Page 29 of Beloved
“Now,”
Zenobia said, “I am ready to dress.”
Bab and Adria quickly aided the queen, pulling the exquisite kalasiris over her head, fastening her jewelry about her neck and in her ears and about her upper arms.
Zenobia slipped the ring upon her fingers while Adria helped her into delicate golden sandals.
The queen then sat at her dressing table, and Adria brushed her dark hair until it shone.
Then, taking a section of hair from each side of Zenobia’s head, Adria braided it and drew the thin braids back to fasten them high on the back of the queen’s head with a jeweled enamel pin.
The rest of Zenobia’s black hair flowed free down her back, and Bab dusted it with gold powder before placing the vine-leaf crown upon her mistress’s head.
The queen stood and walked to her polished silver mirror, smiling in satisfaction at what she saw.
“Bab, find me Cassius Longinus!”
Longinus came quickly, sprawling into the chair lately vacated by Rome’s emperor.
Helping himself to an egg, he dipped it into the salt and took a healthy bite.
“Your secret garden gate is unguarded, Majesty.
The council advises you and your family escape while there is yet time.”
“To what purpose, Longinus?”
“You would be a rallying point for our people.”
“There is no point in it, Longinus.
Rome is already in full possession of the city.
The army is as trapped as I am.
There is no help for us.
The king made the decision to open Palmyra’s gates to Rome that the city and her people might be saved.
He was right, and I can only hope Aurelian will let my son remain this city’s ruler.
To that end alone I will work, Longinus.”
Longinus bowed his head in acceptance of her judgment, then standing, he said, “I will go with you to Rome, Majesty.”
“It is time,”
Bab said.
“It is midday.”
“You have seen to my guard?”
“Need you ask, my baby? They await you outside the door.”
Without another word Zenobia walked through her bedroom, through her antechamber, and out into the hallway through doors opened swiftly by her slaves.
Instantly the one hundred men in her guard came to attention, and cried out, “Hail Zenobia! Hail, Queen of Palmyra!”
A small smile touched Zenobia’s lips as she said, “Good afternoon, Captain Urbicinus.”
“Majesty!”
The captain saluted smartly.
The queen seated herself in her waiting litter, an opulent affair of solid silver, its raised designs all of a botanical nature.
The cushions of the litter were of purple velvet.
Immediately the four coal-black slaves in their cloth-of-silver breechcloths lifted the litter, and began moving down the corridor.
Before them, behind them, and on either side of them marched the queen’s guard.
It was not a long trip to the council chamber, and with much ceremony—the wide double doors to the chamber were flung wide, the waiting trumpeteers played a flourish—the queen’s guard marched into the room with the litter.
The litter was carried to the head of the table, where the emperor and the young king were already waiting, as was the entire council.
Dismounting the litter with Captain Urbicinus’s aid, Zenobia caught Longinus’s eye and saw secret amusement in it.
As she seated herself opposite Rome’s emperor the royal guard once more shouted, “Hail, Zenobia! Hail, Queen of Palmyra!”
Then they positioned themselves along two of the walls of the room, facing some of the men of Aurelian’s own legion, who lined the other two walls.
“The council is called to order,”
Zenobia said.
She looked to the emperor.
By the gods, Aurelian thought admiringly, she yet has the courage to defy me, even now in the hour of her defeat.
He almost regretted the decisions he had made regarding the city.
Almost.
The emperor stood and looked around the table at all the upturned and expectant faces before facing Zenobia.
Then he said, “You are banished, Queen of Palmyra, from this city-state that you led to rebellion against your masters, the imperial Romans.”
The room was deathly silent.
No one’s face showed any emotion, for it was as they expected, as Zenobia had led them to expect.
What they waited for was his decision concerning Odenathus’s dynasty.
“Vaballathus, King of Palmyra, Roman law demands the death of a client king who rebels against Rome; but you were a child when you came into your inheritance.
Your mother has ruled for you, and so in fairness—and contrary to what you have been raised to believe, we Romans are fair—I cannot hold you responsible for this rebellion.
