'What think you, good friends?'--her mounting color and curled lip showing
the storm that raged within--'What think you? Is it a man or a god who has
written thus? Can it be a mortal who speaks in such terms to another? By
the soul of Odenatus, but I think it must be the God of War himself.
Slave, what sayest thou?'
'I am but the chosen bearer,' the herald replied, 'of what I took from the
hands of the Emperor. But between him and the god just named there is, as
I deem, but small difference.'
'That's well said,' replied the Queen; 'there's something of the old Roman
in thee. Friends,' she continued, turning to her counsellors, 'what answer
shall we send to this lordly command? What is your advice?'
'Mine is,' said Zabdas, 'that the Queen set her foot upon the accursed
scroll, and that yonder wretch that bore it be pitched headlong from the
highest tower upon the walls, and let the wind from his rotting carcass
bear back our only answer.'
'Nay, nay, brave Zabdas,' said the Queen, the fury of her general having
the effect to restore her own self-possession, 'thou wouldst not counsel
so. War then doubles its wo and guilt, when cruelty and injustice bear
sway. Otho, what sayest thou?'
'Answer it in its own vein! You smile, Queen, as if incredulous. But I
repeat--answer it in its own vein! I confess an inward disappointment and
an inward change. I hoped much from terms which a wise man might at this
point propose, and soil neither his own nor his country's honor. But
Aurelian--I now see--is not such a one. He is but the spoiled child of
fortune. He has grown too quickly great to grow well. Wisdom has had no
time to ripen.'
Others concurring, Zenobia seized a pen and wrote that which I transcribe.
'Zenobia, Queen of the East? to Aurelian Augustus.
'No one before you ever thought to make a letter serve instead of a
battle. But let me tell you, whatever is won in war, is won by bravery,
not by letters. You ask me to surrender--as if ignorant that Cleopatra
chose rather to die, than, surrendering, to live in the enjoyment of every
honor. Our Persian allies will not fail me. I look for them every hour.
The Saracens are with me--the Armenians are with me. The Syrian robbers
have already done you no little damage. What then can you expect, when
these allied armies are upon you? You will lay aside I think a little of
that presumption with which you now command me to surrender, as if you
were already conqueror of the whole world.'
* * * * *
The letter being written and approved by those who were present, it was
placed by Nichomachus in the hands of the herald.
* * * * *
No one can marvel, my Curtius, that a letter in the terms of Aurelian's
should be rejected, nor that it should provoke such an answer as
Zenobia's. It has served merely to exasperate passions which were already
enough excited. It was entirely in the power of the Emperor to have
terminated the contest, by the proposal of conditions which Palmyra would
have gladly accepted, and by which Rome would have been more profited and
honored than it can be by the reduction and ruin of a city and kingdom
like this. But it is too true, that Aurelian is rather a soldier than an
Emperor. A victory got by blood is sweeter far to him, I fear, than
tenfold wider conquests won by peaceful negotiations.
The effect of the taunting and scornful answer of the Queen has been
immediately visible in the increased activity and stir in the camp of
Aurelian. Preparations are going on for renewed assaults upon the walls
upon a much larger scale than before.
* * * * *
On the evening of the day on which the letter of Aurelian was received and
answered, I resorted, according to my custom during the siege, to a part
of the walls not far from the house of Gracchus, whence an extended view
is had of the Roman works and camp. Fausta, as often before, accompanied
me. She delights thus at the close of these weary, melancholy days, to
walk forth, breathe the reviving air, observe the condition of the city,
and from the towers upon the walls, watch the movements and labors of the
enemy. The night was without moon or stars. Low and heavy clouds hung, but
did not move, over our heads. The air was still, nay, rather dead, so deep
was its repose.
'How oppressive is this gloom,' said Fausta, as we came forth upon the
ramparts, and took our seat where the eye could wander unobstructed over
the plain, 'and yet how gaily illuminated is this darkness by yonder belt
of moving lights. It seems like the gorgeous preparation for a funeral.
Above us and behind it is silent and dark. These show like the torches of
the approaching mourners. The gods grant there be no omen in this.'
