The Better of Two Men

by JD Smith

  ‘I have requested once before that you join forces with me in a bid to seize ultimate power. This is, shall we say, a last chance for you to decide upon the right path. I do not wish to pressure you, Odenathus. I do not think to tell you what you should and should not do. I hold much respect for you as I hope you do for me. Rarely have we disagreed during my time here in your country.

  ‘There was a time when I believed in a man greater than myself, when I would never have considered doing what I feel I must now. But that is not the way of Rome in our time. Valerian was no Vespasian, he did not lead his empire away from financial ruin. Nor is Gallienus another Trajan, conquering land and extending the reach of Rome. I would see us an emperor fit for the purple. To give us the stability we so desperately need. To rebuild that which we have lost.

  ‘We must march on Rome soon. There is time enough for you to ready your men, to lead them in a great victory.’

  ‘And yet I would see another Antoninus Pius,’ Odenathus said, his words kind, almost understanding. As if his beliefs differing from Ballista’s were a mere matter of opinion on a meal or the outcome of a game of dice.

  Ballista humoured the King with a smile.

  ‘You would see economic expansion and growth of the arts?’

  ‘I would see us decades of peace,’ Odenathus replied.

  ‘Then why not claim the purple for yourself?’ Quietus’ words were tinted with sarcasm. And it was not lost on any of us. Ballista’s smile disappeared, Zenobia sat up straighter and with interest, although many would not have noticed the subtle difference.

  ‘I am a client king and no Roman.’ Odenathus chose his words with care, and I could almost feel Zenobia’s excitement at the mention of Odenathus taking for himself imperium, standing in the greatest city of all, a laurel wreath upon his head. Beside him Zenobia would stand. Powerful and without enemies, ordained to do whatever she desired for the people. But that was never the case for any man or woman of power, and I reminded myself that her desire was for a free Syria, not absolute power.

  ‘You are a capable man, Odenathus,’ Ballista said. ‘I would have you by my side. We have worked well together in the past, have we not?’

  ‘We have, but I have no desire to turn on Rome as you have.’

  ‘Come now, my desire is not to turn on Rome, simply to appoint a new power. It is not such an odd thing to want, or to do. Gallienus is his father’s son, and he can no more guarantee the safety of Syria than Valerian could. We both fought beneath the old emperor, both attempted to persuade him of the right decisions. And as I recall, neither of us succeeded.’

  ‘Did we?’ Odenathus said, his voice beginning to betray irritation. ‘I remember you standing beside your emperor and subsequently betraying him. I recall the Persian messenger who came to me, not you, to tell me in detail how he was flayed alive. Do you know what that entails? They cut his flesh from his bones whilst he was alive and then they nailed it to the gates of Ctesiphon.’

  Ballista’s smile was now one of amusement. ‘As I remember it, your wife came to me with the proposition to betray Valerian to the Persians. What happened to him was her doing as much as it was mine.’

  ‘You played your part well,’ Zenobia said.

  ‘As did you,’ Ballista replied. ‘Perhaps of the two of you,’ he went on, gesturing to Odenathus and Zenobia, ‘she is the better man? You are decisive and strong, Zenobia, I will grant you that. What say you to my kingmaking?’

  ‘Emperors come and emperors go,’ she said. ‘They are made by the men they command. If the army chooses to back you then you may well succeed in taking the purple. Who knows? If you do, we will of course support you as the new power in Rome.’

  ‘That is the crux of the matter,’ Ballista said. ‘The army does back me, or what is left of it. But as you needed more men in Syria, I need more men to march on Rome and overthrow Gallienus. This is a chance we have never had before. As you say, Zenobia, emperors come and they go. It is time for Gallienus to step down and for another to take his place.’

  ‘There are few enough soldiers in Syria as it is,’ I said. ‘Shapur is gaining strength as we sit here talking. We have returned from a meet with the Persians a few days ago and I have seen for myself the numbers swelling the Persian ranks and it increases all the time. What we have, we need here.’

  ‘Zabdas is right,’ Odenathus confirmed. ‘We cannot spare you the men.’