I therefore grant you your life, but you and your wife and whatever family you have are banished to the city of Cyrene.”
“No!”
Zenobia’s voice was ragged.
“For how long?”
asked Vaba.
“For life,”
was the reply.
“No!”
A low and desperate cry.
“Be quiet,”
Aurelian said almost gently.
“I have not finished.”
She was amazing, he thought.
She cared only for her husband’s life.
If she might transfer that loyalty to him!
“Roman law will be served in the case of Palmyra’s rebellion,”
continued the emperor.
“Your king was scarcely a child, your regent a woman, a woman who was advised in all her plans by you, the Council of Ten.
I have spared both your boy king and your queen regent.
I will not, however, spare you.
I must hold this council responsible for Zenobia of Palmyra’s acts.
You are men.
You could have prevented all that has happened between Rome and Palmyra, but you did not.
You allowed a woman total control, and her emotional and unbridled ways, her fierce pride, her ambition, have led you to your own destruction.
“Accordingly, I must mete out punishment to all.
You are sentenced to death in the name of the Senate of Rome and the peoples it represents.
The Council of Ten will not be allowed to re-form.
Rome will rule Palmyra henceforth by means of a military governor.
You have six hours in which to put your affairs in order.
You will be executed just before sunset.
Rest assured that your families will not be harmed, nor will your possessions be confiscated.”
There was not a sound in the room.
The members of the Council of Ten could not believe what they had heard.
Zenobia sat wide-eyed.
Clutching at the table’s edge, she pulled herself up to a standing position.
“Mercy, Caesar,”
she rasped, for her throat was tight.
“Kill me! Make me your example, but in the name of all the gods, spare these good men!”
Her voice grew stronger.
“My day is over.
I will die willingly for Palmyra.
It is not fair that the council be killed.
They are not responsible for my actions! I alone am responsible! I willingly, nay gladly, accept my responsibilities.”
“A woman could not have accomplished what you have accomplished, Zenobia, without the cooperation of her council.
The boy was too young to rule, I grant you; but had this council not gone along with your precipitous behavior, you could not have come so close to succeeding in your foolish rebellion.
My sentence is just.”
“I will kill you,”
she said clearly, and the men of the emperor’s legion put their hands to their swords.
“Someday I will find a way to repay you for this terrible Roman injustice.
You have placed the burden of guilt for the murder of ten good men upon my conscience, and I shall never forgive you for it.”
“This council is disbanded,”
Aurelian said coldly, and quickly the men of his legion surrounded the unfortunate members of the Council of Ten.
“Each of you,”
the emperor said, “may return under guard to your homes.
You will be escorted back to the palace before sunset.”
Then he turned on his heel to leave the room.
“Wait!”
Zenobia’s voice resounded throughout the council chamber.
Aurelian turned.
“Give me leave, Caesar, to bid these faithful friends farewell.”
She spoke carefully, in a toneless voice.
He nodded curtly.
“Without their guards?”
she pleaded.
Again he nodded.
“Thank you,”
she said simply.
When the room had emptied, and only Zenobia, Vaballathus, and the Council of Ten remained, she spoke.
“I will try when I am alone with him to get him to reconsider; but he is a harsh man.
I know not with what I may bargain now.
I have nothing left.”
Marius Gracchus spoke.
“He means to separate Palmyra entirely from her past, Majesty.
He believes that once this is done the people will be easy to manage, and in truth they will be.
Whatever their loyalties to the House of Odenathus, Rome has not penalized them for this war.
Nor, I suspect, will Rome penalize them.
The royal family will be gone, the council will be gone, and there will be but one authority: Rome.
The people’s loyalty will not be torn, and the city will remain as Rome wants.
Productive and calm.
I admire this emperor for all he has condemned me to my death, because he is clever and ruthless. Do not grieve, Majesty. We of the Council of Ten are mostly old, and the gods know that we have lived good lives. We are proud to die for Palmyra!”
There were murmurs of assent from the others, and Zenobia knew that there was nothing left to say.
They were all powerless, and they had all bravely faced that fact.
