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Zenobia

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Soon after the last movement of the Persians, the light troops of either
army encountered, and by a discharge of arrows and javelins, commenced the
attack. Then in a few moments, it being apparently impossible to restrain
the impatient soldiery, the battle became general. The cry of the onset
and the clash of arms fell distinctly upon our ears. Long, long, were the
opposing armies mingled together in one undistinguishable mass, waging an
equal fight. Now it would sway toward the one side, and now toward the
other, heaving and bending as a field of ripe grain to the fitful breeze.
Fausta sat with clenched hands and straining eye, watching the doubtful
fight, and waiting the issue in speechless agony. A deep silence, as of
night and death, held the whole swarming multitude of the citizens, who
hardly seemed as if they dared breathe while what seemed the final scene
was in the act of being performed.

Suddenly a new scene, and more terrific because nearer, burst upon our
sight. At a signal given by Zenobia from the high tower which she
occupied, the gates below us flew open, and Zabdas, at the head of all the
flower of the Palmyra cavalry, poured forth, followed closely from this
and the other gates by the infantry. The battle now raged between the
walls and the Roman intrenchments as well as beyond. The whole plain was
one field of battle and slaughter. Despair lent vigor and swiftness to the
horse and foot of Palmyra; rage at the long continued contest, revenge for
all they had lost and endured, nerved the Roman arm, and gave a double
edge to its sword. Never before, my Curtius, had I beheld a fight in which
every blow seemed so to carry with it the whole soul, boiling with wrath,
of him who gave it. Death sat upon every arm.

'Lucius!' cried Fausta, I started, for it had been long that she had
uttered not a word.

'Lucius! unless my eye grows dim and lies, which the gods grant, the
Persians! look! they give way--is it not so? Immortal gods, forsake not
my country!'

'The battle may yet turn,' I said, turning my eyes where she pointed, and
seeing it was so--'despair not, dear Fausta. If the Persians yield--see,
Zabdas has mounted the Roman intrenchments.'

'Yes--they fly,' screamed Fausta, and would madly have sprung over the
battlements, but that I seized and held her. At the same moment a cry
arose that Zabdas was slain--her eye caught his noble form as it fell
backwards from his horse, and with a faint exclamation, 'Palmyra is lost!'
fell lifeless into my arms.

While I devoted myself to her recovery, cries of distress and despair
fell from all quarters upon my ear. And when I had succeeded in restoring
her to consciousness, the fate of the day was decided--the Persians were
routed--the Palmyrenes were hurrying in wild confusion before the pursuing
Romans, and pressing into the gates.

'Lucius,' said Fausta, 'I am sorry for this weakness. But to sit as it
were chained here, the witness of such disaster, is too much for mere
mortal force. Could I but have mingled in that fight! Ah, how cruel the
slaughter of those flying troops! Why do they not turn, and at least die
with their faces toward the enemy? Let us now go and seek Calpurnius and
Gracchus.'

'We cannot yet, Fausta, for the streets are thronged with this flying
multitude.'

'It is hard to remain here, the ears rent, and the heart torn by these
shrieks of the wounded and dying. How horrible this tumult! It seems as if
the world were expiring. There--the gates are swinging upon their hinges;
they are shut. Let us descend.'

We forced our way as well as we could through the streets, crowded now
with soldiers and citizens--the soldiers scattered and in disorder, the
citizens weeping and alarmed--some hardly able to drag along themselves,
others sinking beneath the weight of the wounded whom they bore upon their
shoulders, or upon lances and shields as upon a litter. The way was all
along obstructed by the bodies of men and horses who had there fallen and
died, their wounds allowing them to proceed no further, or who had been
run down and trampled to death in the tumult and hurry of the entrance.

After a long and weary struggle, we reached the house of Gracchus--still
solitary--for neither he nor Calpurnius had returned. The slaves gathered
around us to know the certainty and extent of the evil. When they had
learned it, their sorrow for their mistress, whom they loved for her own
sake, and whom they saw overwhelmed with grief, made them almost forget
that they only were suffering these things who had inflicted a worse
injury upon themselves. I could not but admire a virtue which seemed of
double lustre from the circumstances in which it was manifested.

