by JD Smith
I read the Tituli. The slaves came from Iberia, Gallia, the Balkans, Egypt, Africa, Dacia, Parthia, their ailments shown beneath. And then I saw the origin Syrian and beneath Servi poanae. Criminal.
Zenobia placed a hand on my shoulder, frowning, as if she sensed something wrong.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘I have heard the name Mareades before. My father spoke of him. A man of Antioch.’
‘What did your father say?’
She peered at the slaves. ‘He knew him. He came to Palmyra representing Antioch many times. And later, he traded with him. He claimed him trustworthy.’
‘And he has been put to slavery?’ Zabbai said.
The noise of the crowd grew louder. Some threw stones. Soldiers moved to stop them but to no avail. This man was not simply a slave, but a hated one. Mareades raised his arms for protection, naked flesh bruised and cut, head shaved.
The mob screamed.
I could not watch and turned my head. Three slaves already sold.
‘Purchase them,’ I said to Zenobia. ‘I beg you.’
‘You do not know what he has done,’ Zabbai replied. ‘What any of them have done, seven criminals amongst them.’
Zenobia said, ‘He was once senator of Antioch. I heard he worked tirelessly throughout his career in a bid to secure lucrative, fair trade through this city. That he helped many merchants establish themselves in business.’
Beside us, a man in gaudy green robes, a priest king I suspected, shouted over the din of the crowd, ‘You know nothing of dealings in this city, girl!’
‘I did not claim to,’ Zenobia replied. ‘But how does a man renowned for doing good, and with a reputation of honesty, find himself a slave?’
His pinched face and small, greedy eyes narrowed. ‘And who are you, to question what this man has done?’
‘Zenobia Zabdilas, consul of Palmyra.’
‘This man was found guilty of embezzlement.’
Zenobia ignored him. ‘I gave you my name, but you have not shown the same courtesy.’
He threw back his shoulders. ‘I am a senator of Antioch and a priest of Bel,’ he said.
‘I know what you are, I asked who you are.’
The priest glowered at Zenobia and spat silent words before composing himself. ‘My name … is Haddudan.’
The sale stopped, the crowd listening to our exchange.
‘Mareades gave my family shelter when our house burnt to the ground last year,’ one man shouted.
‘And he sent his own doctor to my wife when she was ill,’ said another.
Mareades’ wife, clutching her son, nodded eager agreement. ‘That is right. He did. He is an honest man. He stole nothing. Not from anyone. Please … please …’ She cried harder.
‘I have the documentation that proves his guilt,’ Haddudan spat. ‘His punishment is slavery.’
‘I will buy the rest,’ Zenobia shouted to the Venalitius, who nodded.
‘6,000 denarii,’ he said.
‘Agreed.’ To Haddudan she said, ‘He is my slave now, and I would like to know what documentation you have?’
‘Be careful, Zenobia,’ Zabbai murmured.
Haddudan paused and wiped sweat from his temple. ‘There are transactions made in his name, in the city and temple ledgers.’
‘This man is a trained bookkeeper; one of the best, most experienced that I know,’ Zenobia said, turning to me. ‘Is it possible transactions in public records could be fraudulent?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘His name could quite easily have been put against any number of transactions. Unless you have proof the senator signed for the amounts recorded? That he has the monies under dispute?’
The crowd changed as quickly as the winds change, more and more adding murmurs of agreement, the balance shifting to the probability of innocence.
Haddudan glowed with fury. He gave a sharp look to the hungry spectators and gestured we follow him.
The slaves were lead from the platform. Zenobia tossed a bag of coins to the Venalitius.
‘Make sure they are ready to leave the city,’ she said to Zabbai.
We wasted time. Part of me wished we had not stopped. We should have headed to Palmyra, informed the king of Rome’s decision. I told myself the army was on its way no matter how long we paused. Yet the sight of the men on the platform, stripped naked, their origin and ailments hanging from their necks, sickened me.
