar, I must implore you to reconsider. Our request is necessary and urgent. Speed is vital. We cannot wait. I have seen the frontier myself. I have seen the Persian force raze whole cities, watched as the men and women and children within were slaughtered.’
Valerian flushed. ‘My commanders, too, have seen your frontier. They believe it can hold. Your king should think the same if he knows of war.’
Zabbai replied, ‘King Odenathus has long protected your frontier. He knows the eastern force better than any man, living or dead. His decisions are made in your interests, and he made the choice to send us here to request aid.’
Zabbai stared at the emperor a moment, impatience and frustration evident.
‘You will do nothing?’ he said.
Valerian did not respond and Zabbai stalked out.
‘Your time has been greatly appreciated, Caesar,’ Zenobia said. She bowed, elegant and courteous, and we too left.
We walked back through the gates of Valerian’s villa, the sun high and the streets warm.
‘My father was right,’ Zenobia said. ‘Valerian is a fool. A puppet to the senate.’
‘What do we do now?’ I asked.
‘I do not know. If he will not change his mind, then there is little to be done. We must return to Syria, hope that Odenathus has secured aid from the tribes.’
‘I am going back to camp,’ Zabbai said.
Ze
nobia nodded. ‘Zabdas and I will return to Regulus and inform him of the outcome of our meeting.’
The proud villas behind, we roamed through modest dwellings. Quaint buildings, flowers thirsty for the weak sun, dogs sniffing and pissing in the gutters.
‘Valerian thinks our plight small compared to his other troubles,’ I said.
‘Mehercule! I wish I knew what to do now, Zabdas. We have failed. I have failed. I, who assured Odenathus that I would succeed where my father could not. We were never going to gain reinforcements. I was convinced, sure that on the brink of invasion, Rome would have no choice but to listen.’
‘And so we pray to Bel and every other god and hope that we return to cities and sand and not a bloodbath.’
‘Look at this.’ Zenobia gestured about us, the stone buildings, paved streets and masses coming and going. Trading as we traded, drinking as our soldiers drank. ‘They enjoy as we enjoy, have what we have, and yet our lives will be stripped from us. We must have Rome’s support to secure our frontier.’
‘We cannot, Zenobia.’
Determination etched her olive face, a half smile forming on her lips.
‘My father would have us sever ourselves from Rome, but we have not. We are still part of the empire, Zabdas, and if we are to remain within it I will have Rome send the soldiers we are owed.’
CHAPTER 11
Zabdas - 258 AD
Regulus sat waiting. He tapped his cane against the edge of his couch, his hearing failing, I thought, as he jumped too late at the sound of our approach.
‘Did you see him?’
‘We saw Valerian,’ Zenobia replied.
‘Do not keep an old man in suspense. What did he say?’
Zenobia knelt down beside Regulus and took his hands in her own. She stroked them, as if they could give her the same comfort she gave Regulus as his misty eyes grew soft and sad.
‘The emperor has corresponded with his own commanders, spoken with the senate, and concluded that Syria can hold with the forces it has for the time being.’ Zenobia leaned forward. ‘Regulus, Valerian does not understand the severity of our situation. We are close to falling. We may have already.’
Regulus shook his head. ‘I had hoped Valerian would listen. But I should not have expected so much. Not from a man like him. He is an emperor by default. He did not defeat his predecessor, Trebonianus. It was Aemilianus who did that, and sometimes I think he would have made a better leader.’
‘He became emperor by default?’ I said.
Regulus tapped his cane on the side of the couch rapidly, then set it aside.
‘Valerian commanded forces in Raetia and Noricum when Aemilianus attempted to usurp Trebonianus as emperor. Aemilianus’ men killed Trebonianus and his son whilst Valerian’s own men proclaimed him emperor. When Valerian arrived back in Italia, Aemilianus was killed by his own men, and they joined Valerian’s forces. Valerian is a man of the senate, and had their support, you see.’
‘And so Valerian became emperor,’ I said.
‘His son is much worse. The stupidity of the father is replaced by careless self-importance. He fights whilst Valerian makes ill-advised decisions here in Rome! Listen to me; yesterday’s man complaining of today’s politics. An old fool!’
‘You are no fool, Regulus, of that I am certain,’ Zenobia said. ‘What can be done? We cannot return to Syria with nothing. Can you persuade the senate to change the emperor’s mind?’
Regulus sighed and clasped his hands across his stomach.
‘They are not men I know well, Zenobia, not anymore. They are another generation. When I was younger, politics was all-important. The Empire was ruled from the senate house. Now it is ruled on the battlefield and a public vote of popularity. No, they will not listen to me. It has been many years since I last held any real power.’
‘The senate respect you,’ she said.
‘Ah, well, some. But most are men close to Valerian, of the same mind, to take what Rome has left before they die. There is no future with them. They do not think of what the empire has been or what she might one day become again. Valerian has made up his mind, if he will not send more forces east, neither will the senate. You need to persuade the commander, not the old men who have no authority over the army.’
‘Persuade him, persuade them, Regulus. They must listen.’
‘I will fail, my dear, as you have.’