Calpurnius had been in the thickest of the fight, but had escaped unhurt.
He was near Zabdas when he fell, and revenged his death by hewing down the
soldier who had pierced him with his lance.

'Zabdas,' said Calpurnius, when in the evening we recalled the sad events
of the day, 'was not instantly killed by the thrust of the spear, but
falling backwards from his horse, found strength and life enough remaining
to raise himself upon his knee, and cheer me on, as I flew to revenge his
death upon the retreating Roman. As I returned to him, having completed my
task, he had sunk upon the ground, but was still living, and his eye
bright with its wonted fire. I raised him in my arms, and lifting him upon
my horse, moved toward the gate, intending to bring him within the walls.
But he presently entreated me to desist.'

'"I die," said he; "it is all in vain, noble Piso. Lay me at the root of
this tree, and that shall be my bed and its shaft my monument."

'I took him from the horse as he desired.'

'"Place me," said he, "with my back against the tree, and my face toward
the intrenchments, that while I live I may see the battle. Piso, tell the
Queen that to the last hour I am true to her. It has been my glory in life
to live but for her, and my death is a happiness, dying for her. Her image
swims before me now, and over her hovers a winged victory. The Romans
fly--I knew it would be so--the dogs cannot stand before the cavalry of
Palmyra--they never could--they fled at Antioch. Hark!--there are the
shouts of triumph--bring me my horse--Zenobia! live and reign forever!"

'With these words and in this happy delusion, his head fell upon his
bosom, and he died. I returned to the conflict; but it had become a rout,
and I was borne along with the rushing throng toward the gates.'

After a night of repose and quiet, there has come another day of
adversity. The hopes of the city have again been raised, only again to be
disappointed. The joyful cry was heard from the walls in the morning, that
the Saracens and Armenians with united forces were in the field. Coming so
soon upon the fatiguing duty of the last day, and the Roman army not
having received reinforcements from the West, it was believed that the
enemy could not sustain another onset as fierce as that of the Persians. I
hastened once more to the walls--Fausta being compelled by Gracchus to
remain within the palace--to witness as I believed another battle.

The report I found true. The allied forces of those nations were in
sight--the Romans were already drawn from their encampment to encounter
them. The same policy was pursued on their part as before. They awaited
the approach of the new enemy just on the outer side of their works. The
walls and towers as far as the eye could reach were again swarming with
the population of Palmyra.

For a long time neither army seemed disposed to move.

'They seem not very ready to try the fortune of another day,' said a
citizen to me standing by my side. 'Nor do I wonder. The Persians gave
them rough handling. A few thousands more on their side, and the event
would not have been as it was. Think you not the sally under Zabdas was
too long deferred?'

'It is easy afterward,' I replied, 'to say how an action should have been
performed. It requires the knowledge and wisdom of a god never to err.
There were different judgments I know, but for myself I believe the Queen
was right; that is, whether Zabdas had left the gates earlier or later,
the event would have been the same.'

'What means that?' suddenly exclaimed my companion; 'see you yonder herald
bearing a flag of truce, and proceeding from the Roman ranks? It bodes no
good to Palmyra. What think you the purpose is?'

'It may be but to ask a forbearance of arms for a few hours, or a day
perhaps. Yet it is not the custom of Rome. I cannot guess.'

'That can I,' exclaimed another citizen on my other side. 'Neither in the
Armenians nor yet the Saracens can so much trust be reposed as in a
Christian or a Jew. They are for the strongest. Think you they have come
to fight? Not if they can treat to better purpose. The Romans, who know
by heart the people of the whole earth, know them. Mark me, they will draw
never a sword. As the chances are now, they will judge the Romans winners,
and a little gold will buy them.'

'The gods forbid,' cried the other, 'that it should be so; they are the
last hope of Palmyra. If they fail us, we must e'en throw open our gates,
and take our fate at the mercy of Aurelian.'

'Never while I have an arm that can wield a sword, shall a gate of Palmyra
swing upon its hinge to let in an enemy.'

'Food already grows short,' said the first; 'better yield than starve.'

'Thou, friend, art in no danger for many a day, if, as is fabled of
certain animals, thou canst live on thine own fat. Or if it came to
extremities, thou wouldst make a capital stew or roast for others.'

At which the surrounding crowd laughed heartily, while the fat man,
turning pale, slunk away and disappeared.

