The Better of Two Men

by JD Smith

  The incense rippled upward from a pot in the centre of the tent, smelling of years-old dried herbs. I tried not to breathe too deeply, but I felt suffocated by the fumes and my fear.

  Two warriors took hold of the fabric wall at the back of the tent and parted the curtains. Beyond, the tent extended into a further room from which six slaves carried a litter. How they bore the weight of that golden seat I do not know. It looked to be a solid mass of precious metal, sapphires, opals, amethyst, rubies and pearls, all winking in the smoke-congested space. All taken from Syrian cities and towns.

  Atop the litter sat a man larger and more adorned than I remembered. Shapur’s black curled hair and beard were threaded with jewels, the plunder of his victories. His pinched eyes studied Zenobia. He did not smile or acknowledge our presence. And I thought then how alike he and Zenobia were. Shapur was a ruthless man and would sell his wives to obtain his desire. Zenobia was driven by different desires, but with the same determination. And she wore on her face the same blank expression as the Persian King who looked at us now.

  The slaves lowered the litter to the floor with careful movements, then lay prostrate on the carpet. A man shuffled in beside Shapur, but took two paces back at a flick of Shapur’s fingers.

  I stood there like a child, near trembling, afraid of what would come and in part resigned to the knowledge that whatever fate awaited me, I was not alone but with Zenobia. For all that I feared she exuded a sense of calm. And for the heartbeat in which I thought beyond my own selfish fears, I knew I was glad to be there with her, to stand beside her, because if I could not draw my sword and protect her, to have a chance of living to see another sunrise and my Aurelia’s face or hear my unborn child’s first earthly cry, then I could at least stand beside her and maybe, if the gods chose it, I could offer Zenobia something of the same calm she offered me.

  Shapur’s beard twitched a fraction. His large, round belly growled. He repeated the small gesture with his hand and a slave, seemingly alert to his master’s will, hurried to the back of the tent and disappeared.

  The King adjusted himself in his seat and smiled, revealing a full mouth of white and golden teeth.

  ‘You stand in my tent once more, Warrior Queen.’

  ‘You have learned a little of our tongue,’ Zenobia replied, unsmiling.

  ‘I am intrigued by your culture. By you. I have many slaves who speak your tongue. And many days in which to learn it since last we met.’

  ‘Perhaps we could all sit,’ Zenobia gestured the King’s own litter, ‘and speak of why you summoned me.’

  Shapur barely moved, appearing to weigh Zenobia’s suggestion. After a moment his eyes flicked to another slave and he hurried to bring first Zenobia, then myself, a stool upon which to sit.

  ‘We are all civilised people,’ Zenobia said. ‘A seat makes for more comfortable discussions.’

  Shapur looked incapable of standing, so large was his figure. I almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of my own observation at that moment, before the gravity of our situation pulled once more.

  ‘I have heard many tales of your power and success,’ Shapur went on. ‘People talk of your victories as if they were those of a man.’

  ‘When you are put in command of good men, it is hard to lose.’

  ‘I was right, you have become a Warrior Queen. I do not like to be wrong, but I cannot decide whether bargaining with you the last time we met was the right choice.’

  ‘Roman history is written as it happens,’ Zenobia said. ‘You are already known as the man who captured and killed an emperor. That is what I promised you.’

  ‘You did. And you brought him to me. I did not think you would keep your word.’

  ‘You did not.’

  Shapur did not reply. Instead the slave he had earlier dismissed returned with a bowl of fruit and the King began to eat.

  Zenobia leaned forward on her stool, her elbows resting on her knees, her painted face tilted to one side.

  ‘It was obvious that I would move to take Palmyra,’ Shapur said at last. ‘You knew I would not retreat peacefully from Syria and leave the wealth it contained untouched.’

  ‘I never expected you to retreat,’ Zenobia replied.

  ‘Which is how you knew to head for Palmyra and block my path.’

  ‘We would have done that anyway. Palmyra is never unprotected.’

  I watched Shapur carefully, his face unreadable, almost without life. Despite his defeat the previous year, his troops had swelled again, and once more our scouts told of an army over a hundred thousand strong.

