The Rise of Zenobia (Overlord Book 1) Page 16

  I push the blood from my mind, dull the screams and the shouts and try to think once more of the Palmyrene queen.

  ‘Tell me more of Zenobia, of your past.’

  ‘I shall, Samira,’ he says. He looks awkward, suddenly, unsure. ‘Bamdad, can you leave us a moment?’

  Bamdad struggles to his feet and slaps my grandfather on his shoulder and leaves without a word.

  Grandfather sits down beside me, uninjured, unharmed.

  ‘I will tell you more of the tale, either written or spoken. I will tell you everything. But you must know, there is a lot more to come, a lot more to Zenobia and the Palmyrene court that I have yet to describe.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, because I do. There are years left to tell, and I wish to know all of them. ‘Here,’ I say, and I pull grandfather’s pack from beneath the bench on which we sit and hand him the parchment upon which he has already begun.

  CHAPTER 13

  Zabdas - 258 AD

  ‘I remember you, Regulus,’ Gallienus said, voice brimming with confidence and authority.

  We hung out of sight, unsure if the soldiers who came with a warrant for our arrest had returned, but I heard no one else.

  ‘And I remember you,’ Regulus replied. ‘I congratulate you on your victory. The city has not stopped talking of it.’

  ‘You are kind, but it is not why I am here. I seek Zenobia and her companion.’

  ‘For what purpose?’ Regulus asked.

  A long pause. Beside me, Zenobia strained to hear.

  ‘It is imperative I speak with her,’ Gallienus resumed. ‘She may be in danger. My father has issued a warrant for her arrest and that of her companions. He believes they are here. Soldiers will be on their way. Indeed, they could be here at any moment.’

  ‘You are too late, Gallienus. They have already been here looking for her. They searched my house and found nothing. Is there something else?’

  Silence again, long and uncomfortable, as Gallienus appeared unwilling to say more, and Regulus refused to admit our presence.

  Zenobia brushed past me.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I hissed.

  ‘To speak with Gallienus.’

  Gods, I thought, rolling my eyes, and Zabbai and I followed.

  ‘Zenobia!’ Gallienus took her hand and smiled.

  Zenobia did not exchange pleasantries, but instead said, ‘Why has your father issued a warrant for our arrest?’

  Gallienus did not appear taken aback, answering without pause. ‘He thinks you try to sway me. Which of course, you have.’ He grinned. Boyish, I thought, and slightly stupid looking.

  ‘True,’ Zenobia said.

  ‘My reason for this visit is merely to warn you,’ Gallienus went on, releasing her hand and stepping back to address the room. ‘I was too late to stop the order or speak with my father properly. I must do that now.’

  Regulus rapped his cane on the tiled floor. ‘I cannot believe a warrant has been put out for your arrest! A consul of this very Empire!’

  Aurelia put a hand on his shoulder, but his rage did not subside.

  ‘I will contact you as soon as I know more,’ Gallienus said. ‘I would find you alternative accommodation, but it seems my father’s men were satisfied that you are not here.’ He kissed Zenobia hand and offered Aurelia a reassuring smile.

  ‘We do not wish to cause any trouble here,’ Zenobia said. ‘The east of the Empire is under a great threat. You know that already. I only hope your father will listen to you, for the safety of both Rome and the people of Syria.’

  ‘There are two emperors,’ Gallienus replied. ‘I will obtain what you seek.’

  He inclined his head and departed and the door swung shut behind him.

  Regulus gave a long, tired sigh and slumped into a chair.

  ‘Oh Zenobia,’ he said, ‘if your father saw you now he would be so proud.’

  ‘My father is humbled to call you friend; as am I. You have risked more for us in these weeks than can ever be repaid.’

  ‘I do not deserve such words, Zenobia. There is no doubt whose daughter you are.’ His face seemed to lighten, then his mouth drooped once again as he said, ‘I am an old man, but I never thought to see Rome come to this; a squabble between two emperors. Two heads are better than one. Ha! A pox on the man who thought of that.’

  ‘Promise me you will stay safe when we are gone?’ Zenobia said.

  ‘Of course I will.’

