by JD Smith
The crew told me of her beauty. They described her coliseums and temples, the vast trade she saw each year. Each word heightened my excitement.
‘Palmyra has made many a man rich,’ Teymour told me one night, ‘but none so much as Julius Zabdilas.’
We sat in Julius’ cabin, drinking and eating. Many of the crew retired to their beds, others keeping watch above deck.
Julius sat, his eyes resting closed, listening to us talk.
‘We have both profited, Teymour. You share my wealth, you always have,’ he said mildly.
‘Indeed, but you made it,’ Teymour replied.
‘I made it, of course. No man gained anything without a little work. But the gold Palmyra holds comes from King Odenathus’ rule. He makes trading with Rome possible; he exploited the opportunity, keeping trade routes open and safe. We are fortunate. He is a man of practicality and vision.’
Teymour lifted his cup to his lips and drained it, thumped it down onto the table. ‘You rarely speak of the king so well, Julius. You left Palmyra because you could never agree, yet you accept gold from his rule and thank him for it?’
Julius opened his eyes and set down his cup beside Teymour’s. I sat in silence, my presence suddenly unwelcome, the thoughts unsaid between these two men hanging in the space between them.
‘The king and I have our differences, my friend. Indeed, I have earned much gold, but there is no denying that trade through Palmyra has prospered under Odenathus and his father before him. The country was not always so wealthy.’
‘Ha! You should not speak of him so well. People may think that you were friends once.’
Julius looked a little taken aback, hurt, but said nothing. Finally, he sighed as if the argument were an old one.
‘I go to my bed,’ Teymour slurred.
He pushed himself from the table, stumbled out of the cabin door and slammed it behind him.
‘He does not think the king a good one?’
‘No, it is not that. I am unsure myself what Teymour thinks. He does not speak his mind, but judges others. Sometimes I believe he is jealous of the power Odenathus holds, that the people love him for the opportunity he provides and the peace in which they live. Teymour also holds my beliefs which are not the same as the king’s. I sometimes think he would prefer me to turn my back on Odenathus and Palmyra, but I would not. I may disagree with Odenathus on some counts, but I cannot deny that he rules better than most.
‘Come now, enough talk for tonight. We have a long day ahead.’
I bade Julius goodnight and left. Outside, Teymour looked out at the moving water. I joined him, both standing with our backs to the sea, our faces and expressions unlit and unreadable.
From a skin he took a slug of wine, a dribble down his chin, slurred words on a careless tongue.
‘He holds Odenathus in too high a regard,’ he said of Julius.
‘Julius has become rich from trade?’
‘He is a shrewd man, calculating, and knows how to handle business.’ Teymour gave a short laugh. ‘He knows people, the right people.’
‘How long have you been in his service?’
Teymour stood up straight and turned to face me, swaying, unsteady, wine slopping on the dry deck.
‘I am not in his service. We are equals in trade.’
Railing at my back, I willed it to be further away, troubled by the anger in Teymour’s face.
He grunted. ‘You are afraid, boy. I see it, I smell it. You should not show it. Take warning from me, there are many who would take advantage of you.’
‘No more than they have before,’ I said, tone curt, hostile.
‘Then you should know better than to let your fear show.’
With no retort and his words heavy on my mind, I turned to look out at the water.
‘A couple more days and we reach the mouth of Aqaba and head up to the port at Al’Aqabah. From there we travel by land across Nabataea and north into Syria. And there, my little friend, we cross into the Empire of Rome,’ Teymour said. And under his breath: ‘Robbing bastards.’
I knew of Rome, the city whose lands stretched across half the world. I had lived once under the influence of Roman law, the same laws that had done nothing when my parents were killed and I was taken a slave. One day, I thought, I would like to go there and see the splendours spoken of by admirers, the greatness I did not know. For now we sailed on, the sea still and black beneath us. But despite the calmness of the water, my excitement of reaching Palmyra burned.
I felt her drawing nearer. I could smell her on the breeze.
