Page 21 of Beloved

Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, stood looking out upon the Mediterranean sea.

She could not get enough of the sight, for she had discovered that it was very much like her desert; a constantly changing pattern of color and movement.

It was close to sunset, and the sea was very still at the moment, a smooth and silken surface, wine-colored, reflecting back at her the palace from which she watched it.

Above her a flock of pink flamingos whirled, their black underwings in stark contrast to their vividly colored upper bodies.

She turned to watch the beautiful birds as they flew over the palace to settle down along the shores of Lake Mareotis, where they nested.

All was quiet now, and she stood for some long minutes watching the beacon to the east harbor, the Pharos lighthouse.

It was a view seen many times by her ancestress, Cleopatra.

Her gaze moved back to the sea, and she could feel her eyes straining as if by only looking hard enough she might see Rome across the water; see Rome—and her false lover, Marcus Alexander Britainus.

There was still pain when she thought of him; but it was not as sharp today as it had been yesterday, nor would it be as sharp tomorrow as it was now.

She had always believed she could not live without love, but now she knew that to be untrue.

Hate was a magnificent substitute, and she had vowed privately that she would never love a mortal man ever again.

Death had taken Odenathus from her, and now an emperor’s niece had taken Marcus.

Why? she wondered once more.

Why had he married another woman when he had sworn to return to her? She could find no explanation.

He had not even written to her.

“Are you all right, Majesty?”

Cassius Longinus had come out on the long open portico.

“Yes, Longinus, I am fine,”

she replied, but he could hear the sadness in her voice.

“There has to be a logical explanation,”

he burst out, and she turned to look at him with haunted eyes.

“Why do you attempt to find excuses for him, Longinus? You never really approved, I know that.

There is no explanation other than the fact that the Roman used me; but I have always learned from my mistakes, and I will never be used by any man again.”

He did not argue.

But still, Longinus wondered.

He believed that he knew the Roman very well, and this sudden marriage to Aurelian’s niece and his failure to communicate with Zenobia were totally out of character for Marcus Britainus.

“I intend declaring Vaba Augustus, and myself Queen of the East,”

she said, and he was quickly jolted from his thoughts.

“You will bring Rome down on you, Majesty.”

“Rome is weak,”

Zenobia said scornfully.

“One general after another declares himself emperor, and the path to their empire’s throne is littered with the bodies of the assassinated.

None can hold power for very long.

The barbarian tribes to the west and the north of Italy are constantly encroaching upon the empire’s territory.

Can Aurelian divert enough soldiers from Europe to make war on me? I do not think so, Longinus.

Rome must face the fact that I now control the East, and I will not let it go! This I can do to insure Vaba’s future, and that of his sons and grandsons.”

“Is it for Vaba you do it, Majesty, or is it to revenge yourself on Marcus Alexander Britainus? Hate is a two-edged sword, Majesty.

It can injure those who wield it as well as an enemy.”

“You worry too much, Longinus.

Did not the augurs at my birth say I should be fortunate at war? And have I not been?”

“The augurs also said you would be fortunate in love, Majesty,”

was the devastating reply.

“And so I have been!”

she argued.

“Was my Hawk not the most wonderful of husbands?”

“But he is dead, Majesty, and the man that you truly love with every fiber of your being has appeared to betray you.

I do not consider that fortunate.”

Longinus’s logic was a sharp knife cutting away at her confidence.

Zenobia tossed her head angrily and chose to ignore his remark.

“I repeat, Longinus, you worry too much.”

Longinus bowed his head in acceptance of her will.

“Will you make this announcement here in Alexandria, Majesty?”

“Yes,”

was the reply.

“By the time my announcement arrives to ruin Aurelian’s digestion, I shall be back in Palmyra.”

She laughed.

“This could very well topple the latest of Rome’s military rulers, and who shall be next, and for how long?”

He wondered about her overconfidence, and he worried, yet all had gone well so far.

The armies of Palmyra had passed easily and quickly through Syria and Palestine and across the Egyptian desert.

They had crossed the Nile River Delta, attracting only curious glances from the peasants, and entered into Alexandria with no resistance.

There, Zenobia’s uncles Paulus and Argus Simon had been busy spreading her doctrine of an Eastern Empire free of foreigners; free of Rome.

Alexandria, never treated well by the Romans, had responded to that message by welcoming Palmyra’s queen, and taking her as their own.

After all, was she not the child of a daughter of this city? Was she not a descendant of the last great Ptolemaic queen, Cleopatra? By the gods, they would once again rise to the greatness that had been theirs before the Romans.

The Romans! Since the days of Julius Caesar they had been bad luck for Alexandria.

The Ptolemaic pharaohs and their queens had made Alexandria the academic center of the ancient world.

The great Alexandrian library and museum were world-famous.

So were the many schools of rhetoric, medicine, mathematics, philosophy, art, literature, and poetry.

In the beginning of Roman rule nothing had changed; but then it became intolerable and various segments of the population began to chafe.

A revolt by the large Jewish population resulted in their annihilation and the destruction of the Jewish quarter, fully a third of the city.

And with the Jews went Alexandria’s commercial prosperity.

It was now merely a beautiful ancient city whose schools and great library attracted scholars.

There was a certain amount of commerce, but nothing to compare with its days of glory.

The Alexandrians had little love for the Romans, whom they rightly blamed for their plight.

The chance to strike back at them was irresistible, and Queen Zenobia of Palmyra appeared the very person for them to follow.

The pronouncement of King Vaballathus and his mother, Zenobia, was made from the main portico of Alexandria’s royal palace.