  ‘I have killed many men to secure my power. Men of my own blood as my father killed his brothers before me so that he would see no challenge to his power. You are also willing to kill for power and maintain your position.’

  ‘I have killed some,’ Zenobia replied. ‘I am more merciful than you.’

  Shapur gave a thin smile.

  ‘Messages must be sent, Warrior Queen. We must be seen to be a powerful nation. You sold me a vision; of Roman history with my name littering the pages. What better than to be known for the humiliation I brought upon an emperor of Rome?’

  ‘Valerian Caesar’s manner of death is of no concern to me.’

  Shapur sat motionless for some time, breath heavy and strained.

  ‘You do not like to think on it? The fate of a man makes you squeamish?’ Shapur almost smiled.

  ‘Why did you ask for this meet?’ Zenobia asked.

  ‘You are a woman with whom to bargain.’

  ‘What would either of us have to bargain, Shapur? You have nothing I want.’

  ‘You want to keep your kingdom? You want to keep Palmyra? I know you are a capable Queen. I would not have such a woman sit on a throne beside me, tempting me with her whispers and presuming to lead my men as you lead your King’s men. You betrayed your emperor, you could betray me.’

  ‘I would not sit beside you,’ Zenobia said. ‘I would not wish to fuck you. I would cringe at the shame of being beside a man and watching as he lost to Bedouin warriors and Roman legionaries.’

  Shapur did not appear amused and I cringed at her antagonism. Surely we should try and discover what bargain he proposed? We were there at his request, alone, surrounded by his guard. Sweat prickled the surface of my skin; my first outward betrayal of the terror I felt. If he wanted us dead, do it now. Have a guard take my life with his sword. Let it be done.

  ‘I admire you,’ Shapur said. He tapped jewelled fingers on the arm of his chair. ‘Sit beside me and you would do well. I would tame you, but I know even then there would be fire enough for you to amuse me. You are here because I have a proposal beneficial to us both. I like you.’

  ‘I would like you more if you told me what you want.’

  ‘Sit on the throne of Palmyra and rule in my name.’

  ‘In exchange for what?’

  ‘So direct. We are dancing, not fighting. Take steps with the rhythm or you will spoil the dance. In return, Palmyra is untouched and I move to take the rest of Syria and continue pushing into the Roman Empire.’

  ‘Odenathus would never allow you to march your army past Palmyra,’ I said, angry at his indecent proposition, that he dragged us across the desert plain and into his company to listen to something Zenobia would never agree to.

  Shapur did not look at me or acknowledge that I had spoken. The spike of anger fell and I wished again that Odenathus or Zabbai were there, because I was aware of how utterly outnumbered we were, Zenobia unpredictable beside me.

  A shadow moved behind the curtains from which Shapur had first appeared.

  ‘You wish me to hand over my husband as I did Valerian Caesar?’ Zenobia asked.

  ‘That very thing.’

  ‘You demanded we come here for this?’ I could not believe my hearing. Shapur knew Zenobia so very little. He knew nothing of her love for Odenathus or her country, or he was ignorant enough to believe they did not matter. Did he expect that by offering her the kingdom of Palm
yra to rule alone that she would accept because she prized power above anything else? Did he believe her foolish enough not to realise that she would be forever under Persian rule, that she was exchanging one empire’s leadership for another?

  Zenobia nodded slowly.

  ‘I understand your request, though I did not expect it.’

  ‘We need to leave, Zenobia.’ My fear began to consume me. This was not a discussion we should be having, nor one we should entertain. If Odenathus should hear of Zenobia’s toying with the possibilities …

  Zenobia inclined her head, acknowledging but also ignoring me as she said to Shapur, ‘I give you Odenathus and you give me power in Syria; a client queen under a Persian overlord?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Valerian Caesar had once referred to himself as Odenathus’ overlord, and it occurred to me that he ruled no one now, having departed from this world.

  ‘You want a share of the trade profit?’ Zenobia said.

  ‘Double the tax Rome puts on you.’