Days passed and the port of Al’Aqabah emerged from the horizon. The sour mood of a crew confined aboard ship lifted at the sight. Teymour appeared more jovial, though his sour mood could not be fully erased. Julius and I were light of heart, as if we both felt a return to home.
The port differed to Yemen. More buildings cluttered the water’s edge, the place smelled of warm, welcoming land, not of sea or stale cargo. Teymour waited aboard ship, impatient for permission to unload cargo.
‘Would you like to join me?’ Julius said, gesturing towards the town.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I have camels stabled here. I am hoping they have not been sold for a night with a whore and a cup of ale. Come, they are on the outskirts of town. We need to move quickly. I do not wish to stay here longer than required. Not with this volume of cargo.’
He beckoned two of the crew join us.
Julius leaned on a staff as we walked, a limp in his stride I had not noticed in our time aboard ship.
‘This way,’ he said.
Streets narrowed, darker and cluttered, opening onto market squares or leading to what seemed like nowhere before joining another, larger street. I became lost in the maze of passages and alleyways and my own curiosity. I saw places, lots of places, wandering as if I should not have a care; as a boy — a man — who did not have a mark upon his arm. I became aware that I was not truly free. My master had not freed me, Julius had not purchased me. What right did I have to call myself a freedman? I should not have been a slave, I told myself over and again.
The port was large, but the houses and buildings soon grew thin, the smell of shit and dirt subsided. I spotted a small farm ahead. Looking back, I saw the vast spread of buildings, ship masts teetering above, blue water beyond.
The farm comprised a small house and a few outbuildings, a high wall, and beyond an expanse of cropfields.
A dog barked. Julius’ pace slowed.
Just feet from the farmhouse and the door swung open. A man lumbered down stone steps.
‘What is it, boy? Who is out there?’
He paused and appeared to stare straight at us. We walked nearer and he shouted no question of who we were or acknowledged our approach. Sunlight illuminated his large physique and straggling grey hair.
‘It is I, Julius.’
‘Julius? I should have known. I can smell your sweet perfume. Has no one told you it is a woman’s scent? I despair of you. Too worldly now, my boy. Seen too many things and taken a fancy to others’ way of living. You have taken your time. Been gone a while, you have.’ He stopped, thumped a nearby wall with a fisted hand, and cursed. ‘There are others with you.’ He pointed a finger. ‘You should have said.’
‘There are only three others. Two of my men and a boy.’
‘A boy?’ He took a step forward as he spoke, as if closer proximity would assist his sight.
‘Indeed. Egyptian.’
‘His name?’
‘Zabdas,’ Julius replied.
‘Light!’ the man replied. ‘Yes, I thought I could see light. That is how I knew you were coming; that there were more of you.’
Julius walked up to him, clasped both shoulders and kissed his cheek. ‘A hope growing in the darkness.’
‘I met the other two before?’
‘You did indeed.’
The expressions of the two men beside me remained impassive.
Th
e old man grimaced. ‘I wish you had come sooner.’
‘What is it?’ Julius asked.
‘Come inside.’
I took a pace forward, but the man’s eyes fixed on me. I stopped.
‘Wait here, Zabdas,’ Julius said. ‘I will not be long.’
Julius’ men and I stood in silence. After a time my legs began to ache and I sat on a bench in the courtyard of the farm. The two men followed my lead and sat too. I knew both by sight. They were equal in height, build and facial structure, so similar that I supposed them brothers.
‘I am Shahin and this is Ramtin. My cousin.’
‘Zabdas,’ I replied.
‘We know,’ Shahin said.
‘Who is he?’ I asked, referring to the blind man.
‘Navid,’ Ramtin said.
‘How does he know Julius?’
‘Julius always leaves camels here. They have known one another for many years. Rumour has it they fought together, though Julius does not speak of those times.’
‘Fought?’ I could not imagine Julius, eloquent and gentlemanlike, brawling. Then I realised they meant he was a man of the army.
