The Rise of Zenobia (Overlord Book 1) Page 8

  ‘What happened?’ Julius asked, in a voice weaker than I had heard before.

  Odenathus looked down at his own blood. ‘It is nothing. The physician dressed my wounds as you arrived. Please, Julius, I must speak with you.’

  We sat in the feasting rooms. Julius contributed to conversation willingly, despite words exchanged, as Odenathus pressed upon us wine and food and hospitality.

  ‘I have been at the frontier for some months,’ Odenathus said. ‘The Persians still desire command of our lucrative trade route. They thought I was dead.’ He patted his injured side and gave a hollow laugh.

  It had not occurred to me how close we were to the enemy, how near to soldiers fighting. Seeing the king injured, I tasted war. He appeared a modest man. Yet tales of leadership, honour, justice, war and victories were pulled like silk from a worm, spinning into vivid scenes of heroic deeds. We listened, curious and enthusiastic, as he described the moments he came close to death; of battles fought and won. Only Zenobia and Teymour sat back, mild disinterest betrayed. I was impressed by Odenathus, believed his talk of responsibilities, that he put first his people, second Rome.

  But I loved Julius. My judgement grew reserved as he spoke. I was not Syrian, and he was not my king. My loyalty was open to the highest bidder, and the price of that loyalty was love.

  Odenathus asked of Julius’ family.

  ‘Meskenit is well, and Hebony is to be married.’

  ‘Married? It seems like only a moment ago she was a babe in Meskenit’s arms.’

  ‘I think the same all the time,’ Julius replied. ‘I also have with me Meskenit’s nephew. I have been trying to locate his whereabouts in Egypt for some time. Eventually I discovered him in Yemen, of all places. I will not bore you with the tale, but suffice as to say I am pleased to have him with us now. And Zenobia you know.’

  Zenobia smiled, warm, inviting, an expression of confidence beyond her years. She placed gentle fingers on her father’s shoulder and stood. I noted the king’s expression, curious, pleased; perhaps even a little distracted. I burned with a sense of protection. She was young, he an old man of her father’s age. I sensed his desire. I thought of his harem, described by Julius’ men, thought of him taking her, assigning her a life amongst his women, called upon at his bidding. I hushed my thoughts, knowing Julius would never allow it.

  ‘I remember you better,’ Odenathus said, tilting a cup to his lips. ‘You were but a few years old when your father left Palmyra.’

  ‘My Lord,’ she replied, bowing her head. An amused, quizzical look upon her face.

  ‘You have your mother’s extraordinary looks.’

  ‘I believe so,’ Julius said.

  Zenobia appeared to weigh the king’s sincerity.

  ‘Does Herodes thrive?’ Julius asked.

  ‘My son is a senator now, and serving in the army,’ Odenathus said with pride.

  ‘He follows in his father’s footsteps?’ Julius replied.

  ‘He does, but he is not yet married, of course.’ As Odenathus spoke, he glanced to Zenobia, a flicker in his eyes. ‘We have been too occupied with the Persians to discuss the matter. He is on our eastern frontier.’

  They fell into silence. Perhaps due to talk of the king’s son where Odenathus had none.

  ‘I have missed this,’ Odenathus said.

  Julius drew a blank expression. ‘I am afraid I do not follow.’

  ‘This. Speaking with you. Sitting and drinking and eating together. I remember those times well.’

  Julius lowered his eyes. ‘I have missed our friendship too, Odenathus. I have missed it greatly.’ He looked up. ‘But you have yet to tell me why I am here. Was your summons simply to ask after the Stone? A messenger could have carried news. Or to restore our friendship?’ Though gravely spoken, Julius’ voice quavered.

  Silence a moment, heavy and still, as though the king expected Julius to say something more, to reconcile their differences.

  Odenathus said, ‘I have news from Rome. Emperor Trebonianus is dead, killed by his own troops whilst fighting Goths in the north. Valerian has succeeded him.’

  ‘What of Trebonianus’ son?’ Julius asked.

  Odenathus shook his head. ‘Also dead. Aemilianus tried to usurp, but Valerian somehow managed to seize power.’