  ‘And what? You expect me to sit in Palmyra and count coin on your behalf? Come, Shapur,’ she said, a slight sneer tugging at her mouth, ‘we know each other little but you know better than to expect me to settle for that. Why this proposition?’

  She could not accept it. She dared not. Not even for a slice of Persia and a city built of gold, for she loved her husband above all men. I sighed inwardly. I had at last come to respect the King and her relationship with him, and I knew why she did not reveal even the faintest flicker of emotion before this man. The last time she betrayed her emotion to this man he had shown how ruthless he could be.

  ‘It would be different, a woman in a position of public power. The idea interests me. I see no reason to watch what happens as waters flow in a direction they have not run before. You would challenge me also, in a way others do not.’

  ‘Do you find people too compliant?’ Zenobia replied wryly.

  ‘As I expect of them all.’

  ‘I have a position on the Palmyrene council. I am the second most powerful person in Palmyra. You can give me no greater power than I already have.’

  ‘You cannot command legionaries alone, Warrior Queen, no matter how able you might be, and able you quite obviously are. With Odenathus gone, the faith of your men will wane after a time, when their initial excitement of a woman in control has gone, and you make your first mistake. Rome will not support you. They will put another in your husband’s place.’

  Shapur played with us, I noted with resentment. We were an amusement in this time of war. Shapur had riches and a vast army, a harem and control of the whole of Persia. Zenobia’s reaction, her part in this play, was his amusement just as we amused the gods.

  ‘Odenathus still sits on the Palmyrene throne. You presume to think him already dead.’

  ‘He presumes to know your decision,’ I said of Shapur.

  The King’s beard twitched, indicating his grin beneath.

  ‘I am told Odenathus will separate himself from Rome soon enough. The conflicts he faces are not unknown to me. If he sides with the existing emperor and loses against the usurpers, then he will lose his position and so will you. The same should he choose the other side. And then, should he decide to break away entirely, he will be disowned by Rome and left to fall beneath the hooves of my horses, and I promise you, I will crush his bones into the desert sands until they are nothing but ashes and dust. When I am done I will rape Syria until she is bled dry for my own pleasure. And after you slaughtered my army last year, I will make you watch.’

  Shapur’s words sent a cold trail running through my gut and I looked to Zenobia for her response.

  ‘You forget that Odenathus could side with the Roman that will either retain or claim emperorship,’ Zenobia said.

  ‘A gamble. Choose to accept my proposition and I will guarantee you a kingdom.’

  ‘With certain rules.’

  ‘There are always rules.’

  ‘What if I countered your offer with equal the tax we pay to Rome?’ she asked.

  I frowned hard at her, but she ignored me.

  Shapur watched Zenobia for a few moments, unblinking, his face unreadable.

  ‘If you accept my offer, then we can negotiate terms.’

  CHAPTER 16

  Zabdas – 261 AD

  Zenobia glared at the Persian King, her eyes beaded in the mist of thick black kohl. She swung her knees apart, her arms lying lazily between, and leaned forward to address Shapur.

  ‘What do you propose? What lie have you in mind?’

  I sat on my stool, silent and thoughtful, the scene washing at my feet. The exchange was now beyond my comprehension. I no longer knew what to say or how to intervene. I assumed Zenobia knew her next move, and the one beyond that, and so I watched.

  ‘Tell your King whatever you wish,’ Shapur said. ‘But in my camp, in my control, he must be.’

  ‘I need time. Perhaps to persuade him a meet with you would be in his interests.’

  ‘He would know you betrayed him. Think harder, Warrior Queen.’

  ‘Of that I am capable.’ Zenobia stood to leave. ‘Is that all you have to say?’

  My insides fluttered with the thought of our imminent departure, to leave behind this Persian camp and the threat accompanying it.

  ‘Almost.’ Shapur raised his hand above his head and beckoned a servant from the back of the tent. At least I thought him to be a servant. But the man who emerged was no submissive.

  He walked around the dais upon which Shapur sat, taller and broader than many men. He grinned and his beard twitched with the expression but the humour did not reach his eyes. A familiar scar ripped the left side of his face, and his arms and thighs bore similar marks. His armour, dented and marked with a decade of war, held a history of sword strokes in the heavy metal.

