The Rise of Zenobia (Overlord Book 1) Read online

  ‘And the first is well?’

  ‘A girl,’ she said, smiling.

  I embraced her again. ‘How is your mother?’

  ‘As well as can be,’ she whispered back, ‘under the circumstances.’ Something in her voice checked me.

  ‘What have you heard? Your father? Teymour?’

  She bit her lip. ‘The Tanukh have taken a large stretch of the Euphrates and are pushing north. Odenathus sent word because of my father, but requested we tell no one. He wishes to contain the news they are struggling, at least until he knows Rome sends more soldiers. He is fortunate that Teymour holds the far bank of the river well …’

  ‘Teymour is alive?’ I said. Relief flooded. How could I have not asked before now? He was alive and Julius well. ‘Zenobia, did you hear?’

  Zenobia and her mother turned. They looked more alike than ever. Meskenit was the most beautiful of women and I realised with shock that familiarity had masked her daughter’s striking features. Zenobia’s face melted. She laughed aloud. She laughed and it rang through the palace, injecting every quiet room with noise, every tiny space with hope. She brought light and I began to laugh too, then Hebony, and finally Meskenit.

  Meskenit caught my eye, and her face fell, faint lines of age betrayed.

  I embraced her, and to my shock she held onto me, for the nephew she had not been able to bear until now, or the husband she missed, I was not sure.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Zenobia said, her eyes sparkling, ‘we go to the king.’

  I parted company with my beloved city once more. Zabbai had three hundred men at his disposal as we headed for Zeugma to meet the king and wait for Valerian and his legions. It was time to stand against the Persians; to show Shapur the might of Rome!

  Aurelia stayed in the palace, away from the frontier and danger, a position secured by Zenobia tutoring the younger household members as she had been tutored by Regulus. She understood, I told myself, my need to go to the frontier, to protect our country, to keep Zenobia safe. I promised I would return with Persian plunder enough to buy her a house greater than those of her home city. And recalled Julius telling me he once said the same to Meskenit.

  ‘Write to Regulus,’ I told her. ‘Let him know you are here and safe.’

  ‘I shall. Stay safe yourself, Zabdas,’ she said, lips lingering on mine.

  I pressed my forehead to hers and closed my eyes, summoning the will to turn away and walk to war.

  ‘You must go.’

  I sighed and held her face in my hands.

  ‘I will see you soon,’ she said, hot tears on my hand.

  I nodded. ‘And I you.’

  I let her go and did not look back.

  Zenobia walked at the head of three hundred men; the only woman in our company. We would support the army whilst waiting for the Romans. Hebony had cried as we left and called Zenobia a fool. Her mother had cried too. Hers, I believe, were tears of pride and not sadness.

  We travelled as the birds fly, the terrain hard. We would make quicker time than by following the main desert roads, and Zabbai was restless to reach the frontier once more, to see the devastation caused since last we were there. I felt dread. We walked toward our enemy. We walked to war.

  I thought our numbers large until we reached Zeugma, where the warriors of the east gathered united against a common threat. Twelve or thirteen thousand or more stood on the banks of the river, the same river upon which Julius and Teymour fought in the south, and as we approached, those thousands of tiny blurred figures came into focus. No man could still fear at the sight of our desert warriors.

  The camp roared appreciation as we entered. Up close, I saw each man lightly clad for desert heat. Muscles strong enough to wield a sword single-handed in battle bulged on every arm. They were men who had seen war, some survivors of the skirmish with Herodes, others Odenathus’ own men. Zabbai grinned, slapping on the back those he recognised. I was one of the youngest and most inexperienced soldiers, having never known battle or killed a man, and against my height and my youth each of these men was like a giant.

  We wove our way through the camp in search of the king.

  Zenobia was smaller in height than most of the men, but her posture and fixed expression carried her through the stares. Few women lived within the confines of our marching camp and those who did were whores, unlike like the Persians whose women thronged the ranks. But Zenobia was no whore and no Persian.

  Whispers of our presence buzzed like insects on every side until finally we found Odenathus.