  ‘I remember him. He was always an ambitious fool,’ Julius replied.

  ‘I believe he continues to be. Something we agree on at last.’

  Julius did not respond to the barb, but instead said, ‘Then Syria will need you more than ever.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And you still have no reinforcements?’

  Odenathus hesitated.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what is it you want from me?’

  The king’s expression lightened. An instant and he appeared younger by five or ten years or more.

  ‘I respect your companions a great deal, but might we speak a moment alone? There is much we need to discuss.’

  ‘Of course,’ Julius said.

  Zenobia bent down, kissed her father’s cheek and bowed to Odenathus. Teymour nodded and bowed too, and we left the room.

  ‘I must see to the men,’ Teymour said, and left us to walk the corridors.

  ‘Do you remember the king? I asked Zenobia.

  ‘A little, perhaps. I was very young when we left and I remember father being always at war.’

  We walked the long corridors and great halls, our conversation subdued.

  ‘This palace is full of listening ears,’ Zenobia said.

  ‘Who are you?’ a crisp voice rang out.

  Torchlight fell on a woman. Her lips thin and pursed, mouth lined. White cloth clung to a fragile frame.

  ‘I am Zenobia. I accompany my father.’

  ‘Your father? What business might he have in my halls?’

  ‘His business is with Odenathus.’

  The older woman scowled at Zenobia’s scant reply. But Zenobia did not move or offer further reply. She simply looked at the woman, waiting for her to respond.

  ‘I am Mina, Queen of Palmyra.’

  Queen, I pondered. No mention before of the king’s wife. She appeared mature, too old for the man we had a moment before sat with, talked with. I envisaged him with a woman younger than the one before us.

  Zenobia bowed her head. ‘It is an honour to meet you. I am the daughter of Julius Aurelius Zabdilas, retired stratego of Palmyra.’

  Acknowledgment flickered in the queen’s eyes and they softened and warmed.

  ‘Zabdilas is here?’

  ‘He is,’ Zenobia said.

  ‘In Palmyra?’

  ‘In this very palace.’

  ‘I did not expect to see him here again. It has been a long time since he last walked our halls. And who are you?’ she said me.

  ‘My name is Zabdas, nephew to Julius.’

  ‘Julius has no nephew,’ the queen said, eyes narrow.

  ‘Nephew by marriage.’

  ‘Meskenit’s family,’ Mina replied. ‘Ah, yes, I see that now.’

  ‘What words are spoken?’ Odenathus said behind us.

  ‘I was not aware we had guests,’ the queen said, her voice light and pleasant. She looked around us, around Odenathus. ‘Julius! How long it has been?’ She held out her arms, beckoning him to her.

  Julius took her hands without enthusiasm.

  ‘A good many years. You look well, Mina, very well. I am glad to see you so.’

  ‘You flatter as ever, Julius. I am well. Times are hard, of course, with the Persian invasion and southern tribes harassing the borders. I am sure Odenathus will bore you with the details. Rome has its problems too. Last month I received correspondence from a Greek I would have had at court, to say he was unwilling to travel because of the nature of the roads. But you know us, Julius. We do as required.’

  ‘Indeed we must.’ Julius bowed and kissed her hands.

  Mina said to Odenathus, ‘I will leave you to entertain your guests. Have your dres
sings seen to before you retire. They are stained.’

  ‘I shall, mother. Goodnight. Come, Julius, there are other things I would discuss before we see our beds.’

  ‘I shall join you in a moment,’ Julius replied. Then to Zenobia: ‘Mina is a forceful woman. Tread carefully. Her son may be strong in battle and decisive in the senate hall, but where women are concerned, Odenathus can be quite the fool. And his mother holds much authority here.’

  ‘I shall, father. You know her well?’

  ‘A little. She promoted my friendship with Odenathus many years ago. Until she discovered I did not wholly agree with her opinions.’ His eyes were tired. ‘I must return to the king. I shall see you both in the morning.’

  I found little sleep and morning came seemed a long time coming. Eventually I woke in a bed more luxurious than that of Julius’ house to a lingering unhappiness.