'I know not,' I replied. 'It may be so. To-day has, I confess it,
destroyed the last hope in my mind that there might come a happy
termination to this unwise and unnecessary contest. It can end now only in
the utter defeat and ruin of one of the parties--and which that shall be I
cannot doubt. Listen, Fausta, to the confused murmur that comes from the
camp of the Roman army, bearing witness to its numbers; and to those
sounds of the hammer, the axe, and the saw, plied by ten thousand arms,
bearing witness to the activity and exhaustless resources of the enemy,
and you cannot but feel, that at last--it may be long first--but that at
last, Palmyra must give way. From what has been observed to-day, there is
not a doubt that Aurelian has provided, by means of regular caravans to
Antioch, for a constant supply of whatever his army requires.
Reinforcements too, both of horse and foot, are seen daily arriving, in
such numbers as more than to make good those who have been lost under the
walls, or by the excessive heats of the climate.'
'I hear so,' said Fausta, 'but I will not despair. If I have one absorbing
love, it is for Palmyra. It is the land of my birth, of my affections. I
cannot tell you with what pride I have watched its growth, and its daily
advancement in arts and letters, and have dwelt in fancy upon that future,
when it should rival Rome, and surpass the traditionary glories of Babylon
and Nineveh. O Lucius! to see now a black pall descending--these swollen
clouds are an emblem of it--and settling upon the prospect and veiling it
forever in death and ruin--I cannot believe it. It cannot have come to
this. It is treason to give way to such fears. Where Zenobia is, final
ruin cannot come.'
'It ought not, I wish it could not,' I replied, 'but my fears are that it
will, and my fears now are convictions. Where now, my dear Fausta, are the
so certainly expected reliefs from Armenia, from Persia?--Fausta, Palmyra
must fall.'
'Lucius Piso, Palmyra shall not fall--I say it--and every Palmyrene says
it--and what all say, is decreed. If we are true in our loyalty and
zeal, the Romans will be wearied out. Lucius, could I but reach the tent
of Aurelian, my single arm should rid Palmyra of her foe, and achieve
her freedom.'
'No, Fausta, you could not do it.'
'Indeed I would and could. I would consent to draw infamy upon my head as
a woman, if by putting off my sex and my nature too, I could by such an
act give life to a dying nation, and what is as much, preserve Zenobia
her throne.'
'Think not in that vein, Fausta. I would not that your mind should be
injured even by the thought.'
'I do not feel it to be an injury,' she rejoined; 'it would be a sacrifice
for my country, and the dearer, in that I should lose my good name in
making it. I should be sure of one thing, that I should do it in no
respect for my own glory. But let us talk no more of it. I often end,
Lucius, when thinking of our calamities, and of a fatal termination of
these contests to us, with dwelling upon one bright vision. Misfortune to
us will bring you nearer to Julia.'
'The gods forbid that my happiness should be bought at such a price!'
'It will only come as an accidental consequence, and cannot disturb you.
If Palmyra falls, the pride of Zenobia will no longer separate you.'
'But,' I replied, 'the prospect is not all so bright. Captive princes are
by the usages of Rome often sacrificed, and Aurelian, if sometimes
generous, is often cruel. Fears would possess me in the event of a
capitulation or conquest, which I cannot endure to entertain.'
'O Lucius, you rate Aurelian too low, if you believe he could revenge
himself upon a woman--and such a woman as Zenobia. I cannot believe it
possible. No. If Palmyra falls it will give you Julia, and it will be some
consolation even in the fall of a kingdom, that it brings happiness to
two, whom friendship binds closer to me than any others.'
As Fausta said these words, we became conscious of the presence of a
person at no great distance from us, leaning against the parapet of the
wall, the upper part of the form just discernible.
'Who stands yonder?' said Fausta. 'It has not the form of a sentinel;
besides, the sentinel paces by us to and fro without pausing. It may be
Calpurnius, His legion is in this quarter. Let us move toward him.'
'No. He moves himself and comes toward us. How dark the night! I can make
nothing of the form.'
