Beloved (39 page)

“Longinus is here?”

“Over there, Mother.”

The king had reached the ramparts with his young wife. Zenobia moved down the ramparts to stand with Longinus.

“Here I am again rousing you early in the morning,” the queen teased her chief councillor.

“One of the hazards of being in your employ, Majesty,” he chuckled.

Together they stood looking out across the desert that surrounded the oasis city of Palmyra. The wind had blown the sands into small wavelike ripples so that the city appeared to be an island amid a vast golden sea. Behind them the sky flung out dawn streamers of scarlet and coral, mauve and pink, burnished copper and narrow bands of dark purple edged in palest green. To the west it was yet dark with one lone and cold star gleaming ominously down upon all. There was no wind. All was very still. Looking about her, Zenobia saw that the ramparts along the walls were now crowded not only with soldiers, but with Palmyra’s citizens, who had come to see the arrival of their unwelcome guests.

The sun began to spill over the horizon, and suddenly very faintly from the distance came the sound of drums and marching feet. Zenobia turned to Longinus and her sons. “Did I not tell you?” she said. “They are exactly on time—sunrise—with their booming drums and stamping feet, all calculated to put abject fear into the hearts of the citizenry.”

“You cannot blame them for lack of originality,” Longinus said wryly. “This has always worked for them, and the Romans are not a people easily persuaded to try something new.”

All along the walls the citizens chattered busily, not at all impressed by the distant noise, for had they not been told that this was how it would be? Now they watched curiously to catch the first glimpse of the enemy. It was like some vast show presented in the arena.

The queen strained her eyes. Upon the horizon she could see the sun reflecting off a veritable sea of spear tips. Fascinated, she was unable to tear her eyes away as the spear tips became soldiers, marching soldiers, soldiers dragging great war machines and battering rams across the shifting sands of the western road, thousands of infantry urged on by officers mounted upon a variety of prancing horses.

“How many legions do you think there are?” Longinus asked.

“I cannot tell yet,” was the reply.

Closer and closer the Romans came to the city walls, until at last they stopped, and Zenobia breathed softly, “I count four full legions, Longinus. Aurelian wants us very badly, but he shall not have my city.” Boldly she stared down upon the army amassed below, and suddenly the ranks opened to allow a war chariot through. In the chariot was a driver and one man. The vehicle stopped before the walls, and in the great silence that followed the man in the chariot began to speak.

“People of Palmyra, I am Aurelian, Emperor of the Romans.”

“I believe the archers can get him from this distance, Mother,” said Demetrius.

“No,” Zenobia said. “Let him speak. I wish to hear what he has to say.”

“I come in peace. I have no quarrel with the people of Palmyra. It is the woman who calls herself your queen who has rebelled against the empire. Give her over to me, accept my governor, and we will live in peace as we always have.”

From the ramparts of Palmyra came shouts of outrage, and almost at once the spectators began hurling the remains of their morning meal at the Romans. The emperor’s chariot was forced to move backward. The queen nodded to her trumpeter, and a clarion call rang in the still air, silencing everyone. Zenobia stepped up on the walls so that she might be visible to the Roman army and its emperor. Behind her the sun blazed, and with the blue sky above her as a background, her golden garments and jewelry
sparkled and gleamed impressively. Below, the Roman soldiers murmured superstitiously at the sudden appearance of this golden woman. There were murmurs of “The goddess Athena!” “Venus!” “No, fools, ’tis Juno herself!”

“I am Zenobia of Palmyra, Queen of the East. Aurelian of the Romans, you are unwelcome here. Go while you still have the opportunity, else the desert become your final stop on the road to Hades.”

“Woman! You have rebelled against Rome! Give yourself over to me for judgment, and I will spare your city.”

The answer to Aurelian’s impertinence was a spear that sang swiftly through the air to bury itself in the ground before his chariot. Startled, the horses reared, but were quickly brought under firm control by their driver. No one, even the queen, had seen who threw the spear, but its message was far more eloquent than words.

“You have the answer, Aurelian of the Romans. My people have spoken, and as always I am an obedient servant of my people.”

A small smile played upon his lips, and he nodded almost companionably at her. “As am I, Zenobia of Palmyra,” he said.

“Then it is war between us,” she answered.

“It is war,” was the reply.

“We have the advantage, Roman, safe here behind our walls. We are prepared to hold out for months. Are you?” “We are.”

“Without water, Aurelian? You have no water. I would have no innocent lives on my conscience, so I give you fair warning that the wells serving the suburbs surrounding this city have been poisoned.”

“Can you be sure, Zenobia?” was the mocking reply. “Do you really think that those who expect to return shortly to their homes have poisoned their own wells? What would they use for water then upon their return?”

“Unlike Romans, Palmyrans are loyal, Aurelian, and they follow orders.”

“Palmyrans are people like any other, Zenobia. Perhaps most of your people have obeyed, but there will be some who have not, and we need only one well to survive.”

“Do you really think you can water four legions and all your livestock on one well, Aurelian? Do not be a fool! You will have not enough water, and without water you will die! Go while you
still have the opportunity. Were not all the wells at Qasr-al-Hêr destroyed?”

“They were indeed.”

“Does that not tell you something?” she demanded.