  Before nightfall, we discovered which emperor reigned supreme. We had our verdict.

  Gallienus did not return. A messenger arrived with a scrawled note which Zenobia read aloud.

  To Zenobia, consul of Palmyra, Syria

  From Publius Licinus Egnatius Gallienus, Co-Emperor of Rome

  Greetings!

  I have spoken with my father. The legions are assembling.

  Be ready to leave soon ...

  Zenobia broke off. Regulus came to stand beside us. Zenobia passed him the note and his brow creased.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked. Why did he not smile or shout with joy? The additional legions were ours. We had what we came for. The east would not fall.

  ‘Ah,’ Regulus breathed.

  Zabbai took the note, scanned it, then stared absently ahead and continued:

  I must return west. My father, Valerian Caesar, will lead the eastern cause.

  ‘Valerian would travel east?’ I shouted. ‘Why? Why not Gallienus? Valerian is no general! Gods’ strength, is there to be no end?’

  Zenobia looked at me blankly. ‘We have our army. We must be satisfied.’

  I took the note for myself and reread the words. Valerian Caesar will lead the eastern cause. And below, an addition note, scrawled almost as an afterthought:

  It has been my honour to meet with you, Zenobia. If you were a man, you could have been an emperor. May you achieve everything you set your mind to, and I pray we meet again.

  ‘This cannot happen,’ Zabbai said. He stood up, paced to the doorway, his back to Regulus, Aurelia and myself. ‘Valerian is no general. Gods give me strength.’ He gripped his hair with both hands and turned back to us. ‘We must write back to Gallienus. Persuade him to come east and lead the armies against the Persians. He is a man of victory, of war. With Valerian I see nothing but failure.’

  ‘You cannot,’ Regulus said. ‘Long before you came to Rome, Gallienus and his father agreed to divide the Empire in two: Gallienus rules the west whilst Valerian controls the east, and that agreement, it seems, still stands.’

  I pondered the capabilities of the older Augustus, and waited for the hour we would set off home. And ached at the thought of never seeing Aurelia again.

  Despatches sent, legions woken, orders given, and soldiers ready to march. I cannot describe the strange feeling of excitement and apprehension that gripped me as we readied to leave. Zabbai, fractious about Valerian leading the armies, paced constantly. Zenobia’s mood lightened. She had what she came for, and I suspected she longed to return east. Regulus and Aurelia had worn sombre expressions since Gallienus’ note had arrived. Regulus because he enjoyed our company, and I hoped, rather than suspected, that Aurelia felt something for me.

  I wanted to speak with her, but I did not know what to say, and dwelt ceaselessly on my feelings. She dropped our departure into conversation here and there, yet I had no idea what would come, no way to reassure and no promise I could give. I pushed her comments to the back of my mind and left everything to the gods.

  Our bags were packed and transport arranged. We planned to travel the following day and deliver news as fast as possible that Roman forces came to our aid. I sat on my bed, watched the city from my window, breathed in the last of Rome, when a thought came to me. Regulus had always wanted to visit Palmyra. Would he allow Aurelia that rare opportunity, to see something of the world beyond the walls of Rome, outside the politics and bustle of a city as great as this?

  Zenobia disturbed my thoughts.

  ‘Are you ready to leave?’
>
  ‘I am.’ Thoughts of Aurelia trailed behind my words.

  ‘I will be downstairs.’

  ‘Zenobia?’

  She turned back, expectant.

  ‘What say you to Aurelia coming to court?’

  ‘To Palmyra?’

  I nodded.

  ‘If Regulus is happy for her to accompany us, then I see no reason why not.’ Her eyes were curious, as if she looked into my mind. Did she judge me then as I judged myself? I knew what Regulus might say, what assumptions he could have.

  Aurelia stood in the doorway of my room. Fine silks floated over her body, glimmering in the weak morning light. She wore them well; standing tall and proud and Roman, her slender pale arms chinked with bracelets of gold and silver.

  ‘You are leaving, and it will be as if you never stepped foot in this house,’ she said.

  She looked hopeful, as if I could say something that might lead to new possibilities, and I realised Regulus had spoken with her.

  I smiled.