The figure passed us, and unchallenged by the sentinel whom it met. After
a brief absence it returned, and stopping as it came before us--
'Fausta!' said a voice--once heard, not to be mistaken.
'Zenobia!' said Fausta, and forgetting dignity, embraced her as a friend.
'What makes you here?' inquired Fausta;--'are there none in Palmyra to do
your bidding, but you must be abroad at such an hour and such a place?'
''Tis not so fearful quite,' replied the Queen, 'as a battle-field, and
there you trust me.'
'Never, willingly.'
'Then you do not love my honor?' said the Queen, taking Fausta's hand as
she spoke.
'I love your safety better--no--no--what have I said--not better than your
honor--and yet to what end is honor, if we lose the life in which it
resides? I sometimes think we purchase human glory too dearly, at the
sacrifice of quiet, peace, and security.'
'But you do not think so long. What is a life of indulgence and sloth?
Life is worthy only in what it achieves. Should I have done better to have
sat over my embroidery, in the midst of my slaves, all my days, than to
have spent them in building up a kingdom?'
'O no--no--you have done right. Slaves can embroider: Zenobia cannot. This
hand was made for other weapon than the needle.'
'I am weary,' said the Queen; 'let us sit;'--and saying so, she placed
herself upon the low stone block, upon which we had been sitting, and
drawing Fausta near her, she threw her left arm round her, retaining the
hand she held clasped in her own.
'I am weary,' she continued, 'for I have walked nearly the circuit of the
walls. You asked what makes me here. No night passes but I visit these
towers and battlements. If the governor of the ship sleeps, the men at the
watch sleep. Besides, I love Palmyra too well to sleep while others wait
and watch. I would do my share. How beautiful is this!--the city girded
by these strange fires! its ears filled with this busy music! Piso, it
seems hard to believe an enemy, and such an enemy, is there, and that
these sights and sounds are all of death!'
'Would it were not so, noble Queen! Would it were not yet too late to move
in the cause of peace. If even at the risk of life I--'
'Forbear, Piso,' quickly rejoined the Queen; 'it is to no purpose. You
have my thanks, but your Emperor has closed the door of peace forever. It
is now war unto death. He may prove victor: it is quite possible: but I
draw not back--no word of supplication goes from me. And every citizen
of Palmyra, save a few sottish souls, is with me. It were worth my throne
and my life, the bare suggestion of an embassy now to Aurelian. But let us
not speak of this, but of things more agreeable. The day for trouble, the
night for rest. Fausta, where is the quarter of Calpurnius? methinks it is
hereabouts.'
'It is,' replied Fausta, 'just beyond the towers of the gate next to us;
were it not for this thick night, we could see where at this time he is
usually to be found, doing, like yourself, an unnecessary task.'
'He is a good soldier and a faithful--may he prove as true to you, my
noble girl, as he has to me. Albeit I am myself a sceptic in love, I
cannot but be made happier when I see hearts worthy of each other united
by that bond. I trust that bright days are coming, when I may do you the
honor I would. Piso, I am largely a debtor to your brother--and Palmyra as
much. Singular fortune! that while Rome thus oppresses me, to Romans I
should owe so much; to one twice my life, to another my army. But where,
Lucius Piso, was your heart, that it fell not into the snare that caught
Calpurnius?'
'My heart,' I replied, 'has always been Fausta's, from childhood--'
'Our attachment,' said Fausta, interrupting me, 'is not less than love,
but greater. It is the sacred tie of nature, if I may say so, of brother
to sister; it is friendship.'
'You say well,' replied the Queen. 'I like the sentiment. It is not less
than love, but greater. Love is a delirium, a dream, a disease. It is full
of disturbance. It is unequal, capricious, unjust; its felicity, when at
the highest, is then nearest to deepest misery; a step, and it is into
unfathomable gulfs of woe. While the object loved is as yet unattained,
life is darker than darkest night. When it is attained, it is then oftener
like the ocean heaving and tossing from its foundations, than the calm,
peaceful lake, which mirrors friendship. And when lost, all is lost, the
universe is nothing. Who will deny it the name of madness? Will love find
entrance into Elysium? Will heaven know more than friendship? I trust not.
