Beloved (37 page)

Aurelian might then have crossed the hundred miles between Emesa and Palmyra, securing Palmyra in its king and queen’s absence and taking its regent, Prince Demetrius, prisoner. That he did not he was to regret. So far he had not lost many men to battle, disease, or fatigue, and he was feeling invincible. Swiftly he moved his army down through Palestine, avoiding as many towns and villages as he could, for surprise was to be his greatest weapon. In Emesa and Antioch his authorities made very sure that no messenger escaped the city to warn Palmyra’s queen. They would meet in Alexandria!

The emperor, however, was doomed to disappointment for in a quirk of fate the armies of Rome and those of Palmyra passed within a few miles of each other in the Egyptian desert of Gaza, and neither saw the other. Zenobia, having made her position clear in Alexandria, was hurrying home to await Rome’s answer. Aurelian arrived in Egypt’s premier city to find his quarry gone, and what was worse, the Alexandrians were not one bit repentant of their support of Palmyra’s queen. In retaliation Aurelian set fire to their famous library. By the time the fire was contained, many of its valuable books had been destroyed.

When Zenobia reached her beloved city she found surprising news waiting for her. The enemy was almost at her gates. On the battlefield at Emesa one Palmyran had pretended to be among the casualties, then waited until dark before making good his escape. He had had no supplies or water to aid him; but he was of Bedawi parentage, and tough. It had taken him five days to reach the Qasr-al-Hêr
fortress, where he told his story before collapsing. Rufus Curius had immediately sent word to Palmyra.

“But how could Aurelian have heard so quickly?” Zenobia was puzzled.

“The Romans have been known to use pigeons to carry messages,” Longinus said. “The message was most likely sent from Alexandria, Majesty.”

“And Aurelian has come himself?” she mused. “He will find that Palmyra’s legions are not so easily beaten. General Zabdas’s defeat will have made the Romans overconfident.”

“You don’t propose to meet them in open battle, Majesty?”

“No. We will withdraw within Palmyra, and then wait. I am curious to see how long the Romans can survive in our desert, Longinus. Send a message to Rufus Curius. I want all civilians withdrawn from Qasr-al-Hêr immediately, and only a token force left at the fortress. Those who remain are to poison the wells and build upon the highest tower the makings of a bonfire. At the first sign of Aurelian they are to light the fire as a beacon to Palmyra and then retreat. It is easy to fight in the forests of Gaul, where the dew drips from the very branches of the trees, but here in the desert how long will Rome’s legions last without water? With luck we will not lose one Palmyran to Aurelian’s armies.”

The order was sent, and soon the people who had made the Qasr-al-Hêr fortress their home began arriving, crowding the desert road from the west with their carts and livestock. Most had relatives within the city that they might stay with. For those who did not, the queen offered shelter within properties owned by the royal family.

Word was sent along the desert road to the east that Palmyra would soon be under siege, and should be bypassed by those who did not seek to have their goods confiscated by the Romans. Zenobia felt she owed this courtesy to those merchants in Cathay and India who regularly did business with the city.

Confident of their triumph, the people of Palmyra went about their business, the city taking on a festive air for the wedding of the young king and Flavia Porcius. After the festivities, Zenobia and Longinus sat together getting companionably drunk on Cyprian wine. “Marcus has betrayed me,” the queen mourned. “Why did he betray me, Longinus? Am I not beautiful? Intelligent? Rich?” A tear slid down her cheek. “What does Aurelian’s niece have that I do not have?” Then she giggled. “I shall ask him when I capture him, Longinus! That’s what I shall do! I will say to him,
Aurelian, what does your niece have that lured Marcus Alexander from my side? Am I not clever, Longinus?” She was happily drunk.

Her answer was a soft snore, for Cassius Longinus had fallen asleep in his chair. His goblet tipped from his hand, drizzling sweet red wine across the marble floor. Zenobia watched the blood-colored trickle of liquid, as it ran slowly across the white floor. She sighed again and, standing uncertainly, she reached for the decanter, picked it up, and wandered slowly down the corridor that led to her private apartments.

