The Rise of Zenobia (Overlord Book 1)

by JD Smith

  ‘Gallienus is four days from Rome,’ Zenobia said. ‘If we ride now, we should meet him in less than two.’

  ‘We go without Zabbai?’

  She glanced back at his tent and sucked a quick breath. Shook her head.

  ‘We go alone.’

  Our guide led a path out of Rome. He had been appointed by Regulus, a man who knew the area and could be trusted. Zabbai stayed behind, but sent with us two of his men for our safety.

  What could we say to persuade Gallienus? I pondered. I could think of nothing. The heavy grey sky grew dark and broke with rain. I wiped my face, struggling to see. It ran down Zenobia’s face and neck, a tide upon her skin, yet she did not brush it away. She embraced it and her hair welled and clung to a sodden cloak.

  ‘Will this work, do you think?’ I asked.

  ‘He is a lord of war, but that is all I know of our second emperor. Regulus’ opinion was not high, but if Gallienus is an arrogant man, he may see sport in standing against his father. We can but hope.’

  ‘And if he agrees with his father, and refuses to assign reinforcements to the east?’

  A purposeful look. ‘What makes you think I know all the answers, Zabdas?’

  Because she was ever sure, I thought, but did not say it.

  ‘I never said you did,’ I said instead.

  ‘No,’ she mused, ‘you did not. Let us hope we can speak with Gallienus.’

  Two days ride. Two nights sleeping in our low black tents. On the morning of the third day we found Gallienus’ men blocking the road ahead.

  Two men rode out, banners fluttering in a weak wind, to greet us.

  ‘I seek an audience with Emperor Gallienus on a matter of urgency,’ Zenobia said, back straight, confident.

  They looked to each other and smirked.

  ‘What do you want with the emperor, girl?’ one asked.

  ‘I am a consul of Palmyra, Syria. My business is with the emperor alone.’

  Body thick with mud, face weary, and boots in need of repair, the soldier jerked his head. ‘Come with me.’

  The soldiers escorted us forwards, down the lines of men, until we stepped in line with the marching soldiers.

  ‘What is it?’ one asked. He was as dirty as the rest, marching on foot, face brown and lined and tired.

  ‘You have a request for audience,’ the soldier replied.

  The emperor looked over to Zenobia as if I were not there, and his face lost ten years as his frown smoothed and grim expression turned to surprise.

  ‘We will be making camp soon,’ he said. ‘I will speak with them then.’

  The army moved for no more than an hour more. Shouts sounded, legionaries stopped, orders were given, a camp organised and trenches dug.

  The two men and our escort erected one tent and Zenobia and I the other. She was able-bodied, constructing quickly and efficiently. She did not speak, and I knew she thought on her words to Gallienus.

  We ate amongst the Romans. Chatter and drinking and games filled cold night air. Zenobia drank with them, tossing dice and winning. If she charmed the emperor as she charmed the men we would have no trouble persuading him.

  The camp settled. Noise and fires died and men drifted into peaceful slumber.

  ‘The emperor will see you now,’ a soldier said, and jerked his head for us to follow.

  We walked a long line of tents, taller than ours, but still the soldiers stooped in and out. We paused outside one, six soldiers standing sentry, and I felt a flutter of apprehension, our mission riding on the next few moments; our second and last chance.

  We ducked inside. Gallienus sat behind a table as Valerian had sat behind a desk in Rome, the tent otherwise bare. They were different in approach. Valerian did not wish to see us, made no pretence at humouring us, and believed what he had wanted to believe, what his own commanders told him. Gallienus sat with a serenity I had not imagined a man of war to emanate. Scars marred his face, cutting through a short beard, no thicker than my own. He stood up and genially gestured we take chairs opposite him. An aide stood to one side, four soldiers lining the walls, and the soldier who had come for us sat down at one end of the table.

  ‘My sincere apologies,’ the emperor said. ‘You caught me on a long march home. I am not entirely sure who it is I address,’ he smiled, eyes flicking between Zenobia and myself.

  ‘We are honoured to be in your presence, Caesar. I am Zenobia Zabdilas, consul of Palmyra, and this is my personal guard and cousin, Zabdas. We were sent to Rome on behalf of King Odenathus …’

  ‘Of Syria?’ Gallienus interrupted.