  The smile disappeared from Ballista’s face and for a moment I saw a man of greed always set on acquiring what he wanted.

  ‘You cannot or you will not?’

  Odenathus paused a moment before speaking. ‘I regret that I cannot march with you against Rome. If you decide to march, you must do so alone. But I would implore you to reconsider before Rome hears of your rising rebellion. We have achieved so much, you and I, when we joined forces and worked together—’

  ‘And we can achieve so much more,’ Ballista interrupted.

  ‘We pushed the Persians back and regained land that we have not known for many years here in Syria. We have stability of a sort but I must maintain that. There is work still to be done, work that is always present where a frontier exists. I have no wall, no sea, to separate the sands of Syria from the lands of Persia. I have only rivers and dust and nothing to stop Shapur but the blood and sweat and swords of men.’

  ‘And if I were emperor you would have the men you need to do just that.’ Quietus spoke as though it was obvious. As if he could provide anything required. And when no one replied he said, ‘Syria would crawl with soldiers enough for you to defeat the Persians thrice over. They cannot come if they are all dead.’

  ‘If you succeed I would hope that we can work together as we have done in the past,’ Odenathus said. ‘A strong force here would be most welcome.’

  ‘If you do not stand with us, if we are unsuccessful because you will not advance on Rome, who knows what will become of Syria as the powers shift,’ Quietus replied.

  ‘I would take a care of whom you make an enemy,’ I said.

  ‘There is no need to speak of such things,’ Ballista replied. ‘We are all gentlemen here – and of course you, Zenobia. I wish for us to work together once more, and achieve, as you said, so much, and so much more. You want a peace such as we had a hundred years ago. I could give you that peace.’

  Odenathus shook his head.

  ‘You have an emperor’s treasury and a few soldiers who have fought well, but they are not enough. I know those men, remember. My soldiers fought beside them for many months. They are good and individually strong, but their numbers are low and they have suffered much plague and war. How long will your coin last until they change their allegiance for something better?’

  A servant stooped into the tent and bowed before us all.

  ‘Apologies, I have a message for the Queen.’

  Odenathus waved him forward and Zenobia took from him a scroll. The servant shuffled backwards and left.

  ‘The men want change, Odenathus,’ Ballista went on, ignoring the interruption. ‘They are loyal to me and to my cause. They have seen what we can achieve together, without Valerian. They have witnessed both my leadership skills and yours, and they know Quietus and his father, Macrianus, as highly capable generals. Think how many more now under Gallienus’ command would see another in his place.’

  ‘Do you truly think you can succeed?’

  Odenathus and Ballista continued the exchange. I watched Zenobia. She carefully broke the seal on the scroll, unrolled the delicate papyrus, and scanned the contents without uttering a word. She reached the bottom of the scroll and read it once more, her brow furrowed.

  ‘Who is it from?’ I murmured.

  She shook her head, rolled up the scroll and listened once more to the exchange between Odenathus and Ballista.

  ‘There are many who have attempted to usurp the emperor. Many whom Gallienus has since defeated,’ Odenathus said. ‘Trebellianus, I am told, was killed by his own men.’

&nb
sp; ‘A man who should never have been raised to the throne,’ Ballista said. ‘You forget, Odenathus, I know Rome well and I know the corruption within.’

  ‘And you would have it set to rights?’

  ‘I would see a better man save it.’

  ‘The Empire’s problems are more than just one man,’ Zenobia said. ‘They are caused by centuries of choices and decisions, promises and oaths, battles lost and won. Time holds much blame, for there is never enough of it and it cannot be contained or forced. To bring down one man and replace him with another will not see change in a day or a month or even a year.’

  ‘And yet you brought down Valerian,’ Ballista said, his voice sympathetic and explanatory. ‘Syria changed after just one battle because of what you did. Would you not stand now beside me and see his son meet the same fate? You did it once, why not again?’