  ‘I wondered,’ she said, ‘if it was your idea for me to visit the Palmyrene court?’

  I hesitated a moment, not because I did not want to admit that it had been me, but because I feared she did not feel the same, that I might somehow embarrass myself.

  ‘It was.’

  I put the clothes I held down on the bed and took her hand, nervous. It was warm, soft, with an underlying strength as she gripped mine in return. I embraced her, and smelled her hair, floral and sweet. I wanted her to convince me that she felt the same. She must, I thought, but I could scarce believe it. We parted. I brushed a golden lock from her face. Stark and honest, her eyes flickered. There was no need to look at her expression to know what she felt then, for I saw it in those windows. Full of sorrow and shame, hurt, longing, pleasure. They were not like Zenobia’s; relentless black, filling a man with trepidation at what he might see if they were lit and her thoughts exposed. In Aurelia I saw only warmth; real, open, tangible. I found reciprocation.

  ‘It is time that I wish to spend in your company. I cannot promise how often I might be in the city, but I think you would like Palmyra, and I know there is much to absorb.’

  She looked down, nodding, unable to meet my eye.

  I kissed her.

  When we parted, she smiled. I grinned back despite myself, clutched her face in my hands, not wanting to let go. I could have stood there always.

  ‘And so tomorrow we leave Rome,’ she said, and let out a half breath, half laugh.

  ‘I will treasure the moments I spend with you.’

  I kissed her again, as I had in the garden. Desperation burned; a feeling so intense I could not master myself. I had watched her, the way she moved and looked at me, glancing then turning away, as if embarrassed to be caught. Every touch between us had been a connection, but I had not quite understood. Not until now.

  Timidly, she reached under my tunic, her hands exploring my chest. She pulled the cloth over my head and pale eyes beckoned. I felt her warm skin, sun-kissed earth, as her body pressed against mine. I ran my hands over every curve of her and kissed her more passionately; not wanting to stop, not thinking of stopping, not even knowing how to. She could have been Aphrodite or Venus. She stroked my face, as if wanting to ensure it was I who made love to her. I kissed her hand as I felt my body experience what it was like to be so close to another being; a pure, naked, innocent desire.

  I caressed her face and stroked her hair as she wept onto my chest. Then she laughed and sniffed and wiped the tears on me, hot and real. She squeezed me tight, gave a murmur of contentment. And I held her so she could never escape me. I wanted her forever. I wanted this closeness. Whispers of love were not enough, so we said them over and over again, each one with increased sincerity.

  The following morning we departed. Standing in the atrium of Regulus’ home, we bade him farewell. He hobbled close and handed me a scroll.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘It is a script of Latin. Use it to broaden your knowledge, Zabdas. Julius read it many times whilst in my house. He enjoyed it very much.’

  I accepted it, warm in the knowledge that Julius had leafed through the same script.

  ‘Gratitude.’

  ‘It is nothing,’ Regulus said, but beamed triumphant as he spoke. He looked to Aurelia and said, ‘I have loved you very much, my girl. You have brought much light and warmth to an old man’s house. I wish you good fortune, and I am sure I will see you again soon. Take it all in, my child, for when you return from the east I wish to know everything you have seen.’

  ‘I will never forget the kindness you have shown me, Regulus, and the home you have shared,’ she replied, kissing him on both cheeks.

  ‘Then this is it, Regulus,’ Zenobia said warmly. ‘We must leave you. I cannot offer enough thanks for what you have done for us. We owe you a great deal.’

  ‘I bid you a safe journey, Zenobia. My thoughts are with you; you and your father.’ He embraced her, as a father would, holding her long and with teary eyes. ‘You mean a great deal to me, you always have, even before I met you.’

  We left under a cold light and dry sky. I was thankful for that. The Romans claimed Italia to be hot in summer. I could scarce believe the drizzle would stop. With Aurelia in our company and my hunger for home, time raced. We would reach Syria long before the Roman legions. I thought of familiar buildings and people and desert heat and Teymour’s unknown fate. I prayed Julius was safe, and guilt clenched my gut for the promises I could not keep.

