The Better of Two Men by Smith JD

Author:Smith, JD [Smith, JD]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Historical Fiction
Publisher: Quinn Publications
Published: 2015-07-06T04:00:00+00:00

Zenobia and I left the tent. We had talked of everything: the pretenders rising against the Empire, reminiscing on our journey to Rome three years ago. There had been a battle since then. We had stood on the plain against one hundred thousand Persian warriors and claimed victory. The last time Shapur had granted audience we had been tolerated because of what Zenobia offered him. How welcome we would be after his humiliating defeat I dared not imagine.

I sat with Zenobia that evening, a small fire separating us. Neither of us spoke. The image of Valerian’s flayed body had floated into my mind with tiresome regularity in the last few months; the raw, livid flesh oozing before drying in the desert sun. But by now it was there constantly. The fire was warm and still my skin shrank tight and cold. I saw the screaming man in the flame-strangled logs, and the very notion of what became of him drew acid into my throat. It was not the man I felt for. Valerian intended to bargain the city of Palmyra, sacrificing the most lucrative and important city on the eastern trade route on the condition Shapur move no further west. But I knew that we would have suffered the same fate as Valerian without Zenobia’s offer of betrayal.

‘I was naive enough to think we had seen our last frontier after months spent on the Euphrates,’ I said.

‘There is never a last,’ Zenobia replied.

Silence again. I watched men walk past, inclining their heads to their Queen. I recognised faces from the blood and sweat and dirt-ingrained warriors brushing shoulders on the battlefield some months before. They had been here since then, continuing to push back the remaining Persian forces, had witnessed them retreat after the impact of the Syrian army on their ranks. Then they had watched as behind them Syria grew weaker, the Roman legionaries breaking apart, loyalty confused, choosing which leader to follow, whilst in front the Persians scented Roman blood and grew in determination as their numbers swelled once more.

A warrior approached us, bowed to Zenobia and said: ‘The men play cards and enjoy drink if you would care to join us.’

‘An invitation from Zabbai?’ Zenobia asked.

The man shook his head.

‘From Herodes.’

Zenobia inclined her head and got to her feet. She brushed the dust from her robes. We followed the warrior through the camp in silence, clinging to the line of tents and burning torches until we reached a small congregation of men who sat talking, gambling, cursing as they lost and banging their fists on the wooden table tops as they won. Jugs of wine and ale were abundant. To the right of the group a bright fire gave warmth. We were furthest away from it and yet the heat stung my face. The soldiers seemed not to feel it.

With only the light of the torches and fire illuminating the camp, I did not see Herodes at first. Then from one of the tables a huge bear paw lifted above the heads of men, beckoning us.

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