  He stood on the riverbank, accompanied by his son and stratego, the late afternoon light dancing on the water, licking wet stones and fading on dull sand.

  ‘Odenathus,’ Zenobia called as we approached, every eye upon us.

  ‘Zenobia?’ Odenathus said, as if questioning it was really her.

  They regarded one another, savouring the sight after so long apart. He faltered, as if unsure whether to show personal affection or ignore the niceties of seeing her once more.

  Zenobia was unfazed.

  ‘I am told you bring the might of Rome with you?’ he said, turning squarely toward her.

  Her smile triumphant, she said, ‘We persuaded Rome that you needed a few good men, and they obliged.’

  ‘I am grateful. The gods know we are in desperate need. You have done well, Zabbai. As always, my trust in you was not misplaced.’

  Zabbai faltered and frowned. ‘My Lord, it was …’

  ‘… difficult,’ Zenobia finished. ‘We went first to Valerian Caesar without success. It was claimed Rome received reports from their own commanders in Syria stating we were holding and could continue to do so. Valerian would not listen. It was only when we turned to the co-emperor, Gallienus, that we secured support.’

  Zabbai continued to frown, eying Zenobia suspiciously. He nodded without further comment.

  ‘We can defeat this enemy,’ Odenathus said. He looked much older than when I had seen him last, greying hair and worn face, but his features gradually took on a new strength as he spoke.

  Herodes’ lip curled. ‘When do the Romans arrive?’

  ‘I cannot be sure,’ Zabbai said. ‘They march in haste. We travelled swiftly and have been in Palmyra a few days.’

  ‘Post fresh lookouts for the night,’ Odenathus ordered. When no one answered, he said, ‘Herodes, post the lookouts. Stratego, see to your men. Survive tomorrow, and the day after we defeat our enemy!’

  The generals nodded consent and left. Herodes scowled at Zenobia and followed. Perhaps he was jealous of his father’s affection for her; the daughter of a famous stratego could have been his wife after all. Zabbai had spoken of the king sending Zenobia to Rome to rid the council of her voice, but I could not believe it. Odenathus’ infatuation was apparent.

  The four of us fell silent. Standing at the water’s edge, I saw doubt for the first time in Odenathus’ eyes.

  ‘How do I reward you for what you have accomplished?’

  ‘A safe Syria is the only reward required for any of us,’ Zenobia replied.

  But I seized the opportunity.

  ‘I wish to go south and fight the Tanukh, with Julius. Now reinforcements are imminent, you could spare men to bolster his force. He can only just keep the Tanukh at bay.’

  Odenathus’ face flooded with confusion.

  ‘How do you know of Julius’ situation in the south?’

  ‘I want to join him,’ I pressed on.

  Beside me, Zenobia said nothing. She could have pleaded with Odenathus, used her position to persuade him, but she did not.

  ‘I cannot allow it,’ Odenathus said. ‘I will send men to aid Julius, but you are to stay here.’

  ‘Tell me why, my Lord?’

  ‘Do not dare question me, boy,’ he roared.

  Zabbai took my shoulder. ‘Come, Zabdas,’ he murmured. ‘If Odenathus is willing to send reinforcements to the south, you should be content. We all should.’

  Odenathus turned away from me. I
burned with resentment.

  His back to me, voice lower and calm, he said, ‘You are too inexperienced to fight with the southern army, lad. Come, I wish to show you something. All of you.’

  We walked in silence, following in the footsteps of the great king of the east through foliage, stars clear in the night sky. His voice had been authoritative and we followed him without question or concern. He was not afraid to wager his life to secure his realm. He was under the command of Rome, but he was also a Syrian, and the people of the east looked to him for guidance, law and order, and to provide a defence against the enemies of this land.

  ‘What do you wish to show us?’ Zabbai asked.

  We crested the hill on the riverbank and looked across to the opposite shore. Thousands of tiny orange dots glowed. I could see nothing else in the grey murk of evening. I looked upriver, then downriver, and saw no end to their existence. They swarmed the far bank, no gaps, just a constant litter of scattered embers.

  ‘Campfires,’ Odenathus said.