“I will try,”
she said.
“I must try! We all know that you could not have stopped me even if you had desired to do so.
Aurelian knows it, too! It is not fair!”
Cassius Longinus chuckled.
“You are correct, Majesty,”
he said with a twinkle.
“Although it embarrasses us to admit it even now, we could not have stopped you at any time.
Nonetheless the emperor needs a blood sacrifice.
We are that sacrifice.
Let it be.
Do not humble yourself before Aurelian again.
You may not realize it now, but your lot is far harder than ours.
He can kill us only once, but you, Majesty, must live on to take part in the emperor’s triumph, and then afterward—who knows.
You are Palmyra! You will show the alien Roman world Palmyran courage and loyalty; and by doing that, all we have done in our battle for liberty will live on, and we shall never really be dead.”
Zenobia felt the tears well up, and then unashamedly she let them roll down her face.
There were no arguments left.
“I will bid you farewell now,”
she said quietly, attempting to gather her dignity about her.
Each of the council came forward, placing his hands first in hers and then moving on to their young king to bid him farewell.
Zenobia said only their names, for there were no words with which she might thank them now for this ultimate sacrifice.
“Antonius Porcius.
I fear for Flavia when she learns of your fate.”
“My daughter is stronger than she appears, my Queen.
My main concerns are for Julia and our son, Gaius.”
“I will do everything I can, old friend.
Perhaps they will want to go to Cyrene with Vaba and Flavia.
My future is so uncertain.”
“Cyrene!”
Antonius Porcius made a face.
“The armpit of the empire,”
he said scornfully.
“A decaying city on the sea with the desert on the other three sides and nothing else for hundreds of miles.
Aurelian chose Vaba’s place of exile well.
The gods help them.
They will be bored to death within a year.”
Zenobia was forced to laugh, even in the midst of such tragedy, and the sound of her laughter heartened everyone in the room.
She and Antonius Porcius, Rome’s former governor and Palmyra’s loyal servant these many years, embraced, and then he was moving on and speaking in low, urgent tones to Vaba.
Cassius Longinus stood before her, and for a very long moment they looked at each other. “You,”
Zenobia said, “you I will miss more than the others, even my children.
You are my friend.”
Quick tears sprang to her silvery eyes, and she amended, “My best friend.”
Longinus smiled a strangely sweet smile at her, and took her hand in his.
“You think that your life is over,”
he said quietly, “but dearest Majesty, it has barely begun.
Palmyra is just your beginning.
I am sixty years old, Majesty, and if I have any regrets it is that I was not with you from the very beginning.
It is the will of the gods that your life be spared, as it is their will that we ten die.
Remember us, Majesty, but do not grieve.”
He drew her close to him, and gently kissed her forehead.
“You are my best friend also,”
he said, and then he moved away from her to speak with Vaba.
Zenobia stood quietly, tears streaming down her beautiful face.
Finally the room was empty, and Vaba came over to put a comforting arm about his mother.
“I do not think I can bear it,”
Zenobia said.
“I cannot believe that Aurelian means to go through with this slaughter.
It is so unfair!”
“When were the Romans ever fair?”
he replied bitterly.
“It is as Longinus said.
Their honor can only be satisfied by a blood sacrifice.”
“Oh, Vaba,”
she half-whispered, “I am responsible for this.
It is my fault that the Council of Ten is to die.
If I had not declared you Augustus, and myself Queen of the East, Aurelian would not have descended upon us.”
“In the short time I have known this emperor, Mother, I have reached the conclusion that he never does anything precipitously.
Each move he makes is well thought out in advance.
I believe that in his quest to reunite his Roman Empire he sought to regain full control of Palmyra again.
He did not want Palmyra to be ruled by its own king.
He would have found some excuse, however flimsy, to conquer us.
You cannot—must not—hold yourself responsible for the fate of the council.”
His words were comforting, but Zenobia was not sure that she entirely believed them.
After all, had not she—had not they all said that she was Palmyra? As queen, a queen who ruled for her son, they had all been her sole responsibility.
She had failed in that trust.