‘Julius was a stratego, a general of the Palmyrene army. Navid fought with him in Egypt before he was taken captive by a Persian warband. They tortured him and took his eyes.’
The two cousins complained that the night chill would soon be upon us. I sat, silent and thoughtful, contemplating Julius’ past. He had been a stratego. Not once in our weeks aboard ship had he mentioned this position. Neither Shahin nor Ramtin knew anything more. Teymour had not talked of it either and I wondered why it had not passed his lips, why he kept quiet. I felt betrayal, as if he should have told me, and wondered at the connection of Egypt … how many years had it been since he fought there? Was his connection more than a military position, or could he conceal a secret? That perhaps his tie to me was closer than that of a nephew …
‘We will end up having to stay here,’ Shahin said.
‘He cannot be much longer,’ Ramtin replied. ‘He wanted to make haste and reach home.’
‘Should we ensure all is well?’ I said, but as the words parted the door of the farmhouse opened. Julius stepped out into the weak light.
‘Shahin. Ramtin. Go back to the ship. Come back and fetch the camels in the morning.’
‘Where will you be?’ Shahin asked.
‘No questions,’ Julius snapped. ‘Teymour is to command the transport of goods into Palmyra. You will take orders from him. Tell him I have already paid the captain for his services, so not to yield more should he claim otherwise. You need to bring another two men to fetch the camels. Navid has no one to spare and I am taking two. Split the goods a little heavier amongst the rest.
‘Zabdas,’ he said. ‘We will spend the night here. Tomorrow you come with me.’ His words a command, not a request.
‘Do we still head for Palmyra?’
‘We do, but I wish to see my family first. Your family, Zabdas. They live in a town no more than two days’ ride from Palmyra. Once I have —’
‘You were asked to head straight for the city,’ Navid said, voice loud, authoritative. I would not have dared speak to Julius so, but he did not raise his voice nor curse the man he had once fought beside.
‘My family come first,’ Julius replied softly.
Navid’s head twitched, his eyes gaping holes, face riddled with concern. ‘So be it. Ensure it is known I passed the message on.’
Julius nodded. ‘We leave with the sun.’
He dismissed the cousins and we followed Navid into the house. Would the captain attempt to double charge for his services? I wondered, and imagined Teymour’s face if he tried.
Sleep evaded me that night. Julius turned every so often, restless and troubled, sighing every now and then. Eventually he left his bed and stood outside. I watched him through the window, quite still, gazing out at the farmlands. I wanted to join him, to know why he had never mentioned his being a general, the reason he no longer served the army; he was in his middle years, not old enough for retirement, still a friend of the king, no disgrace I could summon thought of.
He paced, over and over, the ground dark and footsteps quiet. Lost in thought.
It was almost morning when he returned to our room, took a small comb from his pack and drew it through his dark, glossy hair, then replaced the comb together with other belongings and turned to me.
‘We must go now.’
I had seen many a camel on the dockside, the better specimens fetching huge sums of denariis. These camels had cost a prince’s fortune.
I mounted. Never having ridden before I found the sway alarming, but the plodding soon settled into an easy rhythm.
Blankets of golden sand climbed and dropped across the horizon. Blue sky met the hard edge of the plain and wispy trails of white cloud hinted a rare promise of rain. I had seen landscapes to rival these many times, but hidden beneath years of slavery they refused to form in my mind. Caravans lined and blocked roads heading north. Camels and carts moving painstakingly slow, yet with Julius at my side I did not worry about hostile nomads I knew thronged these roads.
Julius barely spoke, but still he smiled and gestured for me to take a sip from a skin each time he caught my eye. Time passed and I saw the deep lines of worry soften as his urgency to see his family grew into excitement. And with this gradual change my courage, too, heightened. I dared to ask the question long harboured.
We stopped in the desert, with darkness for company and a fire of camel dung to keep us warm. We had food enough to last, though without adequate means of cooking it was limited and fresh fruit scarce.