  ‘Palmyra, indeed.’

  Gallienus relaxed into his seat and traced a wide scar close to his ear.

  ‘But you are not in Rome. You are west of Rome, seeking an audience with me.’

  The man sitting at the end of the table gave a low snigger and leaned forward on the table.

  Gallienus appeared amused as he waited for a response.

  Zenobia remained unmoved.

  ‘Indeed, Caesar. I am here to plead for reinforcements …’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ Gallienus said, and my patience tore. ‘Two questions. Firstly, why come to me? My father is at this very moment in Rome. Surely he could have listened to your plea?’

  Zenobia did not hesitate. ‘We have pleaded with your father already, but alas to no avail. Roman commanders report that the east can hold for now, as it always has, against the Persian invaders. He makes his decision based on this.’

  Gallienus closed his eyes momentarily.

  ‘I see. And so you have come to me in the hope that my opinion might differ?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  Gallienus chuckled, and the man at the end of the table laughed, too.

  ‘I admire your honesty.’

  ‘You had a second question?’ she said.

  Gallienus tilted his head and studied Zenobia.

  ‘Why would a woman come with only three soldiers and a guide? Surely you travelled from Syria with a larger escort?’

  Zenobia shrugged off her cloak.

  ‘We came with an escort of more than a hundred men. Our leader and company felt we had done all we could having spoken with your father.’

  The emperor’s smile evaporated.

  ‘I see. This man, this leader with whom you came, he thinks my father holds imperium, hmm?’

  Zenobia said nothing. Clever, I thought. She touched on delicate matters.

  After a while Gallienus said, ‘What makes you think my answer will differ from my co-emperor’s?’

  ‘You are a lord of war,’ Zenobia replied. ‘You know enough to understand and sympathise with Odenathus’ position and the problems he faces. The Persians threaten Syria, but it is also under invasion from many other tribes, including the Tanukh.’ She leaned forward and they held one another’s gaze with ease. ‘My king has held the Syrian frontier — your frontier — for many years with success. But our enemies become more powerful, and yet the legions in Syria remain the same. It has become increasingly difficult to continue to maintain control. Numerous cities have been lost. My own father led men to the Euphrates two years ago. He came out of retirement to protect the Empire.’

  My mind was filled with Julius, whether he still held the southern frontier, and if he were dead or alive. I felt the draw of home, a heavy pull in my stomach. I craved, then, to return to Palmyra.

  ‘My father will have seen your problems in the east as part of a greater problem, as part of the Empire’s problems; something that weighs heavily on us both. When he and I became colleagues, Rome was close to collapse; it still is. Maintaining and securing the frontiers is a huge problem. A massive undertaking. If Valerian Caesar thinks you can hold, he makes his decision based on how much pressure he is under elsewhere.’ Gallienus barely looked at me as he spoke, eyes fixed intently on Zenobia. ‘It is an easy choice to make, when the people whose lives are immediately at risk are not people you know, when there are enemies closer to home. Believe m
e, I understand the troubles your country faces, and I have a great deal of respect for Odenathus. He is an incredibly loyal man.’

  ‘He is the best of men,’ Zenobia replied. ‘You could not wish for a more trustworthy ruler to a client kingdom.’

  A mild hint that Odenathus could turn against Rome without notice was not lost on the younger emperor.

  ‘You can leave us now, Posthumus,’ Gallienus said to the man sat at the end of the table.

  ‘Caesar,’ Posthumus acknowledged.

  He bowed and stooped out of the tent. Only the guards, Zenobia, Gallienus and I remained.

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Odenathus has my full support in all matters, but whether it is physically possible to push more legions to Syria’s frontier is another problem entirely. That may be difficult to accept, but it is also quite probably the case. I know my own men are stretched.’

  ‘Give me a day,’ Zenobia challenged, ‘and I will change your mind.’

  Gallienus grinned, boyish and amused. He rose from his seat, took Zenobia’s hand and assisted her to her feet.

  ‘I have no doubt you would try. Your escort waits for you in Rome?’