Vaba escorted her litter back to her apartments and left her.
Slowly Zenobia entered her rooms, her mind deep in thought.
She suddenly felt very tired, and decided that she would rest until sunset.
It would be necessary for her to attend the execution of her council members.
They had always supported her, and she owed them this final courtesy no matter how painful it would be for her.
“Why did you not wear the flame-colored gown I wanted?”
Aurelian’s voice cut into her concentration.
“Red is the color of joy,”
she said dully.
“I did not expect I should be joyful this day, and so I chose to be who I am, the Queen of Palmyra.
Tyrian purple is a royal color.”
“You are no longer Queen of Palmyra, goddess.”
She turned to look directly at him, and then she said in a quiet voice, “I will always be the Queen of Palmyra, Aurelian.
Your words, the edicts of your senate, they cannot alter who I am.
Perhaps I shall never see my homeland again, but I will always be the Queen of Palmyra.”
Seeing her standing there, he understood for the first time in his life the word “regal.”
He knew that he should never possess such presence, such dignity.
She almost made him feel ashamed, and it angered him.
Why should this beautiful rebel make him feel guilty for doing his duty?
“May I go with Vaba and Flavia?”
she asked.
“May I take my other children with me?”
“You will come to Rome with me,”
he said in a voice that suggested she not argue.
“You have two sons, but I have only seen one.
Where is the other?”
“I do not know where my son, Demetrius, is, Caesar.
Perhaps he is with his grandfather.”
“And perhaps he is sneaking about the city like a jackal with a group of his angry young patrician friends causing trouble,”
the emperor said, his eyes narrowing.
“What have you heard?”
She tried to keep the fright from her voice.
“It is reliably reported that they have been inciting the people to riot and other such seditious acts.
I would suggest that you find him, and warn him that any further such nonsense could incur my displeasure.”
She nodded, too tired to argue with him now.
He looked at her and felt a surge of pure desire.
Suppressing it, he realized she was not beaten, simply in shock over his harsh judgments.
“Go and rest, goddess,”
he said in a kinder tone of voice.
“It will not be necessary for you to be at this evening’s sad event.”
“I will be there, Caesar,”
she replied in a fierce voice.
“Cassius Longinus said that you must have your blood sacrifice, but I shall never forgive you for the guilt you have placed upon me.”
“Never,”
he replied, “is a long time, goddess.
When you are in Rome with me you will forget.”
“I will never forget.”
“Go and rest,”
he repeated.
Zenobia brushed past him and entered her bedchamber.
There, Bab and Adria sat awaiting her return.
They quickly rose to their feet at her entry and, hurrying toward her, wordlessly began to remove her jewelry and clothes.
Although she did not believe that she could sleep, she did.
Shock had taken its toll, and she could have easily slept for hours, but Bab gently shook her awake in the hour before sunset and helped her to dress, again in royal purple.
Her numbed mind began to function again.
She was alive.
Her children were alive, and they would remain so unless Demi did something foolish.
As long as they lived there was hope; hope of returning one day to Palmyra.
How long would Aurelian last? Emperors came and went in these days with remarkable rapidity.
In a few years what had transpired between Rome and Palmyra would be forgotten; and if she was in favor with a future emperor in Rome, she could possibly regain Vaba’s inheritance.
“You are ready,”
said Bab, who recognized her mistress’s mood and had been silent all during the dressing.
“Come with me, old woman,”
Zenobia said.
“Did you think I would not?”
came the quick reply.
“You are strong, my baby, but no one is strong enough to bear alone what you must now face.
I will always be with you; as long as these tired old legs can move.”
“I would come too, Majesty,”
quiet Adria said, and Zenobia turned in surprise to see the firm, resolute look in the slave girl’s brown eyes.
“Yes, Adria,”
she answered her.
“You may come.”
Together, the three women left the queen’s rooms, and walked slowly along the corridor leading to the main courtyard of the palace.
Zenobia silently noted that her own personal guard had been replaced by Roman legionnaires.
Though she felt sure that her men had not been harmed, she resolved to inquire of Aurelian what had happened to them.