Zenobia had sworn never again to wear Roman garments, and had taken to the opulent clothes that were a mixture of Egyptian, Persian, and Parthian.

Her dress that day was called a kalasiris, a long, sleeveless garment with a simple, round neck that was totally accordion-pleated to the ankle-length hem.

Its color was a pale Nile green, and the linen of the garment was so sheer that Zenobia’s flawless body could be seen through it.

Her firm and full breasts thrust the fabric boldly out beneath the great jeweled collar of gold inlaid with emerald, lapis lazuli, turquoise, and amber.

Upon her arms were beautifully carved gold armbands which were easily visible despite the floor-length cape that she wore.

The cape was an incredible piece of workmanship, the lining cloth-of-gold, the exterior of male peacock feathers.

It was fastened to her shoulders by means of hidden gold clasps attached to her collar.

Upon her feet were simple gold sandals; her long black hair was entwined with lotus blossoms, and the beautiful gold fillet she wore was decorated in front by Egypt’s royal asp.

In contrast to his mother’s barbaric beauty, young Vaba was dressed quite simply.

He wore the flowing white robes of his Bedawi heritage, but the hood of the garment was pushed back to reveal his strong, handsome face, the dark head topped with a magnificent gold crown.

Standing next to his mother on the top steps of the portico, he listened with impassive face as Cassius Longinus, several steps down from them and dressed in an impressive white tunic, intoned in a loud, clear voice to the great mass of humanity who had crowded into the square before the palace.

“Behold, Egypt! Behold Zenobia, Queen of the East, and her son, Vaballathus, Augustus of the Eastern Empire!”

Three times the queen’s favorite councillor called out, each time followed by a great trumpet fanfare.

The crowds cheered and shouted their approval of Zenobia and her son.

Longinus looked up at the queen, and said so just she might hear, “Rome will not fail to notice this demonstration, Majesty.”

“Then let them be warned, Longinus,”

was the icy reply.

Aurelian was indeed warned, and in far less time than Zenobia had anticipated.

On the very day that Zenobia had proclaimed herself Queen of the East, and her son Augustus of the Eastern Empire, a Roman spy in Alexandria let loose a pigeon.

The pigeon, a small capsule attached to his leg, flew to the city of Cyrene, where his message was transferred to the leg of another bird, who flew to Lepcis Magna; then to another who flew to Carthage; and yet another who traversed the length of Sicily.

The last bird left Sicily, rested overnight at a cote in Naples, and within a week the message from Alexandria had arrived in Rome.

Eagerly the emperor removed the message from the capsule carried by the last bird; and a slow, satisfied smile spread over his face as he read it.

“It is good news, Caesar?”

“Yes, Gaius Cicero, it is very good news.

Praise the gods for creating women to be predictable.

The Queen of Palmyra has done exactly what I expected her to do, and now we may march against her.”

“Zenobia of Palmyra, sir? But I thought she was our ally?”

Gaius Cicero looked puzzled.

“Has she not kept the peace for us in the eastern provinces since her husband died? Why are we to march against her?”

“Because, my dear Gaius, the Queen of Palmyra has just seven days ago had the temerity to declare herself Queen of the East, and her son Augustus of the Eastern Empire.”

Gaius Cicero sought out his old friend, Marcus Alexander, at his new home in Tivoli.

“The Queen of Palmyra has revolted against Rome, and the legions will soon march,”

he announced.

“Will Rome prevail, Marcus?”

“Rome must prevail, Gaius, although I now question my own loyalty to a rotting empire.”

Gaius Cicero shook his head.

“It will take more than a war with Palmyra to turn Rome from the path of decay.”

“Will you be going with the emperor?”

“Of course!”

“Then you will have an opportunity that I have not had, Gaius.

The Queen of Palmyra was to have been my wife.

Tell her that I yet love her, that my marriage is but a sham.

I was not able to communicate with Zenobia after my return.

Do this for me, Gaius, for the sake of our long friendship, I beg you!”

Gaius Cicero saw the pain that lurked within his friend’s eyes.

He knew the cost to Marcus’s pride to have to ask even as old a friend as he to relay such a personal message.

“I will gladly take your message, Marcus,”

he said.

He was very surprised by his old friend’s revelation, and for the briefest of moments Gaius Cicero had doubts about the emperor’s conduct in this matter.

Then he thought of the good Aurelian had accomplished in his short tenure as emperor.

What were the problems of two lovers in light of such greatness?

Aurelian marched east, his troops departing from Brindisi, then ferrying across the Adriatic to Apollonia in Macedonia.

From there they marched into Thrace, crossing the water once again to Dar-danus in Asia Minor.

The emperor moved at a steady pace, stopping to reassert imperial authority in major towns, allowing the local officials to tell him that they could not be blamed for assuming that Zenobia, like her late husband, Odenathus, spoke for imperial Rome.

Aurelian agreed, nodding wisely, laughing silently to himself at their quick defection from Palmyra’s queen, and levying token fines to impress upon them Rome’s authority.

Before the walls of Antioch Aurelian met in battle with Zenobia’s general, Zabdas.

No one was more surprised than the Palmyrans, for they had not expected the Romans for some time, and yet suddenly here they were.

The force commanded by General Zabdas was small, the bulk of the army being with the queen in Alexandria.

Though they fought well, and bravely against the legions, they were overcome.

Zabdas fell back to Emesa, leaving Antioch to the Romans.

But securing the city, they quickly followed him and defeated him a second time at Emesa.

His small force virtually wiped out, Zabdas fell on his sword, ending his life, but satisfying honor.

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.