The Shadow of Ararat (77 page)

"While one Palmyrene lives, the honor of our city shall not die."

Her clear voice, high and strong, rang off of the pillars and walls.

"We have gambled with Mars and lost, but our city will withstand the Persian storm. Rome will come to aid us, as they have always done, and then the Persian will perish in the sands, of thirst and the merciless sun. Palmyra will stand, free and strong, as it has always done."

She placed the crown upon her head, and it laid heavy, winking white amid her raven curls. Then the Queen turned and mounted the ramp, slowly and alone. When she reached the top of the ramp, where all could see, she raised her slim white arms to the sky.

"Bel bless us and stand with us. The love I hold for my people will sustain all."

Then she turned and entered the citadel, and the people in the streets and the avenues raised a long slow wave of sound, the prayer of Bel. Then they bowed as one toward the great building and the Queen who symbolized their city. Ahmet stood at the base of the ramp with some of the palace guardsmen, staring out upon the throng. A strange power was in the air, and the small figure of the Queen, now gone, was its focus. He tasted the air and felt some promise there.

Two figures stood on the crest of the escarpment, staring down into the valley. The moon had not yet risen and the land was dark, but they could see the blaze of light from the plaza at the center of the city. Fires burned on the walls, showing many men watching the approaches to the gates. A faint sound reached them in the quiet night air, the rumor of thousands of voices raised in song. The taller figure scratched at the grime in his beard.

"Little water," he said in a voice made harsh by the dust. "Our men are nearly dead of the heat and sun."

The other figure stirred and peered through the darkness. Narrow fingers wrapped around a staff of pale bone. "Dam the stream and make a reservoir. Cut the aqueduct. We shall have plenty and they none."

The taller figure nodded, rocking back on his heels. The city lay in the night, safe behind strong high walls and the vigilance of its protectors. "This will take time, time that mires us here, leagues from where we should be, at the gates of Damascus."

The smaller figure smiled in the darkness, his sharp white teeth flashing. "She would fall on your flank like a leopard and claw you again and again until you bled to death in the sand."

"Yes." The taller man laughed. "She should not have mewed herself up in the city. An error made by a tired mind. Now she cannot maneuver or escape into the desert. We can destroy this enemy utterly. Then there is nothing between us and Egypt."

Dahak turned away, his staff making a tapping sound on the stones of the escarpment. He felt something in the air, a trace of familiar memory; he raised his nose to catch the scent. The general remained on the ridge, his eyes taking in the lay of the ground, the height of the towers, the banks of the stream. It was a strong place, but he had broken strong places before.

A puzzle,
he thought,
a problem of walls and towers and the wills of men. A man may make such a puzzle, and man may solve it too.

After a full glass had passed, he turned and picked his way down the slope in the darkness. The wizard was already gone, back to his wagon with the army that had halted beyond the hills at sunset. Baraz walked alone, under the cold stars, and realized that he was almost happy. Then he laughed, a full rich sound that echoed off of the rocky walls of the defile, for it was not the fate of men to be content with their lot.

Servants showed Ahmet to a small room, no more than a cell, though it boasted a fine soft mattress on a bed of cedarwood. He laved his face and hands in a pewter bowl that stood on a three-legged table by the side of the bed. He was terribly weary, but he took the time to calm his mind and recite the prayers that let him sleep. He fell asleep under a thin cotton quilt, his eyes tracing the painted patterns that adorned the walls.

Very late in the night, as the Egyptian slept, the door to his chamber opened and a figure in a long dark cloak entered. It stood over him, face hidden by the depth of the cowl, for a time, watching him breathe, and then it left, quietly closing the door behind.

Ahmet woke to a sharp rapping sound on wood. He stared up at a white plastered ceiling crossed by wooden beams. Sunlight fell on the wall to his right, illuminating bands of geometric patterns in black and red and white. The rapping came again.

"Holy Father," a man with a shaven pate said from the door, "your presence is desired in the Queen's chambers."