It were an element of discord there, where harmony should reign
perpetual.' After a pause, in which she seemed buried in thought, she
added musingly--'What darkness rests upon the future! Life, like love, is
itself but a dream; often a brief or a prolonged madness. Its light burns
sometimes brightly, oftener obscurely, and with a flickering ray, and then
goes out in smoke and darkness. How strange that creatures so exquisitely
wrought as we are, capable of such thoughts and acts, rising by science,
and art, and letters, almost to the level of gods, should be fixed here
for so short a time, running our race with the unintelligent brute; living
not so long as some, dying like all. Could I have ever looked out of this
life into the possession of any other beyond it, I believe my aims would
have been different. I should not so easily have been satisfied with glory
and power: at least I think so; for who knows himself? I should then, I
think, have reached after higher kinds of excellence, such for example as,
existing more in the mind itself, could be of avail after death--could be
carried out of the world--which power, riches, glory, cannot. The greatest
service which any philosopher could perform for the human race, would be
to demonstrate the certainty of a future existence, in the same
satisfactory manner that Euclid demonstrates the truths of geometry. We
cannot help believing Euclid if we would, and the truths he has
established concerning lines and angles, influence us whether we will or
not. Whenever the immortality of the soul shall be proved in like manner,
so that men cannot help believing it, so that they shall draw it in with
the first elements of all knowledge, then will mankind become a quite
different race of beings. Men will be more virtuous and more happy. How is
it possible to be either in a very exalted degree, dwelling as we do in
this deep obscure, uncertain whether we are mere earth and water, or parts
of the divinity; whether we are worms or immortals; men or gods; spending
all our days in, at best, miserable perplexity and doubt? Do you
remember, Fausta and Piso, the discourse of Longinus in the garden,
concerning the probability of a future life?
'We do, very distinctly.'
'And how did it impress you?'
'It seemed to possess much likelihood,' replied Fausta, 'but that was
all.'
'Yes,' responded the Queen, sighing deeply, 'that was indeed all.
Philosophy, in this part of it, is a mere guess. Even Longinus can but
conjecture. And what to his great and piercing intellect stands but in the
strength of probability, to ours will, of necessity, address itself in the
very weakness of fiction. As it is, I value life only for the brightest
and best it can give now, and these to my mind are power and a throne.
When these are lost I would fall unregarded into darkness and death.'
'But,' I ventured to suggest, 'you derive great pleasure and large profit
from study; from the researches of philosophy, from the knowledge of
history, from contemplation of the beauties of art, and the magnificence
of nature. Are not these things that give worth to life? If you reasoned
aright, and probed the soul well, would you not find that from these, as
from hidden springs, a great deal of all the best felicity you have
tasted, has welled up? Then, still more, from acts of good and just
government; from promoting and witnessing the happiness of your subjects;
from private friendship; from affections resting upon objects worthy to be
loved--from these has no happiness come worth living for? And beside all
this, from an inward consciousness of rectitude? Most of all this may
still be yours, though you no longer sat upon a throne, and men held their
lives but in your breath.
'From such sources,' replied Zenobia, 'some streams have issued it may
be, that have added to what I have enjoyed; but, of themselves, they would
have been nothing. The lot of earth, being of the low and common herd, is
a lot too low and sordid to be taken if proffered. I thank the gods mine
has been better. It has been a throne, glory, renown, pomp, and power; and
I have been happy. Stripped of these, and without the prospect of
immortality, and I would not live.'
With these words she rose quickly from her seat, saying that she had
a further duty to perform. Fausta intreated to be used as an agent or
messenger, but could not prevail. Zenobia darting from our side was
in a moment lost in the surrounding darkness. We returned to the
house of Gracchus.
In a few days, the vast preparations of the Romans being complete, a
general assault was made by the whole army upon every part of the walls.
Every engine, known to our modern methods of attacking walled cities, was
brought to bear. Towers constructed in the former manner were wheeled up
to the walls. Battering rams of enormous size, those who worked them being
protected by sheds of hide, thundered on all sides at the gates and walls.