  Zenobia entered my rooms before the servants and slaves stirred. She sat on the edge of my bed, expression alert.

  ‘Father is not in his room.’

  ‘You think he is still with the king?’

  ‘Possibly. Teymour is not in his room either. I think they have gone to talk.’

  I rubbed my eyes, a full night’s sleep a long way off.

  We found Julius strolling in the palace gardens, brushing the scent of home with his hands, teasing the plants with his breath. Teymour beside him, his hands fierce gestures. Julius nodding absently as Teymour spoke.

  He greeted his daughter with open arms and kissed her forehead. ‘I trust you and Zabdas have managed to stay out of mischief. How are you liking the palace?’

  Zenobia glanced around the gardens as though affirming her opinion. ‘It is a place of sorrow. I expected it to be livelier, like the streets outside.’

  I looked about me too, realising she was right. Everything seemed gloomier and more lifeless than the city we had seen the day before, as if the whole place mourned.

  ‘I hear you met the king’s mother,’ Teymour said.

  ‘I do not remember her from my childhood,’ Zenobia replied.

  ‘She is reclusive,’ Julius said. ‘She attempts to gain some say in the kingdom through Odenathus alone, as she did when her husband ruled. She pressed upon her son his first wife. Not a happy marriage for either party, but a successful one. Syria has an heir.’

  Teymour said, ‘Odenathus’ wife once took a knife to him. Told everyone it was an accident.’

  ‘She did?’ I said. ‘And he did nothing?’

  ‘Some think Odenathus brought about her death,’ Teymour replied. ‘That she did not die of disease.’

  Julius glanced to Teymour. ‘An unlikely rumour.’

  ‘What does Odenathus want of you?’ Zenobia asked.

  Julius looked thoughtful and said nothing. He walked to a bench, behind which water trickled, the only noise in the garden except our conversation. Beyond the palace walls, the city hummed.

  ‘Sit next to me, Zenobia.’

  I moved aside, Teymour too, to allow a little privacy. Julius gestured we should stay and listen. I felt nervous, unsure I wanted to hear his next words. His face grave, he took Zenobia’s hand in his own and looked down at their joined palms on his lap.

  ‘You know that I have travelled to Rome to request reinforcements on behalf of Odenathus in the past?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Since I retired, he has sent others, to plead with each new emperor and various senators. Alas, to no avail. Shapur’s force hits the east harder than we have known. We will crumble at any moment, this Odenathus accepts. I had thought we could buy a peace with the Persians, but it seems Odenathus has ventured that route with little result. He holds them for a time, but concern falls to other threats. Syria is under invasion in the south. Do you remember me telling you of the Tanukh?’

  Zenobia nodded.

  ‘The Tanukh are a people of plunder, a splinter of Persian descent, taking mercilessly. They have no real homes, no farms, and no trade. They rape lands and move on. I have fought them before when they tried to break north and take control of the Euphrates. We beat them back. Few were killed on either side, and the Tanukh resolved to stay in Ardashir.

  ‘The threat of them taking the river was great. It would have caused endless problems trafficking goods, not to mention their insatiable ambition to move further north, plundering as they went. Soon the Tanukh would have been on our doorstep; the likelihood that they would forge an alliance with the Persians growing stronger with each passing day. The Euphrates would be an ideal base to take every settlement on the river and control traffic.’

  Zenobia’s face hardened. ‘And they are back?’

  ‘They are. Yet to reach the Euphrates but they have taken Al Quatif. They are led by a new king, someone I have come across in the past, many years ago. His name is Jadhima. Supported by a strong family of warriors, which is why Odenathus asks this of me, why I have once again been granted the title of stratego, and why I must go south and purge the Tanukh from these lands. Any disagreement between me and the king no longer matters. I believe Syria will fall if I refuse.’

  ‘When will you go?’ Zenobia asked.

  She showed no sadness, only acceptance. I felt numb, the unknown more present, my fate less certain than before.

  ‘A few days at most. I am sorry to leave you, Zenobia. Odenathus and I have spoken of it much. Provision has been made for you to stay here, in the palace.’