Ahmet rose, throwing back the thin coverlet. His thighs ached from the long trek on the back of a camel. He rubbed his face and frowned at the stubble he found there. His things were laid on a chest of light-red wood next to the opposite wall. He dressed and washed his face again. An ewer of pale porcelain sat on the table, filled with fresh sweet water. He drank his fill, then settled his tunic and headdress. He fingered his chin again but decided against shaving. It was late, the sun, seen through a narrow window in the wall, was high in the sky.

The Queen's chambers were opulent. Ahmet stared around in undisguised wonder at the wealth represented in the silk hangings and tapestries that adorned the walls. Rich carpets three and four layers deep covered the floor, obscuring the vast expanse of marble
tesserae
. Fluted pillars crowned with stylized acanthus leaves held up a soaring domed roof. Light fell in pale columns from circular windows set into the sides of the dome. It was cool and light. Many men were gathered around a cluster of couches and chairs at one end of the hall. Ahmet walked slowly toward them, his eyes taking in the richness of their brocaded robes and tunics. No man there had fewer than three rings on his fingers, of heavy gold and adorned with glittering gems.

The Queen sat at the center on a great chair of carved sea-green porphyry. She leaned on one arm that curved under her into a foaming wave. Her usual garments had been replaced with long robes of pure white samnite over a rich purple shirt, and her hair was almost hidden behind a heavy gold headdress. Bracelets and armbands of gold adorned her arms and tinkled at her wrists. Her face was a smooth white and her eyes were artfully anointed to hide the signs of fatigue and weariness that had marked her so harshly on the road from Emesa.

Ahmet stopped at the side of the cluster of men, who were talking in low tones, and bowed deeply to her. Zenobia inclined her head slightly and her almond-shaped eyes slid to the side. Ahmet looked and saw that Mohammed was sitting on a low stool behind Ibn'Adi at the edge of the circle of chairs. He sat down next to his friend.

"Lords of the city, please, sit with me and partake of wine."

Zenobia made a small gesture and servants came from openings behind the tapestries with plates of cut fruit dusted with sugar and honey. Others bore flagons of wine. The richly dressed men milled about for a moment and then seated themselves. Some took wine, but many did not. When they were settled, the Queen made a small gesture toward her brother, who sat at her side.

"Welcome, friends," Vorodes said, raising a cup of beaten gold. He took a small sip.

"A difficult time has come upon us," he continued, setting the cup down. "Morning has come and brought with it the sight of a great host of Persians encamped in the hills and their riders circling the city. As has happened only twice before in our long history, the city is besieged."

There was a muttering among the noble men, and Ahmet saw that some of them cast curious or angry glances at the Queen. She remained quiet, staring at some point above the heads of the men she ruled, her expression calm.

"Persia, as we feared, has come against us. Now the Boar waits outside and will soon begin works against us. Already the flow of water out of the aqueduct from the west has slowed to a trickle. Soon it will be dry. Given time, the Persians will build a wall around the city and pen us in. But, my lords, you know the strength of our position. Our cisterns are deep, our storehouses filled with grain. We can wait a long time while the Persians are reduced to eating their camels and horses, then their shoes, then nothing. Even water will be short for them—the streams are not reliable."

The Prince paused, surveying the faces of the clan lords and the great merchants. Ahmet studied them as well and saw men who had eaten too well for too long. He wondered if they had the stomach for such a battle. The city had grown mighty on trade and goods. Now there was no trade, and no goods flowed from east to west and back again.

"The Queen has decided to stand firm," the Prince continued. "We will not negotiate with Persia, nor will we surrender."

One of the magnates stirred at this, his long face marked by many days under the desert sun.

"Lord Prince," he said in a deep gravelly voice, "forgive my impertinence, but we are far from aid. The unfortunate setback that the army has suffered has removed our Nabatean allies from the field as well as the militias of all of Syria. As there are no Imperial Legions to succor us, we seem to have few options save..."

"Rome," the Queen said in a quiet voice, "will not abandon us."

The merchant turned a little, meeting the calm azure eyes of the Queen. His face was grim. "My lady, please, we are not children. The Roman army has withdrawn to defend Egypt. We are abandoned. The only hope of the city's survival is in negotiation. We have been strong allies of Rome; we can serve Chrosoes as well."

