Zenobia from their sight. They brought her to the edge of the camp that faced the main gates of Palmyra, and there she saw a raised platform with a small tent upon it. They led her up a small flight of steps behind the little tent and then into it, leaving her there. Within the little enclosure Aurelian awaited her. He raised one blond eyebrow at the sight of her and then he chuckled.
'Thought you to irritate me by wearing mourning, goddess? I believe your gown an excellent choice, for it implies defeat. Defeat for Palmyra.'
Her heart sank. He was right, but she had not thought of it that way and neither had old Bab. She had indeed sought to annoy him by wearing a plain, black kalasiris and no jewelry other than her royal circlet of golden vine leaves atop her unbound black hair. 'Will you allow me nothing, Roman?' she said low.
'It is dangerous to
Her hand flashed out, catching him off guard as it slapped his face. Instantly rage suffused his features, and grasping her arm, he brutally forced it behind her. 'Were it not necessary for me to present you publicly to your people, and your son in a few moments,' he said through gritted teeth, 'I should beat you. Never raise your hand to me again, goddess!'
'You are hurting me, Roman,' she spat back, not daring to struggle for fear the movement would break her arm.
The anger drained from his face, and he released his hold on her. 'I give only one warning, goddess,' he said coldly. 'Stay here and do not move. You will know when I want you.'
He exited the tent, and she was left alone to listen to the sounds whose sources she could not see. She could hear the movement of many feet, the undertone of voices, and then suddenly silence followed by the flourish of trumpets, which was answered by Palmyran trumpets from atop Sie city walls. Zenobia's heart quickened. She heard Aurelian's voice in the clear air.
'People of Palmyra, I am Aurelian. Hear me well! I have now in my possession your rebel queen, Zenobia. Surrender to me, and I will spare not only her, but all of you and your city as well. I will not impose fines upon you, for the fault has not been yours but that of your overproud queen. You have until this time tomorrow to make your decision.'
Zenobia felt her anger rise. The cheek of the Roman! Over-proud, indeed! Then she heard the voice of Cassius Longinus.
'You say you will spare the queen, Emperor of the Romans, but surely you will not leave her here to rule in her city. What say you?'
'Who is that man?' Zenobia heard Aurelian demand of Gaius Cicero.
'His name is Cassius Longinus. He is the queen's chief councillor.'
'Not the king's?'
'I do not know. He came to Palmyra from Athens many years ago to serve Zenobia. Possibly he also advises the young king. I can see the boy standing near him. You could answer him without losing your dignity, Caesar.'
'Your queen, Cassius Longinus,' Aurelian said, 'will not be allowed to rule Palmyra ever again. She is now a prisoner of the empire. She will go to Rome to be marched in my triumph. Afterward, I do not know. It will be up to the senate, but if the citizens of Palmyra are once again loyal citizens of Rome the senate could be merciful.'
'And who will rule Palmyra, Roman?' was Longinus's next query. 'Will our king be allowed to keep his place if we surrender to you?'
'Possibly,' Aurelian replied. 'King Vaballathus has never shown disloyalty to Rome, only his mother has.'
'You claim to have our queen, Aurelian,' came Longinus's voice once more, 'but how do we know that you speak the truth? Show us Zenobia of Palmyra so we may know for certain.'
Suddenly the tent top above her was pulled away and the body of the small enclosure fell away to reveal Zenobia to all those who stood upon Palmyra's walls. 'Here is your queen!' Aurelian declared dramatically.
Zenobia knew that she would have but one chance, and so at the top of her lungs she cried out for all to hear, 'Do not surrender, my son! I die gladly for Palmyra!'
At Aurelian's signal a legionnaire leapt forward to silence her by placing one arm about her waist while a hand was clamped firmly over her mouth. Zenobia did not bother to struggle. She had said what she had to say, and it had had its effect. Upon the walls of the great oasis city the populace began to chant her name softly at first, and then louder, and louder until it became a roar of defiance.
'Take her back to my tent,' the Roman emperor commanded angrily.
Zenobia pulled away from the offending hand over her mouth, and laughed mockingly at Aurelian. 'We are even now, Roman. You won last night's battle by brute force, but I have won this morning's by better tactics.' Then she easily shook off the legionnaire's grip. 'Let go of me, pig! I am capable of returning to my quarters without your aid.' To prove her point she walked swiftly away.
Gaius Cicero looked at the emperor. 'Will they surrender, I wonder?' he said quietly. 'You see how she holds the populace within the palm of her hand.'
'The decision isn't theirs, but rather the young king's,' the emperor returned irritably. 'He will surrender if for no other reason than his mother told him not to. My spies tell me that he resents the queen and very much wants to be his own man. He will open the gates tomorrow. Wait and see if I am not right, Gaius.'
'The men are restless, Caesar. What will your orders be for today?'
'I think it best that they drill for several hours beneath this charming sun. It will take the meanness from them. Afterward they will return to their quarters, where they will spend the rest of the day polishing their gear for tomorrow's triumphal entry into Palmyra. Only when they have completed these tasks may they have some time to themselves. Encourage them to visit the whores, for I want no rape tomorrow when we enter Palmyra. A city of resentful rebels is not to our best interests.
'I want to remove the government and replace it with our own people; but other than that it will be business as usual in Palmyra.'
Gaius Cicero saluted the emperor. 'It will be as Caesar commands,' he said and, turning, hurried off to give the order.
Aurelian sat down, his legs swinging over the platform's edge. The hot sun felt good on his body, which might be lean and hard but was nonetheless the body of a man in his late-middle years. He chuckled to himself, remembering the old men in his Illyrian village sitting and gossiping together in the winter sunshine. Was he getting to be like them? he wondered. In his lifetime neither generals nor emperors were particularly noted for long lives, and so perhaps he would not have the time to find out.
He chuckled again. What strange thoughts he was having today. It was truly a sign of old age. Here he was on the day before his greatest triumph, and he sat like an old turtle atop a rock in midpond, philosophizing in the sunshine. He looked up at the walls of Palmyra, but the white-marble barriers told him nothing of the beauties that lay hidden behind them. It was said to be the Rome of the East; and there were some who said it was lovelier. Well, tomorrow he would find out.
A wolfish smile lit his features. Zenobia was going to be very angry at the boy. Now the young king of Palmyra would be making his first serious royal decision, and that decision was going to cost him his throne. Yes, Zenobia was going to be very angry, and he could not blame her, for as a ruler himself he understood. She and her late husband had worked hard to rebuild the Eastern Empire, and now he would take it.
Aurelian pushed himself off the platform and walked back into the heart of the encampment, noting as he went that the centurions were already drilling smartly.
It was not to his sleeping tent that he returned. Rather, Aurelian hurried to his main tent, where the business of the empire awaited him. Durantis, his secretary, was already hard at work opening the dispatches and separating them into piles according to their importance.
'Good morning, Durantis. Any emergencies?'
'No, Caesar. Nothing serious.'
'Anything personal?'
