The Black Stone (11 page)

Cassius held up his mug. ‘Another, Muranda. And plenty of water for him.’

As the sun reappeared from behind a cloud, light filled the courtyard. Indavara bowed his head and kept eating, fringe hanging over his eyes.

‘How did I get home?’ he murmured.

‘No idea,’ said Cassius, leaning back and crossing his legs. ‘We found you passed out in front of the door. Where’d you go?’

‘Some tavern.’

‘You’re lucky those men didn’t find you.’

‘I wish they had.’

‘Don’t be idiotic, man. Oh, by the way, you owe me six sesterces.’

‘Why?’

Muranda returned, carrying a steaming mug of hot wine for Cassius and Indavara’s water.

‘We had an early morning visit from the city sergeants regarding your misdemeanour at the hippodrome. One was a senior man – wouldn’t take any less than six to drop it.’

‘I’ll get you the coins later.’

Indavara thanked Muranda then took a long drink. The housekeeper put her hands on her hips and looked down at him. ‘Look at the state of you. Shall I put a bowl of water and a towel in your room?’

‘Do so at once,’ said Cassius, waving her towards the villa. ‘You need to freshen up and get your tunic on. A messenger called in just before you roused yourself. We are expecting an important visitor.’

‘Who?’

‘A rather overweight gentleman who arrived in Bostra last night. Odious features, appalling manners and known affectionately across the length and breadth of the eastern provinces as “Pitface”.’

‘He’s here?’

‘He’s here.’

Abascantius suggested they meet in the study. As Indavara brought in two extra chairs, Cassius dug out the map of the province the agent had requested (Verecundus had left behind a decent copy – thick paper mounted on a wooden frame). Indavara placed the chairs in front of the desk and sat down. Cassius watched him watch Abascantius, who was still in the atrium, doling out a stream of instructions to Shostra. Indavara wiped some residual water off his hair and rubbed his eyes. As Shostra left via the front door, Abascantius strode in.

For once he was attired like an officer, though his scarlet cloak was rather threadbare. The helmet was in rather better condition and – uniquely in Cassius’s experience – boasted a black crest. Abascantius had earlier confided to him that this had been his idea; apparently the Praetorian Guard wore the colour many centuries before and he liked the way it unnerved other officers and ranks. He deposited the helmet on the table then thumped his hands onto Indavara’s shoulders.

‘Look at this lad. Built like a brick shithouse, eh, Corbulo?’

He lowered his bulk into the chair and grinned at the bodyguard. ‘Tell me – how in Hades do you stay in such good condition?’

‘Just keep up with my exercises, sir.’

‘Two hours a day,’ added Cassius. ‘Often more.’

‘Remarkable commitment,’ said Abascantius. ‘Wish I had the time. So, have you seen the commendation?’

Indavara looked at him blankly.

‘From Chief Pulcher,’ continued the agent. ‘Expressing his thanks for what you and Corbulo did in Cyrenaica.’

‘I have it here,’ said Cassius, pointing to the letter. ‘I’ll read it to you later.’

‘Well, Indavara can probably read it himself now. I hear you’re doing well with your numbers and letters.’

‘It’s difficult.’

‘You are progressing, though,’ said Cassius as he sat down. ‘Simo says so.’

Abascantius leaned forward and shook Indavara’s forearm. ‘Young man, I want to thank you personally for what you did. I knew Memor well. You and Corbulo not only found his killers but avenged his death.’

‘Miss Annia gave me a medal,’ said Indavara.

‘The daughter? You did that family a great service.’

Indavara looked thoughtfully out of the window behind Cassius.

‘To business,’ said Abascantius. ‘You two have been lounging around here in Bostra too long; time to set you to work once more. Corbulo, you told Indavara about the stone?’

‘I did. Sir, you said there was a regular army garrison at Emesa. Surely they have been searching for it since it was stolen?’

‘Indeed, but without success. The commander there was a centurion named Ursus – from the Sixteenth under Prefect Sanctus. Apparently, this Ursus made a valiant attempt to stop the raiders but virtually his entire force was wiped out. Sanctus refuses to have any Service officers attached to his legion so his recovery efforts have been … well, let us say unimaginative. He also has limited numbers of troops available because of the Palmyrans.’

‘But you have made some progress, sir?’

Abascantius had the leather folder with him again. He took out a small sheet of paper. ‘I’ve lost count of the people I’ve paid for information over the years. I get letters every week offering some essential piece of intelligence, always demanding money in return, of course. Most of it is useless. I hadn’t heard from this fellow for ages – to be honest I thought he was dead – but this arrived nine days ago.’

He handed the letter to Cassius. ‘Ulixes was a legionary for a few years and a spy for many more. A rogue and an inveterate gambler but he appears to have stumbled on something.’

Cassius read the letter through. When he finished, he found Indavara staring at him expectantly.

‘One of Ulixes’s old informers was heading north from the western coast of the province several weeks ago and tried to enter a town, but was refused entry because it had been taken over by a chieftain and some kind of cult.’

‘Which town?’ asked Indavara.

‘Doesn’t say,’ replied Cassius. ‘It’ll become clear why in a minute. This man continued north and stopped at a cistern to water his horse. A large party of heavily armed horsemen riding south towards the town stopped there too, led by a big, fair-haired northerner. The informer stayed out of their way but noticed they appeared to be guarding a large cart, even though it seemed to contain nothing but reeds. Eventually he arrived back in Damascus and related the tale to Ulixes. Ulixes thought no more of it, but a few days later he met some scouts from the Sixteenth outside the city and one officer recognised him from his army days. Knowing he had worked as a spy, the officer told him what they were searching for and asked if he knew anything. Ulixes told him nothing, then contacted Master Abascantius.’