  ‘How many?’ Zabbai asked. He knew that tens of thousands of men sat eating an evening meal around those fires. We all did.

  ‘We are about fifteen thousand,’ Odenathus replied. He peered calmly out over the river to the sea of armed men beyond.

  ‘And how many are they?’

  ‘Our spies tell us they number more than one hundred thousand,’ he replied evenly.

  No one responded, not one hiss of breath could be heard. If Valerian did not come, we would be slaughtered on the banks of this river, cut off by the very empire to which we belonged. Rome used our forces to protect their easternmost boundaries, taxed our merchants and produce travelling through. They demanded Odenathus’ loyalty as king. If they would not assist us now … gods, I could not bear the thought, nor accept that they could turn from us as easily as Gallienus had scrawled his note and slipped it to Zenobia. The thought that it might have been a lie, brief words to cast off an unwanted consul of Palmyra, sickened.

  After a while Zenobia said: ‘Then I am surprised that you managed to hold them back for as long as you did. You are a great general, Odenathus, do not lose faith in yourself.’

  ‘We do not hold them back now,’ Odenathus said irritably.

  Zenobia flushed, youth and inexperience flickering upon her oval face for a heartbeat. She remained determined and calm.

  ‘We have lost Edessa and Carrhae. We have not held them.’ He clasped his hands behind his back, looked to the ground and began to pace.

  ‘As our king you need to stay strong and fill your people with hope and surety,’ Zenobia replied with force, her words ringing clear.

  Odenathus looked up. For a moment I sensed his urge to strike her, but then he nodded. If Valerian did not come, the people needed to see their king stand firm in the face of the enemy, no matter how vast; no matter how fearful we all were.

  Odenathus retired for the evening, but he would not sleep this night, no one would. He walked to his tent, eyes blank, his fear and worry rippling in his wake. He had fought the Persians for many years and he knew what would happen; he knew the might of Shapur better than any of us, especially Valerian Caesar. He knew their strengths, their weaknesses, how to defeat them. He understood the desert terrain and how to combat their weaponry. The only thing he did not have was an army large enough to match theirs, but with more Roman legions, he would. I had seen Rome, witnessed her supposed wonders. The great capital of the empire had awed me with its vastness.

  I looked across at the campfires on the other shore and knew over one hundred thousand Persians waited to plunder every one of our cities.

  I returned to the shore alone the following morning. Without campfires, it was difficult to see how far the Persians spread. I spent much of the day there, wondering how we would defeat them, if it was possible and if we would have enough men. Odenathus could have attacked at first light, sent raiding parties further up shore to worry their flank, but Zabbai assured him Valerian would come with the legions promised.

  And so we waited, prepared only to fight in defence. We waited the whole day.

  And the day after, Valerian came.

  I stood beside Zenobia as we watched the first legions arrive. They crossed the plain toward us and I could not help but feel a certain fear as the desert heat reflected from the armour of well-ordered units moving like ants. I had thought they would be Romans, but I had not considered until then that Roman soldiers may not be native to the city of Rome. How foolish. These were men of pale skin and pale hair, much as Aurelia, and black skin and black hair and every shade between.

  ‘Odenathus received the first scouts a few days ago,’ Zenobia said. ‘These are men from Germania, Noricum, Dacia, Moesia, Spain, Thrace, Bithynia, Isauria, Lycaonia, Galatia, Lycia, Cilicia, Cappodocia, Phrygia, Phoenicia, Mauritania and Osrhoene, and from our neighbours, Mesopotamia, Asiana and Judea.’

  Zabbai had found her a small leather breastplate and she now wore it over her robes, her eyes still thick with kohl and her hair loose in a light breeze.

  ‘Gods! They are so many. What did the scouts say?’

  She looked at me and smiled.

  ‘Seventy thousand march west to our aid.’

  ‘They fulfil their promise? The gods are watching and would see us win.’

  ‘They would see us amuse them. But Selene is with us.’

  ‘Still, I would not have thought they sent so many. What of their other frontiers; they were hard-pressed, and Valerian himself claimed he could not spare the men?’