The Roman legionnaires guarding the entry to the central courtyard snapped smartly to attention as Zenobia passed through with her women.
The sight greeting her outside almost made her falter, but old Bab hissed softly, “Courage, Queen of Palmyra!”
Zenobia moved regally forward to mount with her women the raised platform that had been erected at one end of the courtyard.
Aurelian already sat sprawled in a chair.
“I told you that you did not have to come,” he said.
“I told you,”
she replied half angrily, “that these men you slaughter have served me faithfully, and I would come!”
Aurelian signaled to one of his men.
“Bring a chair for the queen,” he said.
“I will stand in respect,”
she quickly replied.
He ignored her.
“Whether you stand or sit, goddess, is your choice, but the chair is there should you need it.”
Zenobia looked out over the courtyard.
The day had been a hot one, but now with sunset fast approaching the courtyard was in shadow.
Zenobia turned to Rome’s emperor.
“Will it be quick?”
“Yes,”
was the short reply.
She wanted to cry, but she forced the tears back and swallowed down the lump in her throat.
There were ten baskets lined neatly up in a long row at the center of the open courtyard.
Realizing their significance, she shuddered with revulsion, then froze as the condemned men came from a side door of the palace.
Each was flanked by two Roman guards, one of whom would act as headsman in the execution.
The council members had chosen to wear pure white tunics that came to their ankles and somber black togae pullae, mourning garments.
They walked proudly, their heads held high.
As they turned to face the raised dais where Zenobia stood rooted, they raised their right arms in salute and cried out loudly, “Hail, Zenobia! Hail, Queen of Palmyra!”
She drew herself up proudly then, and said in a voice for all to hear, “The gods speed your journey, my friends, for you are surely Palmyra’s greatest patriots! All hail to you, Council of Ten!”
“Enough,”
Aurelian snapped, and he signaled with his hand.
Each member of the council was forced to kneel before a hateful reed basket, his bare neck bowed, easily accessible to his executioner.
Each headsman raised his sword, and as they did Zenobia called out, “Longinus, farewell, my friend.”
“Farewell, Majesty,”
came his dear voice, and then the executioners struck with well-drilled precision, and the ten severed heads fell with a distinct thump into their waiting containers.
She swayed, and Aurelian stood up and reached out to put a strong arm about her.
“I do not need your help, Roman!”
she snarled at him.
“Death to the Roman tyrants!”
The cry suddenly echoed about the courtyard, and in a hail of arrows the legionnaires in the open courtyard fell, some dead instantly, some mortally wounded by the poison-tipped arrows unleashed at them by the kneeling archers upon the palace roof.
A tall young man stood up and looked scornfully down upon the stunned dignitaries on the platform.
“Hail, Caesar,”
he said mockingly, “and welcome to Palmyra! Were the queen not in your grasp at this moment, you and the other Roman dogs with you would now be as dead as your execution squad.
The people of Palmyra do not like what you have done.
It was our craven king who opened the city’s gates to you, not the people.
Nevertheless we prefer King Vaballathus to a Roman governor.
Reinstate him, or this will be just the beginning of our war with you!”
Then without waiting for an answer, he and his archers disappeared from the rooftops.
Gaius Cicero leapt from the platform, but Aurelian’s voice was knife-sharp.
“Don’t bother, Gaius! They are long gone back into their rodent holes, and we will never find them.”
He turned to Zenobia.
“The youth who spoke was your younger son, I presume?”
She pushed his offending arm from her waist then, giving him a long look, smiled.
With her women trailing behind her, she walked from the platform and disappeared into the palace.
Once safe within her rooms, she said furiously, “Find Demi, Bab! There must be someone who knows where he is hiding.”
The doors to her bedchamber opened, and Vaba rushed in, his face dark with anger.
“He is your son, Mother! Your son!”
“He is also your brother,”
she snapped back at him.
“I have ordered Bab to seek Demi out, for I do not agree with his methods any more than you do, Vaba.
You might know where he is.
Who are his special friends now? We must find him!”