Forever Shores (12 page)

Zenobia slips out of the city, fleeing into darkness; Simeon insists upon accompanying her. He is strong, for she has provided him with the blood of one of the city's suspected spies.

They ride mounted high on female dromedaries. In desert terrain, these can outrun any horse. Zenobia has planned carefully. Once they reach the Euphrates River near Dura, they will be able to sail downstream to Seleucia—twin city to the Persian capital Ctesiphon—lying between the Euphrates and the Tigris where the great rivers come closest together, before finally meeting one hundred miles further south above Ferat. From Selucia, they can cross the Tigris to seek audience of the Shahanshah in his palace in Ctesiphon.

Once they reach the Euphrates and the lands of Hormidz, Aurelian will pursue them at his peril. And yet, Simeon Africanus has seen even this in his visions of the future: Palmyra surrendering without its Queen to lead the fighting and maintain morale; Zenobia captured on the dhow-rigged boat that would have taken her to safety and possibly to allies. If the future is to crack and break, not merely shudder, there must be a better way, and Simeon's own hands must do the timebreaking.

They ride at night, a time when the bright powers of Aurelian and the priests of Sol Invictus are surely at their weakest, wrapping woollen cloaks and blankets about them, for the desert cools rapidly in the evening. They are prepared with gold and jewels, with skins of water and with days' worth of rations for Zenobia to eat: sun-dried fruits, spices, and smoked meats. ‘Do you despise me, after all this?' Simeon asks her.

He cannot see her face in the dark. ‘No. You have fought genuinely for me. Whatever manner of creature you are, I took you into my service and I cannot doubt your loyalty.'

They ride on. Stars glitter in the clear sky but there is no moon. A chilly breeze bites through cloaks and blankets.

‘What will happen to Palmyra without me?' Zenobia asks.

‘Don't you believe we will be able to bring reinforcements before the city falls?'

‘Sorcerer,' she says, ‘I do not even believe we will live beyond tomorrow. Aurelian will find us. This is a desperate chance we take, for all our preparations. What will happen to the city?'

‘If what you say proves true, Palmyra will surrender. The men fight less for the kingdom and the city than they do for you, yourself. You inspire … their devotion.' Almost, he says
our
devotion, but thinks better of it. ‘Perhaps the best thing your kinsmen could do is open the gates of the city, provide Aurelian with gifts and throw themselves on the Imperator's mercy.'

‘He is too bloodthirsty to have mercy.'

There is a silence. Then Simeon reminds her of Tyana, Aurelian's first major conquest in his vaunted restoration of the East. ‘They say that he threatened the city, boasting that if it did not surrender he would not leave so much as a dog alive.'

‘So they say. The city defied him until one of its rich merchants, a fellow called Heraclammon, betrayed it. At that point Aurelian entered in triumph. His soldiers pressed him to violate the women, slaughter the inhabitants and take their possessions as booty of war. They reminded him of what he said, that he would not leave so much as a dog alive. So how did Aurelian respond?
Then kill all the dogs.
'

She looks at him oddly. ‘Well … we keep many dogs in Palmyra. Camels, horses, goats, all sorts of animals.' Rueful laughter. ‘If by any chance I do survive this, I will have my revenge, ten Romans for every life, man, woman or animal, taken in Palmyra. I have told you what I think. What odds do you give that we will reach Ctesiphon?'

Now he must confirm her fears. ‘The priests of Sol Invictus will discover our escape. They are powerful sorcerers. Expect to be followed at dawn.' He can hear her take in breath. ‘By fleeing you have taken but a small risk, Lady. I have seen your future, but you now have an advantage I did not foresee—you have me with you.'

‘What are you telling me?'

‘Lady, sorcery aside, our camels can outrun any horses that follow us from Aurelian's siege-tents at Palmyra. Yet, you are right: we cannot avoid the Romans as far as Ctesiphon.'

‘Yes, but if we are to die many Romans will die first.'

‘Lady, I've told you your one advantage. Aurelian knows that many of his soldiers will die if they must confront me. So he himself will join the pursuit. That was not a factor in my vision. He will put himself at risk. We have already changed the future, my Queen. All things are possible. You must try to trust me.'

She has no choice. They ride on in complete silence.

Night cannot last forever.