He smiled up at her, looking a long moment upon her incredible beauty before he spoke again; and then he said quietly, “Remember Masada!”

Zenobia looked down the table at Palmyra’s Council of Ten, assembled five to a side. At the opposite end sat her son, the king. “It has been four months since the Romans appeared before our gates,” she said, “and what I have learned this day has told me that if we do not get aid from another quarter we shall not be able to rid ourselves of them. Before our stores run out, before one Palmyran life is sacrificed, I must get aid!”

“What is it, Majesty?” Marius Gracchus asked. “What have you learned?”

“Aurelian was correct when he said that all the wells within our suburbs would not be destroyed. Less than half of our people obeyed, and of the other half most simply filled their wells with debris that the Roman soldiers have been carefully removing. They have more than enough water, and their lines of communications and supply are totally unfettered. They can hold out forever. We cannot.”

“What must we do then, Majesty?” the venerable old councillor asked.

“I must ride for Persia. When my late husband beat Shapur, their king, in battle, it was for Rome. Perhaps Shapur will aid us. If he does, and attacks the Romans from the rear, and we attack them from the front, we can destroy them between us.”

“Surely you do not propose to go yourself, Majesty?”

“I must. Our need is great, and I believe that only I can convince Shapur to join us.”

“Who will you appoint regent in your absence, Majesty?” he asked.

Zenobia looked directly at her son, who sat unsmiling in his chair. “There is no need for a regent, Marius Gracchus. Palmyra has a king, and it is past time that he ruled in his own right. I have been fearful that perhaps my son was not mature enough to assume his full responsibilities, but his conduct during these months
of siege has proved that he is more than ready. Vaballathus has my loyalty, and my full confidence.” She smiled at him, and then bowing her head said, “I beg your Majesty’s leave to ride to King Shapur of Persia.”

“You have my permission, Queen of Palmyra,” Vaba said, and then he stood and looked at them all. “I am your king, but she is the queen. Remember it!”

Afterward, when they had all been dismissed, he chided her, “You might have at least warned me what you were going to do, Mother.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she answered.

“Do you really mean it, or will you take over when you return again?” he asked.

“No, Vaba, Palmyra is yours. But at least listen to my advice, and let us work together until the enemy has been driven from our lands.”

“How will you reach Persia?” he demanded.

“The Bedawi,” she said.

“Is that how you found out about the wells?”

“Yes. Your uncle Akbar and his sons have been camped just over the dunes, playing the desert nomads for the Romans. They sell them goat’s milk, cheese, dates, and women. Indeed, they have become quite friendly with Aurelian himself.”

“Where is Grandfather Zabaai?”

“With the main part of the tribe, several days to the east.”

“When will you go, Mother?”

“Tonight. There is no moon, and I can safely slip out of the city without being caught. I must not delay, Vaba. We have barely three months’ supplies left even with strict rationing.”

“Will any of your men go with you?”

“Only Rufus Curius. I would prefer to go alone to meet Akbar, but he insisted that someone come with me, and Rufus Curius asked to accompany me.” She shrugged irritably. “They are a pair of old women, both of them. They were afraid if a stray Roman caught me I might be assaulted. I am not so feeble that I cannot put a knife between some Roman’s ribs.”

He smiled at her. “I have no doubt that you could knife a Roman with ease, and butcher him without a sound, but I agree with them. It is better this way.”

She laughed. “A fine opinion you have of your mother, Vaba.”

“Have you any suggestions for me while you are gone?”

“Several,” she answered mischievously, and then she grew
serious. “Rely on Longinus first, and then Marius Gracchus. They are the best of the council. The others have a tendency to be too cautious, even my good Antonius Porcius. My absence must be kept secret for as long as possible, for once the Romans know they will come after me. I must reach the Euphrates River and cross it before they can catch up with me.”

“We will offer the information that you have a mild fever,” Vaba said, “and that you are keeping to your couch for a few days.”

“I will need three days.”

“You will have them, Mother.”

She stepped forward and embraced him. “If I do not return, Vaba … remember that I have always loved you. Remember that, and remember the dream that your father and I always had for Palmyra. We wanted her free of Rome.”

“I will remember,” he said, and kissed her affectionately. “I do love you, Mother.”

She laughed. “I know, Vaba, and I also know that it has not always been easy to love me.”

He gestured helplessly, and laughing again, she left him.

In the darkest part of the night Zenobia left the city with Rufus Curius. Together they had mounted the walls on the eastern side of the city, and been lowered down in the darkness by two of Zenobia’s personal guard. In silence they had skirted the city, carefully avoiding the Roman camp and their pickets, to walk quickly to the encampment of Akbar ben Zabaai. With a skill that amazed Rufus Curius Zenobia managed even to evade the Bedawis who guarded that campsite, and enter her brother’s tent unseen.

Akbar ben Zabaai came forward smiling broadly. “You have not lost your touch all those years in the city,” he said, chuckling with pride.

“This is Rufus Curius,” Zenobia said. “He was commander of Qasr-al-Hêr. He is to accompany me. Are the camels ready?”

“They are, my sister. I am sending five of my men with you also.”

“No!”

“Yes, Zenobia, my sister. You must be protected. Do not think you can keep this from the Romans. They have spies everywhere, and will know of your departure quickly.”