  ‘And yet he comes himself. I think we have Gallienus to thank for this. Look at them,’ she said of the assembling men, ‘they do not match the Persian numbers, but they will be enough for a viable defence.’

  ‘Enough to scourge our lands?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I do hope so, Zabdas.’

  On the third day, Valerian himself arrived.

  He met with Odenathus, Zenobia, Zabbai, a Palmyrene general named Pouja, and a half-dozen others. I stood at the back of the tent as Odenathus offered Valerian a seat, and sat at the opposite side of a table. I thought of Valerian’s house, and the table at which we had sat, when Zabbai had inked our plight upon a map. And of Gallienus’ tent, and Zenobia’s flirtation with the younger Caesar, and wondered idly how much of our mission Odenathus knew.

  Valerian’s eyes were ringed with fatigue, four men behind him the same, and yet he sat upright and alert as he accepted a cup of wine and fruit from Odenathus’ table.

  ‘You are most welcome, Imperator,’ Odenathus said.

  Valerian did not respond immediately, but looked around the tent as he chewed on a fig.

  ‘The east concerns Rome greatly,’ Valerian replied. ‘You have been long without a true commander. It is time Syria and Rome were closer, and not left apart from the rest of the Empire and her policies. I think perhaps you have been given too much say in the east, been too liberal in condoning religion, and bent under Persian determination.’

  Anger rippled in Zenobia’s face, but she kept her lips tightly closed, her hands clasped firmly behind her back.

  ‘How was your journey?’ Odenathus asked.

  ‘Long. I have travelled thousands of miles and brought with me many men, who would be better utilised elsewhere, on the whim of my son. He seems to think our presence here is necessary, despite my reservations, and I have long promised to humour him in his decision-making, for one day he might well become sole emperor when I am gone. I wonder sometimes whether he spends more time thinking of the military or of keeping his bed warm at night.’ He glanced to Zenobia but she did not respond.

  The words and look were not lost on Odenathus. He peered down at the table, took his cup and sipped.

  ‘I received word that the Persians harry your flank as our forces amass.’

  ‘They do, Imperator.’

  ‘Indeed. Well, we shall have to see what can be done. A third of our army is now here. If the Persians attempt to attack, then we can surely counter. As f
or your own army, they are under my command now, as are you and all of your generals and commanders. Too long have you had free reign in Syria. From today I will oversee all military activity in the east.’

  ‘My men are not a part of the Roman army,’ Odenathus said. ‘They are not yours to command.’

  Valerian rose from his seat, the meeting at an end.

  ‘Syria belongs to Rome, your men belong to Rome, and you belong to Rome. There is no argument, no debate, it is a simple matter of fact. You would do well to remember who holds the imperium here.’

  Valerian rose from his seat and stooped out of the tent.

  Odenathus sighed.

  ‘You said he would be a difficult man, Zenobia, and you were right.’

  ‘We must be careful,’ Zabbai said. ‘You cannot relinquish control of our men to the Romans. A certain amount of control is pertinent. If you lose it now you will not regain it.’

  ‘I agree,’ Odenathus said. ‘I have no intention of handing the emperor complete control, and I would not think our men amenable to the notion.’

  ‘Let Valerian think he has what he wants for now,’ Zenobia said. ‘We have his army after all.’

  Our men’s confidence mounted as thousands of soldiers filled our camp, spreading tents along the western bank like wine on marble.

  I had never seen before the amassing of so many men, carrying heavy weapons and heavier armour. We had always had Roman legionaries in the east, but a small contingent, posted as a gesture of Roman power in foreign lands, more brothers than anything else. They were accustomed to desert heat, shedding heavy plate and taking up light leather armour, speaking fluently in our tongue. I was wide-eyed at these new, well-ordered units.

  ‘You would not want to fight them, would you?’ Zabbai murmured.

  We watched from our favoured spot on the riverbank as the final legions pooled into the camp. Zabbai’s position in the army was now equal to that of any general, soldiers posted under his command. I would have been in a higher place, but Odenathus preferred me to stay as part of Zenobia’s personal guard, away from the frontier and enemy blades.

  ‘Have you ever fought against Roman soldiers?’