'That man,' said one, 'would betray a city for a full meal.'

'I know him well,' said another; 'he is the earliest at the markets, where
you may always see him feeling out with his fat finger the parts of meats
that are kindred to himself. His soul, could it be seen, would be of the
form of a fat kidney. His riches he values only as they can be changed
into food. Were all Palmyra starved, he, were he sought, would be found in
some deep-down vault, bedded in the choicest meats--enough to stand a
year's siege, and leave his paunch as far about as 't is to-day. See, the
Queen betrays anxiety. The gods shield her from harm!'

Zenobia occupied the same post of observation as before. She paced to and
fro with a hasty and troubled step the narrow summit of the tower, where
she had placed herself.

After no long-interval of time, the Roman herald was seen returning from
the camp of the Armenians. Again he sallied forth from the tent of
Aurelian, on the same errand. It was too clear now that negotiations were
going on which might end fatally for Palmyra. Doubt, fear, anxiety,
intense expectation kept the multitude around me in breathless silence,
standing at fixed gaze, like so many figures of stone.

They stood not long in this deep and agonizing suspense; for no sooner did
the Roman herald reach the tents of the allied armies, and hold brief
parley with their chiefs, than he again turned toward the Roman
intrenchments at a quick pace, and at the same moment the tents of the
other party were struck, and while a part commenced a retreat, another and
larger part moved as auxiliaries to join the camp of Aurelian.

Cries of indignation, rage, grief and despair, then burst from the
miserable crowds, as with slow and melancholy steps they turned from the
walls to seek again their homes. Zenobia was seen once to clasp her hands,
turning her face toward the heavens. As she emerged from the tower and
ascended her chariot, the enthusiastic throngs failed not to testify their
unshaken confidence and determined spirit of devotion to her and her
throne, by acclamations that seemed to shake the very walls themselves.

This last has proved a heavier blow to Palmyra than the former. It shows
that their cause is regarded by the neighboring powers as a losing one, or
already lost and that hope, so far as it rested upon their friendly
interposition, must be abandoned. The city is silent and sad. Almost all
the forms of industry having ceased, the inhabitants are doubly wretched
through their necessary idleness; they can do little but sit and brood
over their present deprivations, and utter their dark bodings touching the
future. They who obtained their subsistence by ministering to the
pleasures of others, are now the first to suffer; for there are none to
employ their services. Streets, which but a little while ago resounded
with notes of music and the loud laughter of those who lived to pleasure,
are now dull and deserted. The brilliant shops are closed, the fountains
forsaken, the Porticos solitary, or they are frequented by a few who
resort to them chiefly to while away some of the melancholy hours that
hang upon their hands. And they who are abroad seem not like the same
people. Their step is now measured and slow--the head bent--no salutation
greets the passing stranger or acquaintance, or only a few cold words of
inquiry, which pass from cold lips into ears as cold. Apathy--lethargy--
stupor--seem fast settling over all. They would indeed bury all, I believe,
were it not that the parties of the discontented increase in number and
power, which compels the friends of the Queen to keep upon the alert. The
question of surrender is now openly discussed. 'It is useless,' it is
said, 'to hold out longer. Better make the best terms we can. If we save
the city by an early capitulation from destruction, coming off with our
lives and a portion of our goods, it is more than we shall get if the act
be much longer postponed. Every day of delay adds to our weakness, while
it adds also to the vexation and rage of the enemy, who the more and
longer he suffers, will be less inclined to treat us with indulgence.'

These may be said to have reason on their side, but the other party are
inflamed with national pride and devotion to Zenobia, and no power of
earth is sufficient to bend them. They are the principal party for
numbers; much more for rank and political power. They will hold out till
the very last moment--till it is reduced to a choice between death and
capitulation; and, on the part of the Queen and the great spirits of
Palmyra, death would be their unhesitating choice, were it not for the
destruction of so many with them. They will therefore, until the last
loaf of bread is divided, keep the gates shut; then throw them open, and
meet the terms, whatever they may be, which the power of the conqueror
may impose.

A formidable conspiracy has been detected, and the supposed chiefs of it
seized and executed.

