The Rise of Zenobia (Overlord Book 1)

by JD Smith

  ‘Better a marriage recognised by Rome, if I am to be considered the wife of the king of Syria. Odenathus and I were waiting for my father to return from the south and for his consent before performing the marriage ritual, but with a child making its way into the world, we chose to wait no longer. I would have my child a legitimate heir, and let no man or woman claim otherwise.’

  ‘Why did you agree to become his wife, to bear his children? I never thought you wanted this, to be tied to a man, to be commanded by one.’

  ‘I am not commanded, and I do it because my father wished it,’ she said flatly, her moment of weakness gone.

  ‘Julius would never have asked that of you. He cares for you too much to have pushed you into something you did not want.’

  ‘I did want it, Zabdas. And you do not know my father as well as you would like to think. I have always been destined for the Palmyrene throne, only it was Herodes to whom I was tentatively betrothed, no more than a babe in a crib. My father and Odenathus spoke of it, mentioned it and joked on it many times before he left Palmyra. I am unsure if it was forgotten in his years of absence, but I think not. I was to break Syria from Rome, breed the next generation of leader and educate them so that, one day in a distant future, we could sever ourselves from Rome once and for all. And then I met Odenathus, and everything changed. Syria needs me now. My father brought me to Palmyra to infiltrate the aristocracy. It was my purpose to sit on the council on my father’s behalf and make a difference. But I have done more than I hoped, more than my father ever dreamed. This is what I was brought up to believe.’

  ‘I do not believe that,’ I replied. ‘Julius puts his family first. It is the single most important aspect of life to him. He said so himself.’

  ‘It does not matter what you believe. It is true. As your friend and your family, I tell you the truth.’

  ‘I do not understand, Zenobia. Why would you do this? Why go to Rome and plead for troops when you wish to sever yourself?’

  ‘Because my father is right. Syria is nothing more than a client kingdom in a forgotten land, you saw that when Valerian proclaimed himself imperator. Odenathus is on the throne because he swore fealty to Rome. If not him, it would be another; or a Roman senator fallen out of favour at home. They care nothing for us. They themselves are about to fall, so what can they offer us now? What do they have to give? We defend their frontier, pay taxes and do exactly what is asked of us, and in return they allow us a little freedom. But it is not freedom, Zabdas. Valerian marched here under duress then risked the safety of our country. It would be better if he had not come.’

  ‘Then we travelled to Rome for nothing?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  If Julius had behaved as she said, then I did not know him. I clung to him as a father because I lacked one of my own, not because I truly knew him. But she was wrong. He was blinded by his love for this land, as I was, as she was. Surely it only proved his desire for a free Syria if he was willing to sacrifice his daughter’s happiness and want this for her. She could have risen no higher, obtained no more power, than she had. Give birth to a boy, and her position was a great one.

  ‘You think I am a fool, Zabdas?’ she asked with a wry smile.

  ‘No,’ I replied, unsure I believed my answer. I did not believe her foolish, but I could not confess to understanding her.

  ‘You are gullible.’ I was about to protest when she said, ‘I am sorry. Really I am. You believe in people other than yourself and I love you for that, it is no bad trait.’

  I remembered her father saying much the same thing.

  The night had turned black, all but for the moonlight lending a little light to the darkness. Peaceful sounds of lapping water and calm breezes swam around me. I studied Zenobia’s face. She was illuminated, her features enhanced by the white of the moon and the oils on her skin reflective. One could imagine her immortal.

  To me, she was.

  Her cloak had slipped from her strong shoulders, but she appeared not to feel the cold.

  ‘You look at me like my father does.’

  ‘How is that?’

  ‘As if I can fix the world with my mother’s looks. He fools himself that I am beautiful enough to enchant the entire country, that I can bend men like Odenathus to my will. Here I am, Zabdas. We have been on the frontier for weeks now and seen defeat, and still Odenathus refuses to listen. Instead he sits idly in the emperor’s shadow, as he has always done. I think of him as a man of great talent, of leadership skills far exceeding others, but I am disappointed. I am not sorry my father promoted my gaining Odenathus’ affections, only that I may fail him.’