I touched the slave mark upon my arm. Knew we did right. That Mareades and the other slaves, guilty or not, criminals or not, were now under Zenobia’s protection. But did we need to know if he was guilty? I thought not. I did not matter now, but Zenobia was determined.
She followed the priest purposefully; her stride up the temple steps in time with his. We walked beneath colonnades and entered the cool gloom of the temple. Bel’s temple. People wandered the pillared halls, as large as those in Palmyra, ceilings decorated with human forms and geometric patterns.
In his own temple, the priest turned with renewed confidence.
‘That man stole from the very gods who protect him.’
‘How?’ Zenobia asked.
‘He had access to the city records, made fraudulent transactions within them. Signed them himself! Once discovered, I looked into those records myself. I can vouch for his guilt.’
Haddudan pursed his lips, drew himself up to his full height.
‘As Zabdas can testify, that does not mean to say it was him. How many others have access to the records you keep?’
‘Of course it was him!’
‘I do not believe you can prove it,’ Zenobia said.
‘The citizens of Antioch must have their justice. They have been robbed, each and every one of them!’
Zenobia’s brow furrowed. ‘And yet, the documents you have could be forged?’
‘I assure you. I have seen the evidence myself. It was Mareades!’
Another priest approached Haddudan. A few murmured words and Haddudan excused himself, moved aside to talk with his colleague.
‘Haddudan covers his own dealings,’ she said. ‘Of that I am sure.’
‘I agree. But what is the point of this? Mareades is under your protection now. Free him.’
‘You forget his reputation, Zabdas. Freeing him will not clear his name.’ She sighed. ‘But we cannot clear his name without proof of the guilty party. All I have done is create doubt in the minds of the people standing in the forum.’
Haddudan returned. Zenobia’s face hardened.
I admired what she had done, that she would try to save a man, his life and his reputation, on a whispered breath from me. She did not care what people thought of her, she chose her own path, made her own decisions.
‘I am not convinced Mareades was responsible for embezzling public and temple funds. The people outside vouch for his character, and more in Palmyra would do the same.’
Haddudan gave an exasperated huff. ‘Then what would you have me do?’
‘Clear his name.’
Haddudan’s eyes widened, his face grew red, and his mouth fixed in a thin line.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I will not agree to this. The mob will want a man held accountable, and it must be him.’
‘Speak with the other senators. Ask their opinion,’ I said.
He looked about to argue.
‘All right.’
Zenobia and I walked back outside, the sun bright and the crowds dispersed. My first time in Antioch and already I could smell corruption. The lives of men riding on the greed and lies of others.
‘I have given them food and drink,’ Zabbai said as we approached.
Mareades looked across at us, a broken man, slumped upon a bench, back hunched. The letter F branded upon his cheek.
‘Who marked him?’ Zenobia asked.
‘The Venalitii, before I could stop them. The priest king’s orders, that he be branded following sale,’ Zabbai said.
The burn wept and I could have wept too. No coin or clearing of name could
remove the mark. He could not bind it from sight as I did. He would live with it for the rest of his life.
‘Fucking priests,’ Zenobia said, and I recoiled at her words, that a curse could leave her lips as easily as it left the lips of soldiers. The injustice of what had happened lacing each letter.
‘What did the priest say?’ Zabbai asked.
‘He speaks with the senators. I had hoped to clear his name, but now …? What would it matter? A cleared name would make no difference. He is branded a criminal.’
Mareades looked up. ‘I have told them that I am innocent.’ His voice croaked, but his words were proud.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘We are trying to help. You are under our protection now.’
‘We are leaving,’ Zenobia said. ‘You cannot stay here. Do you wish to take your family with you?’
Mareades looked blankly back. Tears welled in his eyes as he shook his head.
We did not wait for Haddudan to speak with the senators. We walked out of Antioch and met with our escort, nine slaves to our number.
A safe distance from the city walls, Zenobia said to Mareades, ‘I had no choice but to leave. We could not clear your name, and if we could, what then? You are branded a criminal and a slave. My father once spoke well of you, and Zabdas knows what it is to be wrongly taken a slave. You are a free man now; branded but free. It is all I can do.’