The design was to secure the person of the Queen, obtain by a violent
assault one of the gates, and sallying out, deliver her into the hands of
the Romans, who, with her in their power, could immediately put an end to
the contest. There is little doubt that Antiochus was privy to it,
although those who suffered betrayed him not, if that were the fact. But
it has been urged with some force in his favor, that none who suffered
would have felt regard enough for him to have hesitated to sacrifice him,
if by doing so they could have saved their own lives or others.

Zenobia displayed her usual dauntless courage, her clemency, and her
severity. The attack was made upon her, surrounded by her small
body-guard, as she was returning toward evening from her customary visit
of observation to the walls. It was sudden, violent, desperate; but the
loyalty and bravery of the guards was more than a match for the assassins,
aided too by the powerful arm of the Queen herself, who was no idle
spectator of the fray. It was a well-laid plot, and but for an accidental
addition which was made at the walls to the Queen's guard, might have
succeeded; for the attack was made just at the Persian gate, and the
keeper of the gate had been gained over. Had the guard been overpowered
but for a moment, they would have shot the gate too quickly for the
citizens to have roused to her rescue. Such of the conspirators as were
not slain upon the spot were secured. Upon examination, they denied the
participation of others than themselves in the attempt, and died, such of
them as were executed, involving none in their ruin. The Queen would not
permit a general slaughter of them, though urged to do so. 'The ends of
justice and the safety of the city,' she said, 'would be sufficiently
secured, if an example were made of such as seemed manifestly the chief
movers. But there should be no indulgence of the spirit of revenge.' Those
accordingly were beheaded, the others imprisoned.

While these long and weary days are passing away, Gracchus, Fausta,
Calpurnius and myself are often at the palace of Zenobia. The Queen is
gracious, as she ever is, but laboring under an anxiety and an inward
sorrow, that imprint themselves deeply upon her countenance, and reveal
themselves in a greater reserve of manner. While she is not engaged in
some active service she is buried in thought, and seems like one revolving
difficult and perplexing questions. Sometimes she breaks from these
moments of reverie with some sudden question to one or another of those
around her, from which we can obscurely conjecture the subjects of her
meditations. With Longinus, Otho, and Gracchus she passes many of her
hours in deep deliberation. At times, when apparently nature cries out for
relief, she will join us as we sit diverting our minds by conversation
upon subjects as far removed as possible from the present distresses, and
will, as formerly, shed the light of her penetrating judgment upon
whatever it is we discuss. But she soon falls back into herself again, and
remains silent and abstracted, or leaves us and retreats to her private
apartments.

* * * * *

Suddenly the Queen has announced a project which fills the city with
astonishment at its boldness, and once more lights up hope within the
bosoms of the most desponding.

Soon as her own mind had conceived and matured it, her friends and
counsellors were summoned to receive it from her, and pronounce their
judgment. Would that I could set before you, my Curtius, this wonderful
woman as she stood before us at this interview. Never before did she seem
so great, or of such transcendent beauty--if under such circumstances such
a thought may be expressed. Whatever of melancholy had for so long a time
shed its gloom over her features was now gone. The native fire of her eye
was restored and doubled, as it seemed, by the thoughts which she was
waiting to express. A spirit greater than even her own, appeared to
animate her, and to breathe an unwonted majesty into her form, and over
the countenance.

She greeted all with the warmth of a friend, and besought them to hear her
while she presented a view of the present condition of their affairs, and
then proposed what she could not but believe might still prove a means of
final deliverance--at least, it might deserve their careful consideration.
After having gone over the course that had been pursued and defended it,
as that alone which became the dignity and honor of a sovereign and
independent power, she proceeded thus:

'We are now, it is obvious to all, at the last extremity. If no new outlet
be opened from the difficulties which environ us, a few days will
determine our fate. We must open our gates and take such mercy as our
conquerors may bestow. The provision laid up in the public granaries is
nearly exhausted. Already has it been found necessary greatly to diminish
the amount of the daily distribution. Hope in any power of our own seems
utterly extinct: if any remain, it rests upon foreign interposition, and
of this I do not despair. I still rely upon Persia. I look with confidence
to Sapor for farther and yet larger succors. In the former instance, it
was apprehended by many--I confess I shared the apprehension--that there
would be on the part of Persia but a parade of friendship, with nothing of
reality. But you well know it was far otherwise. There was a sincere and
vigorous demonstration in our behalf. Persia never fought a better field,
and with slightly larger numbers would have accomplished our rescue. My
proposition is, that we sue again at the court of Sapor--no, not again,
for the first was a free-will offering--and that we fail not, I would go
myself my own ambassador, and solicit what so solicited, my life upon it,
will not be refused. You well know that I can bear with me jewels gathered
during a long reign of such value as to plead eloquently in my cause,
since the tithe of them would well repay the Persian for all his kingdom
might suffer for our sakes.'