  ‘What is to say that Gallienus is the same man as his father? He faces an inheritance left by generations of predecessors. You will likely struggle to hold together the Empire just as he does. He does not fail, but neither does he win the wars raging around him. What is to say you would not fail so utterly where he holds true and strong? Why should we back you with no guarantee of your success? Think what would happen,’ she said, pointing the scroll at him in strength of her point, ‘if you lost and we were seen to have supported you. Gallienus would crush us in the wake of your defeat and we would be too weak to stand and to survive.’

  ‘And if we overthrow him, and you are not seen to support us, think what would happen then,’ Quietus said.

  Ballista and Quietus departed, their efforts at persuasion not enough to change Odenathus’ or Zenobia’s mind. Zenobia handed Odenathus the scroll she had received. He unrolled it and scanned the papyrus.

  ‘Gallienus trusts you,’ he said, his eyes scanning the last words.

  ‘It seems he does,’ she replied.

  ‘May I see it,’ I said, reaching out for the scroll.

  Odenathus handed it to me.

  To Julia Aurelia Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra

  From Publius Licinus Egnatius Gallienus, Emperor of Rome

  Greetings!

  I hope this correspondence finds you well. Rumours abound you have a son. How blessed you must feel in the knowledge that you have brought into this world a boy. I am pleased for you.

  It has been some time since we last made contact. I do so now at a time when I need you most. I will not insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise, and make no effort to hide my motives.

  Your husband has informed me of the pressures in the east and the uprising now occurring in the face of my father’s death. I would like to think I am a man who knows people, who can read them and their desires. Where I appreciate Odenathus could have risen against me himself and with at least some success, I do not think he would, nor I hope would he think to in the future. He is a loyal man, a man who has served Rome well as I ever aim to do myself. I trust him and I would beg that both you and he trust me now. Do not stand with Ballista and his men. That is what I ask of you. I am sure Ballista has pleaded his cause, his words whispered in the ear of the beautiful queen I know you are, but know this: I am a man who has risen to his position through my father’s ambition and not my own. I did not take the throne because I desired it. I have, in the way so many think right, inherited it. I have also inherited a great deal of problems, for every frontier is in peril, every corner of the Empire rising up, folding in upon itself, threatened. You, I think, understand this. I need men like Odenathus and I need women like you to stand in the face of the threats and see what we have protected and saved, for if we do not stand united then we shall all fall to the enemies at our gates.

  For the sake of the Empire and our friendship, have faith that I stand by you as if I were in Syria myself and upon the same sands.

  Furthermore, know that I am with you always in thought and concern. You have done great deeds in pushing the Persians back but you are weak from months of war and I would not ask that you put yourself in a position weaker still. Ballista’s army is reported to be 30,000 strong. Do not stand against him. If he wishes to march on Rome then let him.

  Usurpation seems a common pastime of late. I am engaged in an attempt to crush the Gallic so-called emperor Postumus at present, a man whose defeat is both in the interest of Rome and also somewhat personal, and so I have despatched a capable cavalry commander, Manius Acilius Aureolus, to see that Ballista never reaches Rome.

  Take care, Zenobia, and let us pray that we shall meet again one day and I can address you in person as the queen you have become.

  Your friend and fellow servant in this world of war,

  Gallienus

  ‘Gallienus asks only what we have already agreed between ourselves,’ Odenathus said.

  The lines on his face relaxed and I felt my own heart lighten at the confirmation we were on the right course.

  ‘He is not a bad man,’ Zenobia said, smiling.

  ‘He is in awe of you,’ I replied. ‘From the first few moments of your meeting you intrigued him, bewitched him. It is to our advantage to keep him on our side.’

  ‘And we are relieved of duty,’ Odenathus said. ‘Gallienus expresses his wish for us not to involve ourselves in any attempt to stop Ballista’s rise to power. I am more than grateful not to have to face a Roman force.’

  CHAPTER 19

  Zabdas – 261 AD

  Wind plucked at my cloak. The spring air was mild and fresh, the ground underfoot firm despite two days of rain. In the distance Emesa stood behind strong walls, a carpet of green and fertile land stretching between the city and the legions which marched now behind Zenobia, Odenathus, Pouja and me.