  ‘They are camped on the outskirts of the city.’

  ‘Then you can travel back with me. And you can have two days to plead your case.’

  Hope gripped once more.

  The following morning we set off back to Rome. Zenobia accompanied Gallienus. They both walked, despite his offer of a horse. She described the horrors that had been relayed to us by our own soldiers; how our frontier was collapsing, cities pillaged, citizens taken as slaves, trade routes threatened – a reminder of Rome’s own grain supply.

  ‘It is why Rome can never let Palmyra fall, he said. ‘Without produce from Egypt, Rome would starve.’

  ‘And yet we are so close to falling …’

  ‘So you keep reminding me. Tell me, Zenobia, how did you gain your position within Palmyra? It is most unusual for women; particularly in the eastern courts.’

  ‘My father is a stratego in the Palmyrene army. A well-respected man. Whilst at war, I am his voice on the council.’

  ‘Ah, I see. I thought perhaps …’ He paused, as if unwilling to finish his thoughts.

  I could not see Zenobia’s expression, but she made no attempt to pursue his unfinished words.

  ‘I am concerned,’ Gallienus went on, brushing arms with her, ‘that at least a third of the Empire’s grain supply comes from Egypt through Syria. There is no denying that. You are right of course, and it is a very real threat.’

  ‘That is my concern, also,’ Zenobia replied. ‘If Syria falls, and the supply routes forfeit ...’

  ‘Indeed. It is an important frontier to protect; a vital trade route. Odenathus has held well and for a good long time. But I know he has petitioned many times in the past. The senate has voted on numerous occasions. In reality, that is quite possibly why my father believes he can still hold. Jupiter’s whiskers, we have so many other problems, Zenobia.’

  The leather beneath Gallienus’ armour creaked. We walked fast, yet he broke no sweat, his breath was not laboured, and his stride betrayed no ailments.

  I watched as the connection between the emperor and Zenobia grew. She spoke differently; coldness dropping away replaced by understanding and warmth and agreement. Her diplomacy reminded me of Julius, and the gentle way he spoke. I hoped she knew what she did, and it seemed I had no cause for concern. Two days later, when the city came in sight, Gallienus agreed that Syria’s security warranted attention. He would discuss the matter with his father.

  Our position changed the way a storm in the desert changes the lie of the land, creating drifts where before the sands were flat. The decision to send more forces east was no longer that of Valerian alone, but also of Gallienus, a man known as The Hero of War.

  Zenobia would not return to our camp. She would stay in the city, with Regulus, until word came from Gallienus. I agreed readily enough, swayed by my desire to spend time with Aurelia.

  Back at Regulus’ house, we discovered he had continued to send messages to anyone and everyone he held acquaintance with and trusted during our absence.

  ‘He promised to speak with his father?’ he said of our news. ‘My my, you have done well, Zenobia. I have sat here worrying a great deal. I scarce believed you would get to speak with him, least of all persuade him to address the matter. Let us hope the gods are with you.’

  ‘We do not need many. If Gallienus can persuade his father to spare just a few thousand, it will be enough,’ Zenobia said.

  ‘Indeed, indeed. At least to provide a solid defence.’

  ‘Exactly. For a man of the philosophical world, you know a good deal about the military.’

  ‘As do you, Zenobia,’ he replied.

  Zenobia smiled. ‘My father talked much of life in the army.’

  ‘He spoke of it when he was here, too,’ Regulus replied, and I felt a pang of jealousy. Both Zenobia and Regulus had talked to Julius of his life in the army, of war, or soldiering. They knew him far better and for longer than I. They could recount experiences, phrases Julius said, things he had taught them. I barely knew him.

  Our immediate excitement waned. News from Gallienus failed to appear. My patience wore thin as despair grew.

  ‘Perhaps obtaining reinforcements was just a dream,’ Regulus would say to Zenobia.

  She would laugh, shrug his comments away, until one evening, almost three weeks after our return to Rome, and still no word from Gallienus, she lost her restraint.

