The Black Stone (14 page)

‘Hey. Hey, you.’

The steward came up the path and spoke without looking at him. ‘She’s in the alley there. Hurry up, I don’t want Mistress to see you.’

The old man continued along the street towards the fortress. Indavara doubled back, then jogged down the alley that separated the villa from Lepida’s place. A door opened and Sanari slipped outside. As he hurried up to her, she carefully shut the door. There was no smile this time.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘Why didn’t you come and see me?’ she replied, arms wrapped around herself though it wasn’t cold.

‘I – I didn’t know what—’

‘Why did you do it? Why did you hurt him like that?’

‘He was saying things to me. Trying to put me off.’

‘I heard he didn’t wake up for almost an hour. He hasn’t been out of his bed since.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

Indavara just looked at her. He’d never seen her face like this.

‘What did he say to you?’ she asked.

‘It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I know that.’

Someone walked past the end of the alley. They both looked, but whoever it was had already disappeared.

‘You shouldn’t hurt people like that. It isn’t right.’

‘Can I see you later?’

Sanari looked down at the ground. ‘People are talking about you. It will be difficult for us now.’

Indavara was about to reach for her hand when someone called her name.

‘I have to go.’

‘Will I see you again?’

‘Sanari!’ It was a woman’s voice; a well-spoken woman.

Without another word, Sanari opened the door and hurried inside.

Indavara stared at the scarred planking of the door for a while. He heard her talking to someone then the voices faded. He looked back along the alley and wished more than ever that Simo would return. He would know what to do.

The last thing Indavara needed now was another earful from Corbulo.

The sanctuary? Yes, there.

Shostra emitted a loud grunt as he dumped the little barrel in the atrium. Abascantius shut the front door behind him as Cassius came through from the kitchen.

‘A gift, Corbulo.’

At a signal from his master, Shostra wrapped his remarkably long arms around the barrel and tipped it on its side. Cassius peered down at the bottom and saw a small stopper. Shostra unscrewed it and pulled it out. Abascantius gestured to the barrel. Cassius squatted down and looked inside. Seeing something glinting, he plucked out a gold aureus. The coin was in pristine condition.

‘Where’s Fat-arse?’ asked Abascantius.

‘Outside dusting the carpets. Don’t worry, she’s harmless.’

Abascantius shut the kitchen door. ‘She likes to talk.’

Cassius was still examining the coin. On one side was an image of Aurelian, on the other two crossed swords.

‘Only a few weeks old – fresh from the mint at Cyzicus,’ added the agent. ‘There are two hundred in there. And some wine in the top half in case anyone gets thirsty. Or curious.’

‘Two hundred?’ Cassius struggled to keep his voice down.

‘Fifty for Ulixes. The rest is to use as you see fit. An amount like that will buy you a lot of information. Or cooperation. Obviously the men needn’t know, Mercator included.’

Cassius replaced the coin. ‘Ingenious.’

While Shostra put the stopper back in, Abascantius handed over a small sheet of paper with a few lines written on it. ‘You’ll have to sign for it, of course.’

Cassius took the paper into the study.

‘Find somewhere to hide that,’ Abascantius told Shostra before following Cassius. ‘Where’s Indavara?’

‘Not sure, sir.’

Cassius signed the sheet and handed it back to him. ‘Actually, on that subject …’

‘Yes?’

‘He’s talking about not coming. I suspect it’s a bit of a ruse for attention but I can’t be sure.’

Abascantius grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds from a bowl Muranda had left on Cassius’s desk. ‘He was doing his bit with the auxiliaries today. Seemed quite keen.’

‘I need to be sure, sir. Otherwise I might find myself travelling alone with two hundred aurei and twenty men I hardly know.’

‘That wouldn’t be ideal.’

Chewing noisily on the seeds, Abascantius leaned back against the desk. ‘So still no word from that Gaul of yours?’

‘I shall wring his fat neck when I see him. To be late is bad enough but to send no word. It’s an outrage.’

‘How late is he now?’

‘Four or five days.’

‘You do realise he may have left you.’

‘Simo? Never.’

‘Be realistic, Corbulo. It happens all the time. You think he adores attending to your every need so much that he’s never thought of having a life of his own?’

‘He comes from a line of slaves. He has known nothing else.’

‘These Christians put ideas in their heads. They don’t worship our gods, they don’t worship the Emperor, but you expect him to worship you?’

‘Simo’s not like that. He wants to follow their teachings, I know; and he wants to do good, but—’

‘There – he wants to do good. Will he be able to do what he would consider good working for you; in our line of business? No, it’ll be a wrench to start with, good slaves are hard to come by, but you need someone who can do more than wash your loincloths and cook up a good meal. That’s women’s work. You need someone who can really help you. You should get yourself down to an auction tomorrow and buy a man. Take some of the gold if you need a bit of help. Any self-respecting merchant would have a slave so it won’t affect your cover.’

Cassius found the idea horrifying, and not just because of the financial implications of losing a slave and having to buy another. The prospect of Simo not returning and replacing him with some brute like Shostra was truly awful.

‘There must have been some delay. He’ll be here.’

‘You don’t have time to wait around. Anyway, that’s your problem – we were discussing your other troublesome employee.’

‘Sir, what you said last night – about giving Indavara his place. I think there’s something more we can do. Something concrete.’

‘Go on.’

‘Ask him to join the army.’

‘But he’s a bodyguard – hired help.’

‘It’s unconventional, I know, but I think it might work. Do you know what happened to him in Pietas Julia, at this inn?’

‘No.’