  ‘Ridiculous talk,’ I said, and smiled.

  Zenobia laughed. ‘You are right, we should never be maudlin.’

  ‘Julius would be proud of you. I have never known a woman as strong and determined and capable as you. And not many men, either.’

  ‘No, Zabdas, he would be disappointed. He would think that if only he had a son, everything would be different.’

  ‘He has me,’ I replied, ‘and nothing has changed.’

  Zenobia frowned slightly, her eyes moving to look out over the hills, and I sensed there were words she would not speak.

  I was young and the world a very old place.

  ‘Do you not wish that you led a simple life and were marrying a merchant as your sister has?’ As I spoke I thought of myself, not a merchant, perhaps, but not aristocracy, either.

  ‘Never. It is an honour to follow my father’s wishes. We women of the Zabdilas family are descended from Cleopatra the Great. I feel her power and her strength. The royal Egyptian bloodline runs in my veins. I want more than to simply be a wife, more than to sit at court. The gods are with me, Selene shines down, urging me on this path. I am with child, and this child will be the son of a king, and I will unite the blood of Egypt with that of Syria. One day, this child in my womb,’ she said, touching her belly, ‘will become ruler of our united kingdoms.’

  I said nothing. Her ambitious words unnerved me. I worshipped the gods, and I too was descendant of Cleopatra, but I did not feel a special power, or pretend to understand. Perhaps she had become a little mad, I thought, her mind unbalanced by pregnancy. I was unsure what to say, or whether Odenathus truly knew of his future wife’s ambitious nature.

  Zenobia stayed a while on that spot. I was overwhelmed, uncomfortable, so I walked back to the camp. We had not strayed far and no one came looking for us. Odenathus would still be seething over their quarrel.

  We spent two weeks in the area, not far from the battle, and the Persians were more active than ever. Valerian met with Odenathus and his generals every day, though he continued to refuse Syrian suggestions and advice. We rarely saw him. He kept to his tent writing his precious documents: ledgers of the activity, how many soldiers had deserted, how many died and what of, the advances of the enemy, his commands for the day, drills carried out, food consumed and so forth.

  Then word spread through the army like fire. Valerian ordered the army to move to the safety of Antioch.

  ‘I am worried,’ I said to Zabbai.

  ‘He spoke of it with Odenathus this morning,’ he said, his voice tired, drained.

  ‘And Odenathus agrees?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Odenathus wants to sue for peace with the Persians for now; we need to buy time, and peace is less costly than war. He wishes nothing more than to have pleasant relations with our neighbours. No more fighting, no more death, no more threat. But Valerian has been persuaded against such a course for the present. His advisors point out the flaw in this plan: it is the express line of Rome that, if possible, only the sea or an unarmed nation should remain on the borders of the Empire. Persia is neither.’

  ‘You are right, but what now?’

  With a grim expression he said, ‘The war continues until the Romans or the Persians fall. But for now we head for Antioch, and hope that we are not crushed between two warring empires.’

  CHAP
TER 15

  Samira – 290 AD (Present day)

  I sit in my cabin below deck and leaf through papyrus, re-reading the story of Zenobia and wondering at her beauty and the moment she stood and watched the armies of Persia defeat the armies of Rome. I am thinking of my grandfather and what it would have been like to witness a battle upon the sands of my home. Thirty years ago, a long time past, yet he tells the tale as if it were yesterday.

  And I smile to myself at the union Zenobia would have with Odenathus, the engagement made with an iron ring moments before battle.

  Zenobia. Oh, Zenobia. What do I think of the woman who ventured to Rome, who spoke with not one, but two emperors, to secure the aid she much desired? I have heard of her many times, the tales of her life and the path she took, but through my grandfather I know her more intimately than before. I know of her youth, the words she spoke and the actions she took.