Cassius returned the letter.

‘Why not tell them?’ asked Indavara.

Cassius gave him a knowing look.

‘Because the sly bastard wants money,’ said Abascantius, ‘and he knows I pay well. I received a second message from him while in Epiphania. In return for a certain amount of coin, he will disclose the name of this town.’

Abascantius got to his feet. ‘Let’s have a look at the map.’

Cassius turned it so that all three of them could see.

The agent pointed at the southern region of the province below Petra. ‘Depending on the informer’s route north, it might have been any of these towns in or close to the Hejaz mountains. I would assume quite far to the south.’

‘Because it has been taken over by this chieftain?’ said Cassius.

‘Yes – well beyond our reach. I met with Calvinus this morning. He briefed me about the attack on Ruwaffa and the wider situation but knew nothing about any particular chief or cult.’

‘Might we be able to narrow the possible location based on the temples and sects in each town?’

‘Unlikely. Most, if not all, have connections to one of the sun gods. I imagine all would covet the black stone.’

‘Why take it, though?’ asked Cassius. ‘Why risk a conflict with Rome?’

‘Perhaps they think they
are
beyond our reach down there; that we’ve little chance of finding the stone. And they would probably have been right if not for Ulixes. The gods have favoured us with this stroke of luck. We must use it.’

‘
If
he’s telling the truth,’ countered Cassius. ‘What if he heard the troops were looking for the stone, then invented this tale about the informer. I’m sure he stands to earn a considerable sum.’

‘He is expecting one hundred aurei. We shall give him half.’

‘But it could so easily be a ruse.’

‘The thought had occurred to me, Corbulo,’ said Abascantius sharply. ‘And I might agree with you were it not for one particular detail. I managed to get a look at Prefect Sanctus’s report regarding the theft of the stone. One of the few surviving witnesses was a young priest. He was unable to speak for several days afterward but when he did, he offered what has turned out to be a vital piece of information. He watched the raiders as they set about removing the stone from the temple. He saw their leader without his helmet – a tall man with fair hair. This northerner. Ulixes is telling the truth.’

Cassius leaned back and considered what he’d heard.

Abascantius let his belt out a notch, lowering the flabby rolls of his gut. ‘I told Ulixes to be in Petra in seven days’ time. He will be at the Temple of Atargatis at midday. You are to meet him, get the location and pay him. You will then proceed south and attempt to recover the stone.’

‘Might I ask how, sir?’ asked Cassius, trying not to sound incredulous. ‘Will Calvinus let us use men from one of the southern garrisons?’

‘He might. But I wouldn’t dream of using conventional forces. Word would travel several days ahead of you: whoever has the stone would have ample time to make their escape.’

‘What’s the alternative?’

‘A covert squad of around twenty soldiers – small enough to avoid detection, big enough to grab the stone. You will masquerade as a merchant and they as your local help.’

Cassius couldn’t even reply; the assignment was sounding more perilous by the minute.

Indavara spoke up. ‘You said soldiers. Not legionaries?’

‘To move freely through that area the men will have to pass as natives. They will need to speak Nabatean and know the ways of the desert and its people. We will use auxiliaries from one of the cohorts based here in Bostra.’

‘
Auxiliaries
?’ repeated Cassius.

‘Yes. And if that pompous arsehole Pontius has done his job, some volunteers will be waiting for us in the fortress right now.’

Abascantius stood. ‘Come, we must choose our twenty. There will be an officer to lead them. Don’t worry, Corbulo, only an optio – local, apparently. I think we both know field operations aren’t your strength, so I thought it seemed wise.’

Cassius couldn’t deny that; in fact he was relieved. ‘Fair enough, sir.’

‘Swiftly then, I have only today to help you prepare. I need to be back on the road tomorrow.’

As Abascantius and Indavara left, Cassius remained behind for a moment and examined the map. South of Petra was a region dominated by desert, where only the hardiest creatures and men could survive. Three centuries earlier, the emperor Augustus had launched an expedition under a general named Aelius Gallus to cross the barren wastes and reach the kingdom of the Sabeans, a people who had grown rich through producing incense and spices. The expedition had ended in disaster and Gallus had been forced to retreat, defeated by the conditions and the treacherous locals.

Cassius stared at the bottom of the map, beyond the last known settlements and roads. It was blank.

The fortress was virtually empty. So far they’d seen only a handful of men, mainly clerks and other specialists exempt from regular duties.

‘Manoeuvres going on apparently,’ remarked Abascantius as he led the way along the main avenue. To their left was a long, timber-built warehouse, to their right the hospital, a stone building with a wide entrance that opened out into a courtyard. Cassius looked inside as they passed, noting a herb garden and several men lying on beds in the shade.

‘This place is huge,’ said Indavara, who had never accompanied Cassius on his few trips inside.

‘Has to accommodate the best part of an entire legion,’ replied Abascantius.

At the centre of the complex they came to the legion headquarters: a two-storey structure from which a pair of large standards flew. One bore the SPQR legend topped by an eagle; gold thread on thick scarlet cloth. The other was for the Third Cyrenaican: above the legend was a prowling lion; gold thread on black. Two more sentries guarded the main door, both in helmets and armour.