Zenobia leaned forward. ‘You will not. You cannot.’
Regulus appeared thoughtful.
Zenobia looked back, defying him to decline.
‘The Empire’s fate hangs in the balance, Regulus.’
‘No, no. Do not talk so. I am too old and much too sentimental to risk my comfortable position to the wrath of those with power.’
Gods, I thought, would no one help? Would not one man step forward and raise his spear or sword and pledge their aid to us?
‘Do it for Rome,’ I said.
‘I stand to lose everything I have gained if I stand against Valerian now. There was a time when I held the better hand, but he is emperor and wears the purple, he commands the armies. Did you hear what he had done to those poor Christians? Had them massacred, that is what! Free people made slaves or executed for religion!’
Zenobia’s posture remained unmoved.
‘I do not want to fail. We cannot fail, Regulus. Is there no other way? No other we can persuade?’
Regulus shook his head. ‘No. Valerian is emperor. He holds imperium. But …’
‘But what?’ Zenobia demanded.
‘There is one man who shares that power. Valerian’s son, Gallienus, is co-emperor after all …’
‘He is,’ Zenobia said impatiently, ‘but he is at the Danube. And he could not go against Valerian’s decision. Could he?’
‘Actually, Gallienus is not at the Danube. News has it he made progress and met with some success. He is on his way back to Rome as we speak.’
‘Gods, you did not mention this before!’ I said.
‘We must speak with him,’ Zenobia replied.
Regulus looked thoughtful.
‘You could try to persuade him, but his father has already made the decision. It would mean his son persuading him otherwise, contradicting him — or overriding him — and it could take some time to gain an audience with him.’
Zenobia shook her head. ‘It cannot wait. We will ride out and meet him. Speak with him outside of Rome, before he has chance to speak with his father and become drawn into the politics of the city.’
‘Do you know his route to the city? Is it possible to discover where he might be?’ I asked.
Regulus frowned. ‘I should be able to. The gods know I have enough contacts in this city. I may not have persuasion, but information is a little easier.’
A servant saw Zenobia and me back to camp. Thick grey cloud blocked the moon, our path lit by torches burning along the city wall. Regulus did not seem hopeful of our meeting Gallienus, of persuading him, but my hopes ran high as we walked in the fresh evening.
‘We leave for Syria in the morning,’ Zabbai said as Zenobia and I stooped into his tent. ‘We must report back to Odenathus as soon as possible. Inform him that Rome has no intentions of sending reinforcements east.’
‘We go west first,’ Zenobia replied. ‘I am told Co-Emperor Gallienus returns from the Danube.’
Zabbai faltered, his expression confused. He scratched his beard and took a step toward Zenobia.
‘And what do you hope to achieve?’
‘Gallienus is an emperor, but he is also a soldier, like you. He is our second chance. We explain to him, convince him of the eastern situation, and we could have the army we need. You have heard of his victories in the west, as I have. If he led men against the Persians, can you imagine?’
Zabbai barked a laugh. ‘He is the son, emperor only in name. Valerian turned us down. He trusts his own generals and commanders. You heard what he said and we waste precious time.’
‘I will go, even if yo
u will not. It is worth the chance.’
Zabbai grabbed Zenobia’s upper arm, squeezed bracelet into flesh. She remained impassive.
‘Gods, Zenobia, you have no idea. You think you were sent here to bargain with the emperor?’ he spat. ‘You think you are here because of your station, because it was once your father’s role? He failed, just as we fail now. Or perhaps you think you are here because you lie with Odenathus? You are a woman, Zenobia, and nothing more. You have a cunt and breasts and charm. That is not enough. Not in Palmyra and not in Rome. Odenathus plays you and you do not see it.’
‘Stop this now!’ I put a hand on Zabbai’s shoulder.
He shrugged me off. Zenobia looked him in the eye, no emotion, no tears, no embarrassment. Her face betrayed neither trembling lip nor faintest smile.
‘You think no one knew?’ he sneered. ‘I have been the king’s confidante for many years. The day will never come where Odenathus takes you as a wife. You whore yourself to him, play with his affection. How much gold before you are satisfied? How much power? I, too, spoke with Odenathus before we left Palmyra. You are in Rome because he wanted rid of you; because he never wanted you on his council. Because despite your father’s wishes, Odenathus will not give up or share power to you.’
‘Enough,’ I said, pushing Zabbai back. He took a step and his words ceased.
I had not seen it. I thought Zenobia here because of her father. Zabbai had known Odenathus’ intentions, kept them to himself, humoured Zenobia. He had done his duty, followed orders, and shown her respect. And I had not seen it.
‘Whom Odenathus chooses to take as his wife is irrelevant,’ Zenobia said, her voice level. ‘Do not question my authority, Zabbai.’
‘You threaten me?’
‘I threaten no one. I respect you a great deal. Odenathus speaks highly of you and no one in the army stands above you. I would see the same respect that I have for you, that is all.’
Zenobia bowed her head and left before Zabbai could answer.
The still night hummed with our hundred strong camp. Outside the walls of Rome we were exposed, but I felt safer than within.