  I see upon the pages my grandfather’s infatuation with the girl with hair of raven black and eyes thick with kohl, and I imagine that she would do anything to achieve her desires. And I see too my grandfather leaving Aurelia, a pale hint of affection compared to his feelings for Zenobia, and I feel a certain sadness for that girl.

  I want to read of Bamdad, and wonder where in this tale he appears; he is my closest companion now save my grandfather, and I love him dearly. He is my second father now my own is gone.

  Tripolis is a distant place I cannot think of now, the beach I ran across and the salt wind in my hair fading from memory. Our home was the sea, and I crave to go back and yet I know it cannot be the same, it will never be as it was, my father and grandfather and me.

  I hear footsteps and a moment later grandfather pulls aside the curtain and smiles.

  ‘I thought you would like to see this,’ he says.

  Above deck I watch as the dockside draws near, the river beneath us calm and the sun breaking the horizon and gulls calling overhead. The dockside is quiet, a few dozen men waiting to tie off our boat and the odd slave about his duties. Today is what I call a yellow day, a day of shining sun and happiness and hope.

  Stood beside me and around me, their chatter a sound I will sorely miss, are the slaves my grandfather pleaded with Rostram to set free. They are washed and clean but still wear dirty clothes, for we could find them nothing better on board. But their stomachs are full and they will see land in a few moments.

  We tie off and the gangplanks are put in place and the excitement of the slaves is contagious. I am smiling and happy for them and they embrace one another and I feel the tears slide down my cheeks as I watch them step onto land free men and free woman and free children.

  My grandfather does not shed tears, but I can see the moment caught in his throat and know that he is thinking back on the day Julius set him free.

  The last of the slaves departed, Rostram calls for the boat to be untied, and then he turns to me.

  He is of average height with short and soft brown hair. He is much younger than my grandfather, no more than thirty years of age, and despite what I have seen, the lives he has taken and the surety in his posture, he does not appear a cruel man.

  ‘They allow pirates to dock here?’ I say, and despite the smile upon my lips, the words ring of accusation.

  ‘A friendly dock,’ he says, unsmiling.

  ‘It was good of you to give them their freedom.’

  ‘They have you to thank for that,’ he replies, and walks back to the wheel.

  I am pondering his words, that I am to thank and their freedom is in some way because of me, when grandfather puts his hand upon my shoulder.

  ‘I have read everything you have written of Zenobia,’ I say, looking up at him.

  ‘You must slow down,’ he replies, ‘I cannot write as fast as you read.’

  ‘I have heard of Zabbai.’

  ‘That is no surprise. In time he became a great general.’

  ‘What was Rome like?’ I ask. ‘What was it really like?’

  Grandfather smiles weakly as if I ask a question that requires much effort to answer, and I think it is a question many ask, that all men and women desire to know Rome.

  ‘Dirty,’ he replies.

  ‘Dirty?’

  ‘Filthy.’

  ‘And yet it is said to be the greatest city known to man?’

  ‘And thus the scum of the earth gather and breed. Being vast and powerful does not make it more advanced or more beautiful than anywhere else. We mortals have a desire to place our hopes, and Rome is as safe a bet as any. It may seem a city of greatness. It is valued as a centre of administration, of law, order and government, but that does not mean I wanted to be in the centre of it.’

  ‘It is just that people talk of it so often.’

  ‘Perhaps you do not want to believe me?’

  ‘Of course I do!’

  ‘Ah, but you don’t want to!’

  I frown at him for his teasing me.

  ‘Your face will stick like that if the wind changes,’ he says, and laughs. ‘Besides, you will know what Rome is like soon enough. I dare say it has not changed.’

  ‘I will?’ An excitement stirs inside me, of a voyage I dared not think I would ever make.

  ‘I must deliver news of Jadhima’s fate,’ he says. ‘We head now for Rome.’

  EPILOGUE

  Zabdas – 258 AD

  The late afternoon sun burned orange, the sky fiery hot, casting harsh shadows on the forum. Antioch had changed little in the time since we had saved Mareades. How long he would survive in the mountains only the gods knew. Perhaps he was already dead. But I did not think of him that day, instead I swayed between enjoying a day of celebration, my jealously at Zenobia’s marriage, and the knowledge of the politics which lay beneath.