‘Because he was well known from the arena, people wouldn’t leave him alone. One night he was cornered by a group of men. He ended up killing one of them. The magistrates came after him and he had to leave; I believe that’s why he headed east. As a soldier he’d be free from prosecution. We can offer him a proper wage, get him an identity tablet, enter him onto the books of the Fourth Legion with me.’

‘I suppose I could sort out the paperwork. He’d have to take the oath.’

‘I know. It’s a gamble. He might say no. The whole thing might scare him off. But if he agrees, he’ll have his place …’

‘… and we’ll have him.’

‘Sir, it might be best if the offer comes from you.’

Abascantius grinned. ‘Best for you?’

‘For all of us.’

‘Very well, Corbulo. You know him better than me. We’ll try it.’

Gutha laid the charred, tattered flag on the floor. There was a single patch of red left, upon it an eagle’s wing embroidered in golden thread.

‘I thought you might like this.’

Ilaha smiled. ‘I shall use it as a doormat.’

Gutha straightened up and looked around the cavern.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Ilaha. ‘She’s not here.’

Feigning indifference, Gutha examined his hands. He had been holding reins for so long that bits of leather had stuck to the lines in his palms.

‘Shall I have something fetched for you?’ asked Ilaha. ‘Food? Drink?’

‘No thank you, I’d just like to get back to the inn.’

‘I really don’t know why you insist on living in the town. There are hundreds of these caves. I could have one furnished to your tastes.’

Staying here – close to the temple and the old crone – was not a prospect Gutha considered appealing. ‘I just wanted to give you the flag.’

Ilaha was standing in front of a table covered with gems, figurines, jewellery and other assorted valuables. Below it were stacks of wooden boxes overflowing with coins. In amongst the trinkets was a circular golden mask bearing the narrow features of a young girl.

Gutha moved closer. ‘That death mask, it’s not Gerrhan, is it?’

‘The expert who checked it for me thinks so. From the lost city – perhaps more than a thousand years old.’

‘Do you know what one of those would fetch in Rome or Alexandria?’

‘I do. Fortunately my men don’t. Please ensure it stays that way.’

‘Of course. But where did you—’

‘Let’s not get distracted, Gutha. The operation – did you lose any men?’

‘Not one. I allowed some of the legionaries to escape as you ordered.’

‘Bostra will know by now that they face a serious threat.’

‘They will.’

‘You still think this was premature?’

‘We cannot be sure how they will respond. And I am concerned that you continue to draw so much attention to yourself.’ Gutha jutted his jaw at the treasure. ‘More “donations”?’

Ilaha gave a sly grin.

‘Raiding these temples – it does you more harm than good. Your men do not take the precautions I do. Word will get out. You will make enemies of those you wish to become allies.’

‘I need money. My army needs money.’

Army.
That was new.

‘Besides,’ continued Ilaha, ‘there is no place any more for temples to false idols, or Persian gods or Roman gods. There is only …’

He paused; and Gutha realised his face must have betrayed his feelings.

‘What?’ said Ilaha.

‘Nothing.’

Ilaha’s hand drifted to an amulet around his neck, a yellow gem mounted on a silver chain. ‘You do not believe as I do. As the others do. I know that.’

‘You do not pay me to believe. You pay me to offer counsel and do your bidding.’

Ilaha walked away, through one of the shafts of light angling down into the floor from the small, high windows.

‘The new arrivals in the town concern me too,’ added Gutha. ‘We chose this place because it is remote. Safe.’

Ilaha turned as he spoke, a note of irritation in his voice. ‘Is it not a cause for celebration? These men are not even affiliated to the loyal chiefs but they have heard what is happening here. They are curious, eager to join us.’

‘To join what exactly? I am concerned that you intend to go beyond what is practical, what is possible.’

‘Mother told me you would try this.’

‘Try what?’

‘To dissuade me. Limit me.’

‘My view has stayed consistent throughout. There
have
to be limits. I did not agree—’

Ilaha held up a hand. ‘Your agreement is not required, Gutha. You have given your counsel. And I have heard it. Now, will you do my bidding?’

Gutha bit his tongue, even though Ilaha had never previously treated his advice with such disdain. To protest more would risk a permanent rift between them. Ilaha might not be governed by pragmatism, but he was.

‘Of course.’

Ilaha walked back through the light. ‘Mushannaf has agreed to come and see me in a few days’ time but I have it on good authority that he means not to attend the meeting of the chiefs. I want him dealt with before the others arrive.’

‘That situation is in hand. If you cannot persuade him, I will.’

‘Mushannaf is influential. He has no interest in the divine and his people are little more than money grabbers – but he commands many swords.’

‘He won’t be a problem.’

‘Excellent. Now, you must rest.’ Ilaha walked up to Gutha and put a hand on his chest. ‘You deserve it.’

Gutha had never particularly minded the fact that Ilaha sometimes touched him. But he now found himself struck by an urge to reach down and crush those slim fingers under his.

‘Thank you.’ He stepped back, Ilaha’s hand slipping off him as he made for the passageway.

‘Oh, Gutha.’

He stopped and turned.

Ilaha took the amulet from his neck and offered it to him. ‘Please.’

Gutha didn’t want the thing, didn’t want it anywhere near him in fact. But he had gone too far earlier; it seemed wise to accept the gift. He put out his hand.

‘No, let me.’

Glad they were alone, Gutha bowed his head. Even so, Ilaha had to stretch to his full height to get the chain over his neck.

‘Perhaps it will help you.’

‘Help me?’

‘To believe.’