  I waved an arm overhead, urging the men on, my horse restless in the breeze. Rain began, a fine shower I could barely feel and yet a hand through my hair proved it as wet as the Tigris.

  I looked at Emesa and was awed, as I ever was. It was no Palmyra, it did not worship trade, but it had been a rich city nonetheless. Here the priest kings ruled and the streets overflowed with prayer and men’s thinking was bent by the will of the gods. Every omen was noted. Each event – each bird flying overhead, a mother’s infant turned from the breast, an animal’s death or food spoiled unexpectedly – was interpreted as a sign from the gods.

  Julia Mamaea, son of Emperor Severus Alexander, had seen the Sun God banished from Rome and sent the Black Stone of Elagabal back to Emesa. I wondered now if the people within the walls knew that the stone residing within for more than thirty years was not the true stone, that it had never reached the city, and the priests had lied to cover the truth.

  Soon we were upon the city; far enough from the walls not to succumb to an archer’s aim but close enough for the soldiers on the ramparts to see and acknowledge our presence.

  ‘How many traitors do you think the city holds?’ I asked Odenathus. We heard many rumours but I was curious to know the King’s mind.

  ‘Two or three thousand. Not many, but it could take a while to lay siege to this city even with such a small number.’

  I looked up at the men standing with spears in their hands and helmets encasing their heads, arrows notched on bowstrings. They were Romans, traitors, defeated soldiers. They might hold a city but they held nothing more; not their dignity nor any hope of winning a battle should it come to that. I glanced over my shoulder at the men swelling our own ranks, the well-irrigated land now trodden by the boots of ten thousand Syrian warriors waiting to take Emesa.

  ‘They send a messenger,’ Zenobia said, and as I turned back the city gates swung open enough to allow a lone rider to venture beyond the safety of the walls.

  He came towards us at a casual pace, his horse old and weather-beaten, unbrushed and without a saddle. The rider looked to be in his middle years, grey flecking his otherwise black hair. His clothes were dirty and his beard matted.

  We four rode forward to meet him.

  ‘Greetings,’ Odenathus said.

  ‘You hono
ur us, Lord King. What a fine day this is, the gods send us rain!’

  ‘Indeed they do,’ Odenathus replied. ‘You appear to know who I am, and yet I do not know your name?’

  ‘There can be no mistaking the King of Palmyra and his wife, the infamous Zenobia. I am Dentatus, a poet, a priest and a politician.’ His voice was clipped, light, almost tuneful.

  ‘There may be some godly influence in politics, but I find there is little poetry,’ Odenathus said, smiling.

  ‘There is no god in either,’ Pouja said.

  ‘There can be many gods in both if you know where to look. There is also great music and much dancing for those who open their hearts.’ Dentatus wriggled his dirty bare feet and grinned. ‘There will be dancing in Emesa tonight. Would you join us?’

  ‘Why would I join you when you harbour the pretenders Ballista and Quietus behind your walls? You surely know why we have come?’

  Beyond Dentatus, I saw both gates to the city were now wide open, beckoning us toward the same sanctuary the pretenders sought just weeks ago. Macrianus had marched on Rome without his son and kingmaker. And as Gallienus promised, he had been crushed by the cavalry commander Aureolus in the Balkans. Now we were routing the remainder of their army, those left behind in Syria attempting to rally what remaining support they could. A decisive move on Odenathus’ part, to prove his loyalty to his Empire and his overlord, to secure the faith Gallienus had placed in him and Zenobia, and to ensure the peace he worked so hard for.

  ‘We do not harbour pretenders,’ Dentatus said, frowning, as if the notion confused him. ‘Oh, quite the contrary, we give them to you.’ He waved with a flourish toward the city entrance.

  Sword in hand, pushed from behind by a mass of citizens, their hands eager to see him from their home, a man stumbled forward. We were too far away to see him clearly, but as he regained his feet he walked with composure.

  Closer he came, and as he reached us I recognised the man as Ballista. Kingmaker, pretender, usurper, traitor.