‘Julius?’
‘What is it, my friend?’ His excitement no longer hid his weariness. He adjusted himself and rubbed his knee. Nearby, the camels mewed.
‘Navid said to travel straight to Palmyra. What did he mean?’
Julius’ eyes flickered orange in the firelight.
‘I thought you might ask. You took your time. I fear you lay trust too easily in people, Zabdas.’
‘You have never given me a reason not to trust,’ I countered.
‘It was not criticism. It is an endearing quality, and one that often comes with youth.’
I looked back at the fire.
Julius laughed. ‘I am honoured by your trust. And hope that I have earned it.’
I continued to stare at the flames, unsure if it was the fire’s heat I felt on my face.
‘So, you wish to know more of Navid’s words? He told me that Odenathus, king of Palmyra, sent men to track and hasten my return. They left word with Navid that, as soon as my feet touched these shores, I was to head straight for the city. You look worried, Zabdas?’
‘You see your family first. Will that not anger the king?’
‘Undoubtedly. I owe Odenathus nothing. My family comes before anything he wishes of me.’
‘But why does he need to see you so urgently?’
‘My reason for travelling to south Arabia was not to fetch goods. I correct myself. It was not my main reason. That was to find you, of course. But I have also been in search of the Black Stone of Elagabal. Have you heard of it?’
No worshipper, but I had heard of the Sun God Elagabal, as I had heard of many gods associated with black stones. Elagabal was most dominant of the gods in Syria at that time. And the Black Stone of Elagabal the most powerful.
‘I have heard. The priests of Yemen claim the Black Stone is in Emesa.’
Julius looked into his lap and said, ‘That does not surprise me. They say we merchants strive only for gold, yet they use the gods’ presence to take it from others. But you are right, most believe the stone to be in Emesa; a secret long harboured by the rulers and priests of Syria alike. Julia Mamaea was the young mother of Emperor Severus Alexander of Rome. It is believed she ruled through her child, unyielding to any but her own desires. With more influence on the dynamics of the Empire than her son, she had the Sun God banished from Rome more than
thirty years ago. And the stone returned to Emesa.’
‘It is not there?’
‘The Black Stone never reached the city. The priests awaited its return but it never came.’
Julius adjusted his position again and eased his limbs against the fire’s heat.
‘But why? Why claim they had it when they did not?’
‘The Syrian people placed such faith in the Stone that I believe the priests felt masking its disappearance their only option. They produced another in its place and claimed it to be that of the great Elagabal.’
‘What happened to the true Stone?’
‘There are rumours. Odenathus believes that if we have the true stone we will be protected from any threat to these lands; the Persians, Tanukh, other tribes. He thinks peace can be found in holding once more the Stone of the Sun God.’
I wondered how true that could be, how peace might be found in a stone you could hold in your hands.
‘And you do not?’
He shook his head, looked out across the dark plain.
‘Odenathus is influenced by his mother, much the same as Julia Mamaea influenced her son. Only Odenathus’ mother has worshipped Elagabal for many years, with no desire to banish him. It is she who desires the stone, playing to her son’s weakness: his passion and need to rid Syria of the Persian threat forever.’ Julius sighed and stared into the fire. ‘I fear he is driven for the wrong reasons. I doubt even his mother believes the stone will actually defeat the Persians. She influences Odenathus for her own ends. Its only real value is in the peoples’ belief that it is here.’
‘And they already believe that,’ I said.
‘Indeed.’
‘And still you looked for it? Surely the king listens to others?’
‘He used to. But after his wife’s death he became more reserved in accepting counsel. Now he prefers the whispers of his mother and her associate, the city commander. I left court over eight years ago because Odenathus’ decisions and motives became very different from my own. I fear I would be too old to stand as general now. I enjoyed those years, the frontier and responsibility that came with leading arms. Now Odenathus requests my presence in Rome and to follow whispers of the Black Stone’s location.’