In the morning, they roll away blankets and change into long, hooded paenulae of white linen, hastily prepared by Zenobia's seamstresses, which cover them from brows to feet for protection from the sun.

Later, as the sun ascends a merciless spring sky, Simeon climbs an isolated stony hill amidst miles of rolling sand, and looks into the distance behind them, waiting for horsemen to appear on the horizon, following their path. He is not long disappointed. There are about six of them, not galloping, but cantering hard. He returns to Zenobia.

‘They'll reach us soon, Queen. Of course, their horses must be tired. Our dromedaries are fresh enough. We could stay ahead of them for now, but not until nightfall. Not if I understand Aurelian's sorcery. Trying would be foolish.' Indeed, he thinks, the sooner the Imperator confronts us the better. If we need contend with only six Romans, we have a chance. But not yet. Not quite yet. ‘They'll be watching out for us, because they expect us to proceed with deliberation. The time is soon coming to deal with them.'

They are far now from Palmyra's oasis lake, on the one hand, and far, on the other, from the blue waters of the Euphrates. They proceed slowly, sharing one of the water skins they have brought. The day is growing hotter as morning approaches noon. When the horsemen become visible, appearing above a dune across the rolling desert plain, Simeon decides to run, to bring the play to its end.

In a manner of speaking, they run, the dromedaries loping across desert sand and stones, kicking up a wake of dry dust, beginning to pull further ahead of the Roman horsemen. Looking behind, Simeon sees that the horses are being urged on to greater efforts, though not breaking into full gallop as yet. Soon, they are gaining once more, but the dromedaries have energy aplenty in reserve. ‘We'll go yet faster, Queen.' They do so, but only to an extent where the pursuers neither gain nor begin to fall away.

‘Our camels can do this forever. Aurelian's horses will soon have had enough.'

‘Normally, Zenobia. Normal horses.' She does not seem to mind being called simply Zenobia in this time of crisis. ‘With the sun in the sky, I believe that the Imperator's power will be able to sustain them. Is your dromedary yet tiring?'

‘She is still strong.'

‘My mount also. His power has not extended to us. There must be limits to its range.'

‘Yet, the sun appears to take strength from his enemies across a whole battlefield. How close may we let him approach?'

‘We'll have to guess. But he must have limits, otherwise he could have brought down your city with exhaustion from Antioch or even Rome. Besides, the weakness which your armies have suffered when opposing him is a gradual one over a day; whereas when he defeated me with sickness and vertigo it was at close quarters.'

The chase proceeds into the afternoon. As the sun becomes hotter in the sky, Zenobia suggests they pull further ahead—perhaps the range of Aurelian's power becomes greater as the sun itself grows stronger. He takes her advice, but once they have doubled the distance between themselves and Aurelian they do not allow the gap to increase; Simeon does not wish Aurelian to lose heart, if that were possible. He wishes to tempt the Imperator into consuming his strength.

Late in the afternoon, before the sun wanes, Aurelian acts. There is a long downward slope between him and his quarry, and his horses put on a fresh spurt, finally breaking into full gallop across the desert. Zenobia and Simeon run their camels hard, but at least they can use the dromedaries to fritter away some of Aurelian's power.

Eventually, Aurelian gains on them, and he gets close enough for Simeon to feel his exhausting presence. No use fleeing any longer. Simeon and Zenobia stop and dismount, lay down their weapons, stand waiting for what must seem their inevitable capture. They fold back the hoods of their paenulae, making their identities plain. It will take perhaps a minute for the horsemen to be upon them.

Simeon uses the time well.

‘I'm sorry, my Queen,' he says, ‘for what I must now do.'

‘What!'

The horsemen are close. Time stops; Zenobia's speech is halted, her mouth left gaping open. The whole desert freezes. Aurelian and his soldiers are suspended in dusty blue air; a hawk, high in the sky, hangs frozen; even gnats are fixed in position, like dots of ink on parchment; isolated tussocks of desert grasses lock into bent shapes made by an intermittent dry wind. Simeon walks calmly to his dromedary, draws from its sewn straps the Sword of God; for that instant, his arm and the black blade are the only things in the desert that move. It is now many hours since he has had his fill of blood; he can sustain this effort for only a few more heartbeats. He concentrates, walks purposefully back to Zenobia, seizes her roughly by the wrist. ‘Ah, if this moment could last,' he says softly, to her unhearing ears. Ever so gently, he holds her narrow wrist, calling to her blood, feeling a pulse begin, though her body is otherwise as frozen in the moment as the rest of the desert. Red blood wells under her skin and flows for him, another visible movement among frozen sand and stone and time. Reverently this time, he puts his mouth to her arm.