  ‘Are we not all dreamers, Regulus? We dream to improve, to aspire, to become more. We dream of peace and happiness and family, of wealth, land and power. Every one of us in this room is free. Free to eat what we like, to walk where we want, speak the words we wish to speak and worship the gods we desire. Zabdas knows what it is to lose freedom.’ She grabbed my arm and pulled the band from my wrist, exposing the slave mark upon it. ‘We all bear this mark, whether it be Persian or Goth or one of a hundred enemies. I dream of a land without threat and fear of invasion.’

  Impatience, I think, encouraged her. Regulus took no offence. Too old and wise to be disgruntled over heated words. And I think he admired her for them. When he accused her of being a dreamer, it had not been in jest. She was more passionate than anyone. Did he see that her ambitions would carry her far in life? Perhaps. She knew what she sought. She grasped with both hands and refused to let go, just as she had once told me to.

  The morning after, she went to Gallienus.

  ‘I will go with you,’ I said.

  She shook her head and wrapped a cloak about her shoulders, lifting the hood and masking her face.

  ‘No. I need only a guide, Zabdas, and you do not know Rome. I must do this alone. I will be back before long.’

  Regulus hobbled into the room.

  ‘You need to be careful, Zenobia. If Valerian discovers you putting pressure on his son to change his mind, he will not be pleased.’

  ‘Do not worry, Regulus, I will be discreet.’

  ‘It is not worth risking your safety. Gallienus will send word as soon as he can,’ Regulus replied.

  She lifted her hood back.

  ‘He has yet to send word. Palmyra is my home, but I share it with thousands. Should we all lose our homes because one person was too afraid to push for aid?’

  Regulus nodded. I could not. She replaced her hood and left.

  ‘Be careful,’ I called after her.

  ‘She is strong, Zabdas. She will return to us safe, I am sure,’ Regulus said, and disappeared into the depths of his house.

  I wanted to believe his words, but my heart felt terror, an iron grip on my stomach. Alone, she would go to Gallienus, request an audience. What else? My thoughts turned bitter at the connection they had, the flirtation between them. There was more, I thought, but could not be sure.

  Hours passed. She did not return. I paced, staring without comprehension at mosaic floors and out at a crisp b
lue sky. What had happened? What fate had befallen her? My heart pounded. I sat in a house, in safety and luxury, yet I felt on a battlefield, the apprehension of the enemy present.

  Regulus joined me, and together we sat in silence. We paced the small garden without a word, staring absently at the flowers and plants, before resuming our seats. Aurelia offered food, but I felt no hunger. She touched my bare arm, and warmth spread in a radius from where our flesh met. For a moment I relaxed, but it was short-lived. A knock at the door stirred everyone. Aurelia answered, only to discover a messenger for Regulus on a personal matter. Was Zenobia sitting in the same room as Gallienus? Had Valerian discovered her liaison with his son and co-emperor? She was my family now, my cousin and my friend. I should have gone with her.

  Midday came and went. Light began to fade, and with it my hope of Zenobia’s return. I sat in the garden numb to the cold. I thought about returning indoors, but felt no inclination to move. And then Aurelia joined me.

  ‘Regulus believes Zenobia will return soon,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

  ‘I pray to the gods she does.’

  ‘If Regulus believes it, then she will.’

  I looked into the water behind me. The grubby reflection of a lean boy, sun-dark skin and hair as black as raven wings, stared back. Next to him, a girl, shimmering hair illuminated by the glowing moon. The reflection smiled. Although I did not feel it, the boy smiled back. Her hand moved towards me, warm fingers gripping, and I closed my eyes, heart hammering, a rush of excitement and longing and need. I wanted her. When I turned I found her soft, open mouth with my own. My fingers released hers; I pulled her toward me, held her close, her body pressed against mine. She wrapped her arms around me. I willed the moment to last a lifetime, encompassed in this world. The two of us, letting every morsel of grief and despair wash away. Experiencing new pleasures.

  I kissed her again, mouth sweet and soft and skin perfumed with rosewater.

  Voices sounded. Zenobia had returned.

  I pulled away and looked into pale eyes.

  ‘Go,’ Aurelia said.

  I ran into the house. Zenobia was safe, unharmed; exactly as she had left that morning. My heartbeat slowed and relief flooded. A moment and I noticed Zabbai beside her.