'What you propose, great Queen,' said Longinus, as Zenobia paused, 'agrees
with your whole life. But how can we, who hold you as we do, sit in our
places and allow you alone to encounter the dangers of such an enterprise?
For without danger it cannot be--from the robber of the desert, from the
Roman, from the Persian.' In disguise and upon the road, you may suffer
the common fate of those who travel where, as now, marauders of all
nations swarm; Sapor may, in his capricious policy, detain you prisoner;
Aurelian may intercept. Let your servants prevail with you to dismiss this
thought from your mind. You can name no one of all this company who will
not plead to be your substitute.'

There was not one present who did not spring upon his feet, and express
his readiness to undertake the charge.

'I thank you all,' said the Queen, 'but claim, in this perhaps the last
act of my reign, to be set free in your indulgence to hold an unobstructed
course. If in your honest judgments you confess that of all who could
appear at the court of Sapor, I should appear there as the most powerful
pleader for Palmyra, it is all I ask you to determine. Is such your
judgment?'

'It is,' they all responded--'without doubt it is.'

'Then am I resolved. And the enterprise itself you judge wise and of
probable success?'

'We do. The reasons are just upon which it is founded. It is greatly
conceived, and the gods giving you safe conduct to Sapor, we cannot doubt
a happy result.'

'Then all that remains is, to contrive the manner of escape from the city
and through the Roman camp.'

'There is first one thing more,' said the Princess Julia, suddenly rising
from her mother's side, but with a forced and trembling courage, 'which
remains for me to do. If there appear any want of maidenly reserve in what
I say, let the cause, good friends, for which I speak and act, be my
excuse. It is well known to you who are familiar with the councils of the
state, that not many months past Persia sought through me an alliance with
Palmyra. But in me, you, my mother and Queen, have hitherto found an
uncomplying daughter--and you, Fathers, a self-willed Princess. I now seek
what before I have shunned. Although I know not the Prince
Hormisdas--report speaks worthily of him--but of him I think not--yet if
by the offer of myself I could now help the cause of my country, the
victim is ready for the altar. Let Zenobia bear with her not only the
stones torn from her crown, but this which she so often has termed her
living jewel, and if the others, first proffered, fail to reach the
Persian's heart, then, but not till then, add the other to the scale. If
it weigh to buy deliverance and prosperity to Palmyra--though I can never
be happy--yet I shall be happy if the cause of happiness to you.'

'My noble child!' said Zenobia, 'I cannot have so startled the chiefs of
Palmyra by a new and unthought-of project, as I am now amazed in my turn.
I dreamed not of this. But I cannot hinder you in your purpose. It ensures
success to your country; and to be the instrument of that, will be a rich
compensation for even the largest sacrifice of private affections.'

The counsellors and senators who were present expressed a great, and I
doubt not sincere unwillingness that so dangerous a service should be
undertaken by those whom they so loved, and whom beyond all others they
would shield with their lives from the very shadow of harm. But they were
overcome by the determined spirit both of the Queen and Julia, and by
their own secret conviction that it was the only act in the power of
mortals by which the existence of the empire and city could be preserved.

At this point of the interview, Calpurnius, whom we had missed, entered,
and learning what had passed, announced that by a channel not to be
mistrusted, he had received intelligence of a sudden rising in Persia, of
the assassination of Sapor, and the elevation of Hormisdas to the throne
of his father. This imparted to all the liveliest pleasure, and seemed to
take away from the project of the Queen every remaining source of
disquietude and doubt. Calpurnius at the same moment was besought, and
offered himself to serve as the Queen's companion and guide. The chosen
friend of Hormisdas, and whose friendship he had not forfeited by his
flight--no one could so well as he advocate her cause with the new king.

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