And drinks her. Dry.

It is a perfect draught, as strong as he has ever tasted. The blood of a demi-goddess flowed in her veins—no wonder he loved her! Now it flows in his. There is a power in him. His mind is a sharp blade. His body was a wolf's; now it is a lion's or a huge German bear's. He is stronger than he has ever been. Time unfreezes as Simeon conserves his powers; the horsemen approach. Horror in their faces. Simeon is half-crouched, the scimitar held at an angle across his body, in the attitude of a man prepared to die fighting.

Aurelian's spirit is pulling at him, trying to suck the sorcerer's strength away. But Zenobia's blood seems to turn to golden power whatever it touches within Simeon's body. For the moment, he resists and turns back the might of Sol Invictus.

‘Stay behind me,' Aurelian growls to his men. ‘I don't want any of you dead in the confusion.' Then, grimly, ‘I shall finish this task.' Simeon buries his scimitar, point first and almost to the hilt, in the desert sand as Aurelian charges upon him, short sword pointed at Simeon's heart. A drumming of hooves on sand and a guttural shout. ‘Die at last, creature of evil!'

Simeon feels the huge new strength from Zenobia's blood start to siphon away, as Aurelian's sorcery asserts itself, close up and under the grim Imperator's conscious control. Time will not freeze … but it slows …
enough
. Simeon avoids the charge and crouches low as the panting, whinnying horse rushes past; he seizes Aurelian by his leg, dragging him out of the saddle as he passes. Both fall to the ground, Aurelian losing his sword, but kicking powerfully with a thud into Simeon's chest and crawling away. Simeon springs upon him and they are wrestling; Simeon cannot concentrate on slowing or stopping time, and Aurelian's sorcery waits to fall upon his own like a huge iron hammer smashing upon a floor of glass. The Imperator's strength is enormous, and he seems to glow from inside with heat, heat which quickly burns away Simeon's own reservoir of strength. They wrestle like titans, Zenobia's blood renewing itself within Simeon. She must not have died for nothing! And now each is draining at the other's strength, for Simeon's long fingers have tightened on the Imperator's throat; he is calling in his mind to Aurelian's blood, and it hears …

It comes to him; it seeps out under strange, long, hairy fingers.

Bruised, they roll and struggle, but then Simeon's mouth finds the side of Aurelian's neck where the carotid pulses; blood spurts, splashing Simeon's face and tawny hair—some of it, enough of it, going down into the hollow of his belly, sustaining, strengthening him further. Within seconds, it is over. The Imperator's body is white and limp. As the remaining horsemen charge upon him, time finally freezes like blue ice. The rest is sheer carnage: Simeon tears them limb from limb …

The priests of Sol Invictus created well. Aurelian's blood is as potent as Zenobia's. Simeon closes his eyes and concentrates. He must work his greatest act of sorcery, displace everyone in sight, everyone except Zenobia. The power of Aurelian's blood boils in him. First, he looks behind his eyes at what he wishes to see.

And opens his eyes.

The scene is changed. A hawk flies against the sun. Gnats zigzag in the air. Occasional tussocky vegetation waves in the intermittent breeze. There is a charnel house of death about him. Horses run wildly back and forth, arching their necks and shaking their reins, startled to find that their masters have vanished from their backs. But, in the other direction, a tall dark-haired woman dressed in a white linen paenula is beginning to mouth the word, ‘What!' She looks about her, where she stands, confused, beside her Palmyran dromedary. Her dark-skinned Saracen face is as shocked as the first time she saw Simeon's bloodthirsty sorcery. But she says nothing.

Simeon draws his blade out of the dry, fine sand. Somewhat raggedly, he saws from its shoulders the sneering head of Lucius Domitius Aurelianus Augustus, the Imperator of Rome known as Aurelian. Simeon speaks to the head in Latin: ‘You set yourself against the Sword of God, Imperator.'

Satisfied, he grips the trophy by its cropped hair, turns toward Zenobia, sagging to one knee.