She awoke late the next morning, and her head immediately regretted her actions of the previous night. The bright sunlight streamed in across her bedchamber, causing her to wince with genuine pain. Warned by her aching head and roiling stomach, she did not dare to rise else she be sick. She lay very still, finding that the closest thing to comfort.

Old Bab hurried in, her sandals slapping against the floor in a most aggravating manner. “So, you are finally awake.”

“Do not shout,” Zenobia whispered. “My head pounds.”

“I am not surprised. But there is something you must know. The beacon from Qasr-al-Hêr has just a few minutes ago been spotted burning. The Romans are coming.”

“The gods!” Zenobia swore irritably. “Today of all days!”

“Aye, they were ever a thoughdess bunch,” Bab observed wryly. “Come, I will mix you a potion that will take the ache from your head and the sickness from your belly.” Bab busded out, and Zenobia could hear her giving orders to the slave girls in the outer room. In a few minutes she was back again, carrying a small goblet, which she handed to Zenobia. “Drink it,” she commanded in a voice that brooked no nonsense, and the queen obeyed.

Within minutes the symptoms that had made her so uncomfortable were magically gone. “What was in
that?”
she demanded of Bab.

“It is a mixture of honey, fruit juices, and herbs,” was the reply. “Let me help you up now, my baby, and it is off to the baths for you.”

An hour later Zenobia stood atop the highest tower of Palmyra gazing west toward the Qasr-al-Hêr fortress, where the sentinel beacon blazed brightiy even in the midafternoon sun. On the westward road she could see in the distance faint puffs of dust made by the hooves of the approaching camels who carried Rufus Curius and his small patrol to safety in Palmyra. She stayed watching until she could make out the riders quite plainly, and then she
descended the tower and, mounting her chariot, drove through the city amid her cheering people to greet the riders.

They thundered through the gates, which quickly closed behind them, coming to a quick halt before the queen’s chariot. The camels knelt, and their riders swiftly dismounted and stood making their obeisance before Zenobia.

“It has been done as you commanded, Majesty,” Rufus Curius said.

“The Romans?” she asked.

“At least two legions, Majesty. Possibly three.”

Zenobia turned to Cassius Longinus. “Have them sound the alarm, Longinus, so those outside the walls may enter before it is too late.”

“What of the Bedawi, Majesty?” he asked.

“They have disappeared into the desert,” she said with a small smile.

“The better to watch for us,” he murmured with an answering smile, and left to do her bidding.

Zenobia returned her attention to Rufus Curius. “You have done well, old friend, and I thank you for your loyalty, you and your men. Go now and spend the evening with Deliciae and your children. I do not expect the Romans before our gates until tomorrow, when they will attempt to frighten us with a show of force.”

He saluted her, and Zenobia, remounting her chariot, drove quickly back to the palace. Throughout the city the echo of the warning trumpets sounded again and again as latecomers and stragglers from the unwalled suburbs hurried to safety within the gates. Arriving at her destination, the queen hurried to the council chamber for a prearranged meeting with the Council of Ten. She found them and both her sons waiting.

Questions were fired at her with great rapidity, and impatiently she held up her hands demanding that they stop so she might speak. “We do not expect the Romans before dawn,” she said, “and then they will do one of two things. Morning will possibly show Aurelian in full battle force before our gates. Often the legions sneak up upon a city in the night so that the dawn reveals their battle formation. It can be a formidable sight.

“The other possibility is that dawn will reveal an empty desert. Suddenly in the distance will come the faint sound of the war drums, which will grow louder and closer as each minute passes. As suddenly, the Romans marching in perfect ranks will begin to pour over the horizon until they are lined up before our gates.
Both of these ploys are used to frighten a civilian population, and so our people must be told in order that they not be afraid. Terror is the prime weapon used by the Romans.

“Marius Gracchus, have foodstuffs been laid in as I commanded?”

“We have several months’ supply of grain, oil, olives, figs, and dates in government storehouses, Majesty. We have spent the last few weeks buying livestock, which will be slaughtered as needed and distributed when necessary. Practically every family in the city has some sort of poultry in its keeping. Palmyra is well prepared to withstand a siege of several months.”

Zenobia nodded. “The Romans will not last that long, Marius Gracchus.” She then looked to her younger son, Demetrius. “You have seen to the wells in the suburbs?”