  I pushed our pace hard for home. We travelled in all weathers, willing Palmyra on the horizon. I was not alone; the men anxious to discover the fate of their families, many with wives and children living near the frontier.

  Zabbai had been humbled, his lack of faith in Zenobia proved wrong. She had persuaded Gallienus and found success. He was wary but his expression was softer, open to hear her words, listen to advice. She seemed blind to his change, and I could not help thinking of his words to her, and Odenathus’ true motives for sending her west. I did not ask her, but I wished I had questioned Zabbai the night we drank much in Regulus’ house, to know the truth.

  Tides change and they changed for me. With Aurelia I thought less of Julius, less of the need to be in the south. Had she craved, when I first met her, first saw her at the entrance of Regulus’ home and looked into those blue eyes, that she wanted to travel to Syria, to be with me? I could not be sure.

  Aurelia never participated in our talk of politics. She felt unable to comment, not being of Palmyrene blood. I told her that I myself was not of Syrian ancestry, but it made no difference. She took no notice, claiming she was there because of me. She was genteel and inoffensive. I thought of her life in Rome, and could not convince myself she would do better with me. What had I to offer her? A life on a frontier, no money and no future but an army life. The life her father could have given her had he wanted to? I tried not to think of the general facing the Goths, his reluctance to know his daughter turning my stomach.

  We reached the warmth of home, the year almost gone, and breathed the familiar sands, spices, aromas, unable to capture enough. Knowing we were close to my Palmyra, I excited Aurelia with descriptions of the kingdom, remembering the first time I experienced each smell, gazed upon each sight and felt the sand beneath my feet, wanting to savour those sensual pleasures. I was afraid that, when we reached Syria, Aurelia would long for Rome; her home, to return to the city she had been born into and the life Regulus had given her. But in her face I saw astonishment, joy and wonder. Where guilt remained, fear evaporated. A pool in desert heat.

  My conscience pulled and I glanced at Zenobia. No trace of her once joyous youth. I missed the Zenobia I knew in Julius’ home; laughing and vibrant. Two years and she had grown, her responsibilities and ideals hardening. No mischief and little amusement. She was not the same woman. She had changed, and yet I felt closer. She needed no one, and yet she needed everyone, cultivating relationships with Odenathus, Gallienus, even Zabbai. Ther
e would be no man spared.

  We passed through ports, all under Roman rule, each one telling of the enormity of the Persian army. They were moving closer. Some said they already breached the walls of our beloved city, others that they reached as far as Carrhae and Edessa. We could not hasten our pace, but it felt as if we did, desperation to reach the east and discover the true extent of invasion.

  We made land and the city of Antioch.

  Zenobia already felt at home. I saw it the relaxed set of her shoulders and the pleasure on her face. Antioch bore all the marks of the Palmyrene kingdom. It lay to the west of the desert, near the sea. The city walls in sight, we travelled hard; the first night in our home country the driving force behind our haste. Our warrior band breathed a sigh of thanks to the gods. I could only think of Palmyra.

  A handful of our company entered the north gate to collect supplies. The remainder set up camp for the evening outside the city walls. We headed for the forum, where wood and pottery balanced on trestles outside shops. Nuts, seeds, fruit and joints of meat outside others. And stalls were hidden behind swathes of fabric.

  ‘We are but a few days from Palmyra,’ Zenobia said. ‘We will not need much. Enough to see us home.’

  Shouts and jeers sounded, but I could not make out the words. Stopped by a crowd massing in the street, I glanced to Zabbai. He shrugged.

  ‘Why do senators always grow fat on our gold?’ a man shouted.

  I pushed through to the front of the crowd. High sun beat down. Dozens of slaves, naked and dirty, stood upon a wooden stage. Tituli hung around their necks. My skin shrank and my breath grew ragged. I had not seen a slave market in many years. I could not relive again my childhood, stood upon the boards myself, awaiting sale. I tried to pull away, to retreat, but the crowds pushed forward for a view.

  ‘You are filth, Mareades. Filth!’ a woman shrieked, fists waving.

  Nearby, a boy of four or five whimpered ‘father’, tears running down grubby cheeks. Next to him his mother stood, her dress clutched in tight fists, tears streaming down dirty cheeks.