Zenobia made to rise, her perfect mask beginning to crack, but she restrained herself and remained seated.

"Chrosoes," she said in the same quiet voice, "will destroy us all. He is mad. He traffics with foul powers. Rome will win and will return. Our hope is to stand until that day."

The merchant shook his head in dismay. His dark eyes were filled with sadness. "If that is your will, my lady, then we shall honor it, but there is no hope for the city. There will only be the long horror of a siege and then death, or slavery."

Zenobia looked around the circle of faces, seeing the same despair in the eyes of the other lords of the city. Of all the men seated there, only the desert men to her left were unbowed. Ibn'Adi's old eyes flashed with the same fire that had ever filled them. The Al'Quraysh looked positively eager. She glanced at Ahmet. He smiled, just a little, and she took heart from it.

"There is hope, my lords," she answered. She reached into the folds of her garment and drew out a heavy bronze scroll case, well worn and dented. One end unscrewed and from within it she drew out a heavy piece of fine white papyrus. A purple string tied it up. She removed the string and smoothed out the paper on her lap.

"This," she said, "is a letter from the Emperor of the East, Heraclius. It was sent from Constantinople by courier soon after our army marched north from Damascus. It reached us on the road from Emesa. We have told no one of its contents until now."

She paused and took a breath.

"Daughter,

"Lady Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, dux Romanorum Oriens

"Greetings from your Imperial Father, Heraclius, Augustus Caesar

"Know, O Queen, that the legions that were promised to the defense of Damascus and the eastern lands under your protection have been delayed in Alexandria by plague. When the foul disease has run its course, the legions shall march to your assistance."

She stopped, rolled the scroll back up, and carefully put it into its case. She looked around at the men seated before her. She smiled, and the smile was a fierce one, filled with anger and bitter fire.

"The Boar is trapped here, unable to abandon the siege that he has committed to. Thirty leagues lie between him and the nearest water. Soon the armies of the Empire will close the trap behind him, and then it is he that will be annihilated. His bones will bleach in the sun, like so many of our enemies' have done before. This is why we will stand fast and bleed the Persian on the walls of the city. Help is coming, my lords, and if we are patient, we will have victory."

The lean merchant frowned, but he held his peace. The others, Zenobia saw, were heartened and began whispering among themselves of the stories they would tell their grandchildren of the defeat of Persia before the golden walls of the city. The Queen nodded slightly to Ibn'Adi, who presumed to wake from his nap.

"In the matter of the defense of the city," she said firmly, interrupting the murmuring of the nobles. "We have decided to entrust the matter of command to the noble
sheykh
, Amr Ibn'Adi, who has long been a good friend of the city. My brother, Vorodes, shall command the walls as his second, and the noble Mohammed Al'Quraysh shall have the matter of harassing the enemy and making his stay with us as unpleasant as possible."

Some of the nobles looked around, their faces filled with questions, but then they saw that Lord Zabda was not among their number. The general should have held command of the city if Zenobia or Vorodes did not take it upon themselves. They wondered if he had fallen at Emesa, for none had spoken of him since the return of the army.

"Then, if there are no objections, let us concern ourselves with matters of detail..."

Ahmet considered the beauty of the room and relaxed into a state of light meditation. Many hours would pass now in discussion.

The sun was setting again, and once more Baraz looked upon the city in twilight. On the great walls, lights twinkled on as the sun began to dip beyond the western hills. He sat on the summit of the tallest of the tomb towers west of the city, the sun at his back. His legs dangled over the edge, kicking idly at the crumbling bricks and masonry of the upper story. A hot wind ruffled his long curly hair, leaching the last bits of moisture from his skin. The bulk of his army remained in the hills, building a camp and laboring to dam the stream. The horses needed a lot of water.

Lord Dahak sat beside him, cross-legged on the flat stones that made the roof of the tomb. As was his wont, the wizard had drawn his cowl over his head. With his long limbs and ragged cloak, he seemed a great raven perched on the height. Only part of one hand was visible, curled around the bone staff.