“My men and I personally visited each house, Majesty, and impressed upon the owners the importance of destroying the water supply so that the Romans could not have it,” he said. At seventeen, Demetrius was an extremely handsome young man, far better-looking than his older brother, who favored their father. Demetrius was his mother’s son, with her dark hair, a pair of languid gray eyes, and a most sensuous mouth. Like his mother, he was impetuous and passionate; but Zenobia suspected that, like his father, Demetrius would not marry until he was considerably older. There were too many delicious treats the prince wanted to taste before settling down.

She inclined her head in response to his reply, and then she turned to Vaba. “Is there anything you wish to add, my son?”

The young king shook his head in the negative. “You seem to have thought of everything, mother,” he said quietly.

Zenobia threw him a sharp glance, and then turned back to the entire council. “Does anyone else have anything further to say?” she asked, and the reply being in the negative she dismissed them. “Stay, Vaba,” and he heard the command in her voice. When the room was at last empty she turned on him furiously. “Do not ever fence words with me again in open council!” she said. “Why do you choose this time to quarrel with me?”

“You behave as if Palmyra has no king, Mother. Everyone defers to you. The council, the people, even the damned Romans! I am consulted on nothing.”

“Vaba, Vaba,” she chided him. “The very life of this city is at stake. Tomorrow morning the Romans will arrive. They seek to destroy us. Do you really believe you are experienced enough to
plan the defense of Palmyra? I am sorry that in all the tumult you have not been properly deferred to, but there is no time. I did not expect the Romans for another three months, and suddenly they are on my doorstep.”

“In other words, Mother, they have already outmaneuvered you,” he said quietly.

“Yes, Vaba, they have. I am not ashamed to admit it. I am human as are they, and I learn from my errors.”

“If going to war against the Romans is an error, Mother, then all of Palmyra shall learn,” he answered her.

“Rome has no business here in the East. Your father believed it, and I believe it.”

“This war would not have happened if Marcus had returned to you,” he accused. “I wish to the gods that he had, for then you would have married him and I might have ruled in my own right!”

“You ungrateful little whelp!” she hissed at him. “You rule this city?! What a joke, Vaba, my son! What a fine joke! When your father was murdered I secured the city for you. For six years I have ruled it for you, and what have you learned from me, my son? You have learned nothing! All you know of kingship is the bowing and scraping of your courtiers!

“The Romans are not to be trusted. Your grandfather was loyal to Rome, and what was the result? His wife, my own sweet mother, raped and murdered by Romans! I loved Marcus Alexander more than I ever loved any man. Aye, I even loved him more than your father; but he betrayed me to marry an emperor’s niece. I do not deny that I am bitter, but I have not gone to war with Rome out of that rejection. For many years your father and I planned to consolidate the Eastern Empire, and rule it ourselves. Now I have done just that. I have but one piece of unfinished business, and that is to defeat Rome once and for all. I shall do it, Vaba! On your father’s memory I swear I shall do it! When I have, and there is once more stability in the region, you may rule alone and to your heart’s content. I will have given you time to learn this business of kingship the way I have always given you time, Vaba. Do not be impatient with me, or with yourself. You will be a good king one day.”

“You loved Marcus more than my father?” His face was a mask of shock, disbelief, and hurt.

She sighed, and wondered if he had heard anything else that she had said to him other than that. “Your father was the only man I knew until his death. Odenathus was chosen to be my
husband. He was a good man. I loved him, for he was good to me, and he loved me in return; but with Marcus it was different.”

“I don’t know if I will ever understand you,” he said softly, rising from the council table and walking to the door. At the entry he turned. “Good night, Mother,” and then he was gone.

She sat for a few minutes longer, but she would not allow herself to think. She needed to free her mind.

“Mama?”

Startled, Zenobia looked up and saw her small daughter standing in the doorway to the council chamber. Her heart contracted at the sight, for the little girl was so like her father. Tall for her age of five and a half, Mavia was slender with a heart-shaped face, Marcus’s startling blue eyes, and long chestnut curls. Her skin was lighter than Zenobia’s, but still it held a golden tone.