Language fails to convey an idea of the energy, the fury, the madness of
the onset. The Roman army seemed as if but one being, with such equal
courage and contempt of danger and death was the dreadful work performed.
But the Queen's defences have again proved superior to all the power of
Aurelian. Her engines have dealt death and ruin in awful measure among the
assailants. The moat and the surrounding plain are filled and covered
with the bodies of the slain. As night came on after a long day of
uninterrupted conflict, the troops of Aurelian, baffled and defeated at
every point, withdrew to their tents, and left the city to repose.
The temples of the gods have resounded with songs of thanksgiving for
this new deliverance, garlands have been hung around their images, and
gifts laid upon their altars. Jews and Christians, Persians and
Egyptians, after the manner of their worship, have added their voices to
the general chorus.
Again there has been a pause. The Romans have rested after the late fierce
assault to recover strength, and the city has breathed free. Many are
filled with new courage and hope, and the discontented spirits are
silenced. The praises of Zenobia, next to those of the gods, fill every
mouth. The streets ring with songs composed in her honor.
* * * * *
Another day of excited expectations and bitter disappointment.
It was early reported that forces were seen approaching from the east, on
the very skirts of the plain, and that they could be no other than the
long-looked-for Persian army. Before its approach was indicated to those
upon the highest towers of the gates, by the clouds of dust hovering over
it, it was evident from the extraordinary commotion in the Roman
intrenchments, that somewhat unusual had taken place. Their scouts must
have brought in early intelligence of the advancing foe. Soon as the news
spread through the city the most extravagant demonstrations of joy broke
forth on all sides. Even the most moderate and sedate could not but give
way to expressions of heartfelt satisfaction. The multitudes poured to the
walls to witness a combat upon which the existence of the city seemed
suspended.
'Father,' said Fausta, after Gracchus had communicated the happy tidings,
'I cannot sit here--let us hasten to the towers of the Persian gate,
whence we may behold the encounter.'
'I will not oppose you,' replied Gracchus, 'but the sight may cost you
naught but tears and pain. Persia's good will, I fear, will not be much,
nor manifested by large contributions to our cause. If it be what I
suspect--but a paltry subdivision of her army, sent here rather to be cut
in pieces than aught else--it will but needlessly afflict and irritate.'
'Father, I would turn away from no evil that threatens Palmyra. Besides, I
should suffer more from imagined, than from real disaster. Let us hasten
to the walls.'
We flew to the Persian gate.
'But why,' asked Fausta, addressing Gracchus on the way, 'are you not more
elated? What suspicion do you entertain of Sapor? Will he not be sincerely
desirous to aid us?'
'I fear not,' replied Gracchus. 'If we are to be the conquering party in
this war, he will send such an army as would afterward make it plain that
he had intended an act of friendship, and done the duty of an ally. If we
are to be beaten, he will lose little in losing such an army, and will
easily, by placing the matter in certain lights, convince the Romans that
their interests had been consulted, rather than ours, We can expect no
act of true friendship from Sapor. Yet he dares not abandon us. Were
Hormisdas upon the throne, our prospects were brighter.'
'I pray the gods that ancient wretch may quickly perish then,' cried
Fausta, 'if such might be the consequences to us. Why is he suffered
longer to darken Persia and the earth with his cruel despotism!'
'His throne shakes beneath him,' replied Gracchus; 'a breath may
throw it down.'
As we issued forth upon the walls, and then mounted to the battlements of
the highest tower, whence the eye took in the environs of the city, and
even the farthest verge of the plain, and overlooked, like one's own
court-yard, the camp and intrenchments of the Romans--we beheld with
distinctness the Persian forces within less than two Roman miles. They had
halted and formed, and there apparently awaited the enemy.
No sooner had Gracchus surveyed well the scene, than he exclaimed, 'The
gods be praised! I have done Sapor injustice. Yonder forces are such as
may well call forth all the strength of the Roman army. In that case there
will be much for us to do. I must descend and to the post of duty.'