  Jadhima, King of the Tanukh, stood once more beside his former King, Shapur I. If Zenobia was surprised to see this new alliance, she showed no sign of it. She did not flinch nor draw up to her full height, but appraised the Tanukh leader from her current position, leaning forward on her stool.

  I stood up.

  ‘I should have known I smelled Tanukh.’

  I was angry to see the men side by side when we thought them to be estranged. Jadhima’s presence heralded a complication in our meeting with Shapur that I immediately resented. I wanted to leave, not sit in the presence of the warlord whose nephew killed Julius. Whose ships, I recalled nervously, we had burned.

  ‘Two Kings and a Queen beneath one canvas and you can smell Tanukh? I am surprised.’ Jadhima grinned more broadly. ‘The reek of your fear is all I can smell, boy.’

  ‘You mistake my repulsion,’ I retorted.

  ‘Enough,’ Shapur interrupted. ‘When I heard of Jadhima’s defeat at your hands, I asked him to join my army once more. We do not hold the same grudges as you and your Roman kind. We are united once more in common cause.’

  ‘Plundering,’ I said.

  Shapur shrugged. ‘Call it what you will.’ Then: ‘You do not speak, Warrior Queen. The company I keep alarms you?’

  Zenobia took a long breath, as if bored with the exchange.

  ‘You have told me that you want King Odenathus, that you will give me Palmyra to rule if I give him to you. Now you bring here the man whose men I killed and whose ships I destroyed. You think the threat of his presence, his desire to avenge his nephew,’ she said, as if Jadhima were not in the same room, ‘would make that more likely?’

  In a heartbeat the guards moved toward us. Two gripped my arms and shoulders and forced me back down onto my stool and held me fast. Zenobia’s eyes widened and she stood up. Two more guards stepped to either side of her and took hold of her arms.

  Jadhima walked across to her, his step taunting and his face alight with amusement.

  ‘You did not dress in this way when you met with me,’ he said.

  Zenobia’s expression altered slightly as she set in place a cold look. ‘I had no des
ire to impress you.’

  ‘Yet you looked more beautiful. Feminine and fair, as though you would tease a man’s senses.’ He leaned in to her neck and breathed deeply. ‘You smell the same. Of rose oil.’ He took a second breath. ‘And blood.’

  ‘You lied to me,’ Zenobia hissed. ‘You sent another man to face your nephew’s fate.’

  ‘I was wrong to think a whore could not lead men.’ He placed his hand on the side of her face and with his thumb smudged the black of her eyes down her cheek like a tear.

  My anger swelled.

  ‘You were wrong to think I could not better you.’

  A glance to Shapur confirmed his enjoyment. I attempted to struggle from the grip of the Persian guard with no success.

  Jadhima cupped Zenobia’s chin and squeezed, then licked her face, slow and savouring. ‘You’re just a whore with a sword.’

  ‘Better a whore with a sword than a king without men or ships.’

  Jadhima paused, as if wondering how best to counter her taunt. He said nothing, but placed his hand on her breastplate a moment, then unfastened the armour more delicately than I could have anticipated of a man with such large, calloused hands.

  I pulled once more against the men holding me. The heat of my fear and my fury heightened. The grip on my arms tightened, the tip of a spear nestling against my spine, and sweat broke on my body, the panic of what would come taking hold. Hot dread swept over me with a sickening clench of my stomach. This had been my fear. We would not leave here alive, promise or no promise of Odenathus’ fate.

  Zenobia’s breastplate was gone and yet her fixed expression of tedium remained. Jadhima caressed her breast through thin, white linen.

  ‘There is greater pleasure to be had with a Queen,’ he said.

  He was close to her. So close that she could not possibly breathe without tasting him, swallowing and choking on his stench.

  ‘Odenathus will not want you when I have finished,’ he whispered.

  Shapur laughed quietly from his seat. Sparking anger amidst my fear once more.

  ‘Leave her,’ I said. ‘She has been willing to discuss terms. Shapur?’ I begged intervention.