‘I cannot go back,’ Mareades whimpered again. ‘I am a criminal.’
No one replied.
‘What am I to do? Antioch was my home. I have lost my family. I can make nothing of myself now.’
Zabbai cast him incredulous look. ‘Zenobia can always sell you to another. She bought you after all.’
Mareades did not acknowledge his words. ‘Can nothing more be done? Can I not plead my case? Perhaps King Odenathus would speak on my behalf?’
‘Are you wishing you had not bothered?’ Zabbai hissed to me.
‘A little,’ I said, a weak grin on my face. ‘What now? Zenobia has given him his freedom.’
Zabbai scratched the back of his neck. ‘He could come back to Palmyra. Though there is nothing Odenathus could do for him. He will not be welcome amongst the city people. He is marked. The only place for Mareades now is with the nomads.’
Two days later, we parted company. Mareades uttered no word of thanks. Every day his temper grew, until Zabbai suggested he find his own way. The hills called him now. I watched as he walked toward the mountains and wondered if he would live long. I prayed to the gods he would make a new life. Could I have proved him innocent, if I had investigated further, pushed the priest king further? Should Zenobia have left seeing the mark upon his cheek? My slave mark warmed beneath the leather cuff and I was grateful I had survived life as a slave.
Mareades disappeared from sight
‘Ungrateful bastard,’ Zabbai muttered.
‘It matters not,’ Zenobia said. ‘He might have been innocent.’
‘It was not proven,’ Zabbai said.
Zenobia made no response.
‘I thought the politics of Syria might be simpler than in Rome,’ Aurelia said. She linked my arm, watching the former senator grow ever smaller.
‘I do not think politics is ever simple,’ I said.
Zenobia smiled. She had seen Rome as I had; the pollution of rich men’s greed, the lies and corruption, loyalties bought and sold.
I was tired. We were mere days from Palmyra and I was anxious to enter the city walls once more. I pondered on whether Gallienus had been calm, collected and a hero of our cause, or had done us a grave injustice, nominating his father to lead Rome’s legions east. Valerian would be gathering and marching thousands of men in our footsteps. It was everything we had been instructed to request, everything we set out to achieve, and yet I felt uneasy. Julius had made the same requests to emperors like Valerian. Where he had found rejection, Zenobia uncovered success. What price would we pay?
On reaching Palmyra I would send word to Julius. Zenobia’s strength would be known to him; how she engineered a meeting with the co-emperor and secured his trust and belief in our cause. That she had saved Mareades from slavery, a man Julius himself knew and respected and trusted. And shed her childhood to become a woman. Julius would be proud, I thought. Of his daughter and everything she achieved. Everything she might yet achieve.
I looked over my shoulder at the places we left behind, never seeing the Roman legions marching, crossing the lands as we did. My heart warmed as the sands became familiar. We crested the same slopes I had crossed more than two years before. Soon we would see the protective walls of Palmyra on the horizon.
Our pace quickened faster still. I described every corner of my home to Aurelia. She hung on every word as I told her of the beauty within, and my excitement rolled with the golden slopes.
Evening, the sun falling behind us, Aurelia joined me on my left and Zenobia fell in to my right as Palmyra emerged from the horizon. She grew, spreading out, dominating the sands. And a red glow lit the sky with vibrant streaks.
Zenobia turned to me and the smile on her face was the very same as that on the first day I met her; full of happiness.
‘We are home.’
CHAPTER 14
Zabdas - 258 AD
Palmyra, the finest oasis in the east, full of rich desires and antiquities. For everything was the same as before: the stalls, the marble-paved streets, the same variety of people and animals roaming the squares. I inhaled deeply the scent of home and feared leaving again. I feared never returning.