  Valerian would not allow Odenathus to leave the army, so it was in late Iunius I stood in the doorway of the government buildings where the officials of Antioch met each day, looking out on a packed forum. Bread was passed amongst the citizens, coins thrown from the steps, and cheers sounded in celebration of the gifts such a day would bring.

  Zenobia stood behind me, Meskenit next to her. She adjusted her daughter’s white dress and the loose girdle about her waist. She had desperately wanted to witness this day, and Odenathus had sent an escort to bring her to the city, Hebony remaining behind with her family.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ I said to Zenobia.

  ‘Your flattery is greatly appreciated,’ she replied. She touched my cheek, her hands warm, welcoming.

  ‘If only Julius could be here,’ I said.

  Zenobia let her hand fall and inclined her head.

  ‘My father is always with me.’

  Odenathus joined us, linking an arm about Zenobia’s waist, the augur with him.

  ‘I see twelve. Twelve birds circling the forum!’ the young augur said, words spoken in haste, mumbled and breathless.

  ‘Romulus saw twelve on the day he chose to build Rome on the Palatine Hill,’ Zenobia said.

  ‘It is a good omen,’ Odenathus agreed.

  We walked inside, into dimly lit chambers, where Odenathus and Zenobia would sign the marriage contract, Meskenit, Zabbai, Pouja, six others and I bearing witness. Herodes was still in the north, and Odenathus’ mother in Palmyra, not wanting to travel with the Persians so close. But I thought perhaps she did not wish to see this, the marriage of her son to Zenobia.

  ‘Let today be our turning point,’ Odenathus said as he signed his name. ‘That we might now see the tides change and the wheel of fortune favour us.’

  I nodded my agreement.

  Zenobia signed next, the bracelets on her wrists clinking as she did so. Tears threatening in her mother’s eyes.

  ‘It is done,’ Zenobia said.

  ‘It is done,’ Odenathus confirmed.

  Our silent party walked outside, stepping from beneath the shade of the colonnade. The crowd fell silent, a dozen birds still circling overhead.

  A soldier ascended the steps toward us.

/>   For a heartbeat I could scarce believe it. But true enough, a wide smile upon his face, there was Julius.

  I felt the heave of my chest, the welling of tears, the inability to move or to speak. Almost three years and he looked no different, his face had not aged, a slight limp still present in his stride.

  ‘I hope I have not missed the ceremony,’ he said as he reached the topmost step.

  He embraced first Meskenit, and she returned the gesture, brief but firm as the first time I had met her. But Julius held onto her longer. She melted into the embrace, and when they parted I witnessed the blush he caused.

  Then he held Zenobia, the girl who had taken his dream, who refused to let it die, who would make it true, no matter how long it took, no matter the price that must be paid.

  ‘You make an old man proud,’ he said, scarce above a whisper.

  She kissed him on his cheek in reply.

  Odenathus said, ‘I did not think to see you here, Julius. Three years feels a lot like thirty. You are well?’

  ‘As well as can be,’ Julius said. ‘The Tanukh suffered a defeat three days ago. I believe that has bought me a visit home, although I would not call Antioch home.’ He grimaced. ‘I hear the Persians are not far from your walls.’

  ‘We expect the attack any day now. I am surprised you reached us,’ Odenathus said.

  ‘As am I,’ Julius replied, turning lastly to me. ‘And you, Zabdas. Gods, you have grown. A man now.’

  I did not reply, and I was glad of that, for my throat constricted and I did not believe I could have spoken. A chant had sounded, quiet at first, becoming louder as more people took up the words:

  ‘Zabdilas, Zabdilas, Zabdilas.’

  ‘They remember you,’ Odenathus said, grinning.

  Meskenit stepped forward and the crowd fell silent. She took the right hands of both Odenathus and Zenobia, and joined them together.

  Quiet remained as silent vows were made. A moment later and the citizens and soldiers erupted in shouts and screams and cries of celebration.