  ‘Of course, father.’

  ‘You must speak to the men,’ Teymour said.

  ‘And what of me?’ I asked. ‘Am I to come with you?’

  Teymour laughed. ‘You, little one?’

  ‘Then what?’ My heart hammered. I would stay in Palmyra, but not without him. What place could I have? A slave once more? No, I could not be that, I could not go back. My arm burned. He had said he would not leave me alone in Palmyra. He gave me his word. I thought of my love for Julius, of his being my father. Could it be true? Was I his son? Is that why Meskenit could not bear the sight of me?

  ‘You know nothing of combat, Zabdas,’ Julius said. ‘Great dangers face us, and you are young and inexperienced in war. I could not bear your life on my conscience. You have become like a son to me. I need to know that you are safe and no harm will come to you. Do you understand?’

  I nodded sullen acceptance.

  ‘Do you understand?’ he asked again.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I will make provision for you also. You can train here in Palmyra with the army, if that is what you want.’

  Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I walked away. I knew Julius had no choice. He was right; I had no experience of combat, never held a spear or sword or shield to protect myself. He cared for me like a son, he said so himself. I had just met him, and he was being taken. The Tanukh tribe were the cause, but Odenathus the reason. He commanded Julius to Palmyra, ordered him south. I had detested Firouz, but only now did I know how to truly hate.

  Almost at our rooms, Zenobia caught my arm. She clutched her side, breathless from running.

  ‘My father is right, you cannot go.’

  I turned from her, not wanting her to see my face.

  ‘Listen to me, Zabdas, I understand your hurt, I feel it myself. If you train in Palmyra’s army you will be based here, I think, in the city. With me.’

  Her words were hard, sure, but rang soft with promise. I looked into her face, so young, no line or crease marking her smooth complexion. Her long, strong nose almost touched my own. Her eyes checked me, hard with resolution, glistening without tears, almond shaped in an oval face.

  ‘If you want to be with my father, Zabdas, then you must first become a warrior. He has made that provision. Take it and thank him.’

  I let her take my hands in her soft fingers, but as she turned my palm in hers, I saw the calluses of a slave, not a soldier.

  ‘Your father said himself, I know nothing of war. I have not held a sword or spear before.’

 
; ‘Gods, Zabdas, do not mourn this chance for something greater than you ever imagined. You have your freedom, now you have a chance to walk a soldier, your guardian a stratego.’ Black eyes bore into my own, fiery hot but barren of sympathy. ‘Take it, because you will not be offered twice.’

  I sniffed then wished I had not. She was right. My mind played back and forth the possibilities of being a soldier, a career before me, holding a sword and fighting for Julius’ beliefs. Apart, but at his side.

  Was it possible? Could a slave-boy become a soldier?

  ‘And what of you?’ I asked.

  ‘I will do what I have always done, Zabdas. Believe in my father.’

  CHAPTER 8

  Zabdas - 290 AD (Present day)

  I cannot stay in Emesa, the events of the past reeling, swimming, sliding their way into my mind. My past becomes real once more. The heat of battle and the screams of the fleeing ring in my ears. This place … I cannot bear it, being back, reliving, retelling, reviving.

  Sweat breaks.

  ‘We need to leave,’ I say.

  Bamdad nods. He knows the time to jest, and this is not it. I am drowning in this city, in past blood spilled and oaths broken.

  Samira found food in a local town and now kneels down next to me as Bamdad looks for a ship travelling upriver.

  ‘You became a soldier?’ she asks. ‘Under Odenathus’ command?’

  ‘We were all under Odenathus’ command. Julius, Teymour, myself. Perhaps not Zenobia. I am unsure she could be under the command of any man. But we all served Palmyra.’

  Samira falls silent, easy and without expectation. She looks at the vessels on the river, squints against the sun. Her dirty face and dirty clothes stab my conscience. What have I taken her from? A simple life but a good one, a life like the one I would have known in Egypt before slavery. Where to now? I have thought of little else.

  ‘Could Zenobia truly speak so many languages?’