Zenobia gazed at buildings and people, her face relaxed and lips parted in appreciation and renewed awe. Her once braided hair hung loose around her face, the absence of her ladies to dress it the cause. Where I was a fool for familiarity, Zenobia had seen the necessity of leaving. Not once had she complained of going to Italia or spoken of home. I had pined for Palmyra for months, despite my craving to be with Julius, away from the city. After everything we had done, Odenathus might now contemplate allowing me south.
Aurelia admired her surroundings, as I had when I first came to Palmyra. She must desire this place, because I could not bear her leaving, and as I saw her excited face my doubts evaporated.
I wanted to explore Palmyra as if for the first time. To walk each street, wash in the baths, pray in the temples, wield my sword in the training grounds. But there were more pressing matters.
Zenobia, Zabbai, Aurelia and I walked up the steps of the palace. They had not changed either. The evening sun brushed the steps known by thousands of feet.
Worod, the city commander, and not Odenathus, sat in the great hall, his small frame perched in the king’s chair. Mina, Odenathus’ mother, stood beside him, speaking in hushed tones before noticing our presence.
‘Ah, Zabbai, you return from the east and with those favoured by our king!’ Worod dipped his head in acknowledgement. Beside him, Mina adopted a stone-face.
‘Commander.’ Zenobia gave a curt bow. Zabbai and I did the same.
Worod narrowed his eyes, blinked, and smiled. ‘A safe journey home, I hope? Your mission, was it successful?’
‘We have the reinforcements we require,’ Zenobia confirmed.
Worod leaned forward in his seat. ‘We do?’ his voice tripping with surprise.
‘At this moment Valerian Caesar himself marches Roman legions to our aid.’ Although level, Zenobia’s words echoed triumph. She proved Rome would listen and provide the east with the defence it required to push the Persian forces back, and no one could strip her of that achievement.
‘They come?’ Worod murmured.
‘Indeed, they come,’ Zabbai said.
‘But, by the gods, this means thousands of men march to aid Syria.’ Worod scratched his chin, his face lighting up. ‘I must congratulate you all. A task well accomplished.’
‘Where is Odenathus?’ Zenobia asked.
‘My son is at the frontier, with the prince,’ Mina said, her eyes narrow and her chin high.
; Zenobia responded with a nod. ‘Have you word from my father?’ she asked the commander.
Worod shifted in his seat and scratched the nape of his neck. ‘I have. News arrived a week ago. I do not know what the note contains for I have not seen it myself.’
‘Then let me see it.’
Worod hesitated. ‘That is not possible.’
‘Why is that?’ Zenobia’s composure began to dissolve and she clutched her fists at her sides.
‘Odenathus read the note, but did not speak of it.’
‘And the king left no message for you to pass on to me?’
I put a hand on Zenobia’s arm. ‘Zabbai and I must report to the king. I need to confirm you are safely returned to Palmyra. We can retrieve your father’s words.’
Our company rested. We sent word to the frontier that Roman armies were on the move. Five days went by before we set out. Nisibis had not been recovered, and our fears were confirmed.
Both Carrhae and Edessa had been captured, burned and pillaged.
Odenathus and Herodes had made a defence on the road to Carrhae, but were forced back to Zeugma; the only force between the Persians, Asia Minor and the Empire. We were told they could not hold much longer. The aid of the empire must come soon, or the east would crumble.
Zenobia declared she would join us. We had travelled together to Rome. She could match any man in our company as she rode out to meet Gallienus, and so any disagreement I might have had was futile.
Zenobia sent a messenger to Meskenit and Hebony. After months without contact, they hurried to Palmyra to see her before we left for the frontier.
I stood in the palace, not knowing what to say. I did not meet Meskenit’s eyes; unable to bear the hurt at her husband returning to war. He fought the Tanukh, Teymour was injured and now Zenobia would travel to another frontier.
Hebony came without her husband. She beamed as she saw me, and I savoured the features so like Julius’. I hugged her, realising as I did so her belly protruded.
‘You are with child again?’ I said, and could not have been happier. It was all she wanted, her husband and her family, and it grew strong.
‘I am.’