So saying he left us.
'I suppose,' said Fausta, 'in case the enemy be such as to draw off the
larger part of the Roman army, sorties will be made from the gates upon
their camp?'
'Yes,' I rejoined; 'if the Romans should suffer themselves to be drawn to
a distance, and their forces divided, a great chance would fall into the
hands of the city. But that they will not do. You perceive the Romans
move not, but keep their station just where they are. They will oblige the
Persians to commence the assault upon them in their present position, or
there will be no battle.'
'I perceive their policy now,' said Fausta. 'And the battle being fought
so near the walls, they are still as strongly beleaguered as ever--at
least half their strength seems to remain within their intrenchments. See,
see! the Persian army is on the march. It moves toward the city. Now again
it halts.'
'It hopes to entice Aurelian from his position, so as to put power into
our hands. But they will fail in their object.'
'Yes, I fear they will,' replied Fausta. 'The Romans remain fixed as
statues in their place.'
'Is it not plain to you, Fausta,' said I, 'that the Persians conceive not
the full strength of the Roman army? Your eye can now measure their
respective forces.'
'It is too plain, alas!' said Fausta. 'If the Persians should defeat the
army now formed, there is another within the trenches to be defeated
afterwards, Now they move again. Righteous gods, interpose in our behalf!'
At this moment indeed the whole Persian army put itself into quick and
decisive motion, as if determined to dare all--and achieve all for their
ally, if fate should so decree. It was a sight beautiful to behold, but of
an interest too painful almost to be endured. The very existence of a city
and an empire seemed to hang upon its issues; and here, looking on and
awaiting the decisive moment, was as it were the empire itself assembled
upon the walls of its capital, with which, if it should fall, the kingdom
would also fall, and the same ruin cover both. The Queen herself was there
to animate and encourage by her presence, not only the hearts of all
around, but even the distant forces of the Persians, who, from their
position, might easily behold the whole extent of the walls and towers,
covered with an innumerable multitude of the besieged inhabitants, who, by
waving their hands, and by every conceivable demonstration, gave them to
feel more deeply than they could otherwise have done, how much was
depending upon their skill and bravery.
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.
'But how is it,' inquired Longinus, 'that you obtain foreign intelligence,
the city thus beset?'
'It may well be asked,' replied Calpurnius. 'It is through the
intelligence and cunning of a Jew well known in Palmyra, and throughout
the world I believe, called Isaac. By him was I rescued from Persian
captivity, and through him have I received letters thence, ever since
the city has been besieged. He is acquainted with a subterranean
passage--in the time of Trajan, he has informed me, a public conduit,
but long since much choked and dry--by which one may pass from the city
under and beyond the lines of the Roman intrenchments, emerging into a
deep ravine or fissure, grown thickly over with vines and olives. Once
it was of size sufficient to admit an elephant with his rider; now, he
says, has it become so obstructed, and in some places so fallen in, that
it is with difficulty that a dromedary of but the common size can force
his way through.'
'Through this then the Queen may effect her escape,' said Longinus.
'With perfect ease and security,' rejoined Calpurnius. 'At the
outlet, Isaac shall be in waiting with the fleetest dromedaries of
the royal stables.'
'We are satisfied,' said Longinus; 'let it be as you say. The gods prosper
the pious service!'
So ended the conversation.
Of the ancient aqueduct or conduit, you have already heard from me; it
is the same by which Isaac has transmitted my late letters to
Portia--which I trust you have received and read. To Portia alone--be
not offended--do I pour out my whole soul. From her learn more of what
relates to the Princess.
I returned from the palace of Zenobia overwhelmed with a thousand painful
sensations. But this I need not say.
Fausta, upon learning the determination of the Queen, which had been
communicated not even to her, exclaimed--'There, Lucius, I have always
told you Palmyra brought forth women! Where in the wide world shall
two be found to match Zenobia and Julia? But when is the time fixed
for the flight?'
'To-morrow night.'
'I will to the palace. These may be the last hours permitted by the gods
to our friendship. I must not lose one of them.'