The Black Stone (32 page)

The table was covered with a remarkable array of food and drink, none of which had been touched.

‘No, but we thank you for your hospitality.’

The sons sat down on either side of their father.

Gutha – standing a few yards away by the wall – had let them keep their swords. He didn’t want to cause offence and knew it wouldn’t make much difference if things turned nasty. Both sons were known for an indulgent lifestyle funded by their father’s wealth. Neither was a swordsman of renown.

Ilaha sat at the other end of the table. ‘How was your journey?’

‘Annoying,’ said Mushannaf as he dragged his weak arm onto his lap. ‘I intended to continue south and check my caravans coming up from Thoma. I have lost three days coming here.’

‘The gesture is appreciated.’

‘I came out of respect for your past achievements. We fought together and we fought well. As equals. The Tanukh has always been a loose alliance – we chiefs work together when it suits us. It was never intended to provide an army for one man.’

‘Mushannaf, let me be clear: however the situation develops, you will retain complete control of your trade interests and tactical command of your warriors.’

‘“However the situation develops”. That sounds disturbingly vague. Do you expect me to blindly pledge myself to your cause? Risk my treasure, my blood?’

Ilaha held up both hands. ‘You need wait only a matter of days to hear my proposal. I simply need to know that you will be here with the others – that the Confederation will meet as one.’

‘Your request seems reasonable but your actions do not. This senseless attack on Ruwaffa – your work, I presume? Or more likely his?’

With his good hand Mushannaf gestured towards Gutha, who did not react. It would be better for all concerned if Ilaha could win the obstinate chief round, though that was looking increasingly unlikely.

‘You mentioned your treasure,’ said Ilaha. ‘Is it right that a quarter of all your profits should go to Bostra, and from there to Rome?’

‘It has always been this way.’

‘Not always. They exploit us and our trade only because we haven’t the backbone to stand up to them. And what do we get in return? Our lands pillaged by the Palmyrans, occupied for almost two years. And now they’ve allowed them to rebel
again
.’

‘If you expect me to defend Roman policy, you are talking to the wrong man. But I am a realist. This Aurelian is a soldier. He will deal with the Palmyrans and the Egyptians and if we take up arms against him he will deal with us.’

‘You fought with me, Mushannaf. You know that I would never be stupid enough to be drawn into an engagement with the legions. But now is the time to push for a stronger position. I have a way for us to secure our own lands in perpetuity and exist as equals, not lackeys.’

Gutha was beginning to think Ilaha might be making progress. It was a while since he’d heard him speak with such clarity and force.

‘You are talking about betraying Calvinus,’ replied Mushannaf. ‘I have no great affinity for the man but at least he respects us and our ways.’

‘So your loyalty lies with him, not your own people?’

Mushannaf raised his voice. ‘My loyalty
is
to my own people. My own tribe. And I will act – as I have always acted – in their best interest.’

Ilaha was silent for a moment.

‘There cannot be one leader,’ added the older man. ‘Or one god.’

‘Choose your next words wisely, Mushannaf.’

‘It appears we will have to agree to disagree. Pursue this course if you will, but you will do so without me and without my men.’

Mushannaf had his good hand on the side of his chair, ready to get up.

‘A final offer,’ said Ilaha.

‘I’m listening.’

‘A thousand golds.’

‘A considerable sum. But I am not for sale.’

Gutha strode over to their end of the table. Mushannaf and his sons looked at him, then at the huge axe hanging from his shoulder. Gutha tapped the handle as he spoke for the first time. ‘With respect, I suggest you reconsider.’

‘I suggest you stay out of it, northerner.’

Mushannaf stood. The sons were already on their way up when Gutha reached inside his tunic and threw a little leather bag onto the table.

‘What’s that?’ asked the chief.

‘Open it and find out,’ said Gutha.

Ilaha watched dispassionately as Mushannaf untied the top of the bag and turned it over. A lock of dark brown hair fell onto the table. He picked it up and examined it.

‘Father?’ said one of the sons.

‘Ellari,’ breathed Mushannaf.

Gutha took another step towards him. ‘I hear she’s quite a beauty, your new wife.’

Mushannaf’s mouth twisted into a snarl.

The closest son sprang to his feet. As he reached for his sword, Gutha gripped the axe handle.

‘I wouldn’t bother. We need your father – we don’t particularly need you.’

The son moved his hand away from the sword. His brother was still sitting down.

Mushannaf turned his glare on Ilaha. ‘You evil little …’

‘Now now,’ warned Gutha. ‘There’s no need for that. You were given the chance to cooperate but you’ve left us no choice.’ He nodded at the lock of hair still in Mushannaf’s hand. ‘If I order it, my man can get that close again. He’s very good. She won’t even see him or hear him. The first she’ll know of it is cold metal on her skin, then—’

‘All right,’ said Mushannaf. ‘All right, curse you.’

At last, Ilaha spoke again. ‘All I am asking is that you come with the others and hear me out. That is all.’

Mushannaf was still looking at the hair. He answered in a whisper. ‘Very well.’

By the afternoon they were past the Wadi Rum and facing the bleakest terrain yet. There seemed to be no traces of life at all, just the dusty wastes and the austere bulk of the mountains. Dark cloud still shadowed the sky to the south-east and now seemed to be on the move.

Earlier, they had encountered several caravans heading north. The largest had been of at least a hundred men, with three times that number of pack animals. They passed the occasional way-station too: all were ruined and stripped of timber and anything else of value. The watchtowers were similarly ancient and empty – all except one that had been appropriated by a local family eking out a living by selling water and dried fruit.

Cassius’s attention alternated between the gathering storm and the mountains. Despite the heat, he felt a chill feather his back when he thought of what the next few days might hold. Ulixes had told him that the Hejaz peaks were part of an enormous range fifty miles across and a thousand long that stretched all the way to the southern tip of the Arabian peninsula. Somewhere inside that formidable maze of rock was Galanaq and the mysterious enemy who had orchestrated this daring strike against Rome.

At the tenth hour, he was forced to call a halt. The eastern horizon had disappeared and now distant formations were being subsumed by the long-feared haboob. While the rest of the sky remained an unsullied blue, the seething mass of dust seemed to be growing higher and wider with every passing minute.

‘We need shelter,’ he said. ‘But where?’

The western edge of the mountains was at least five miles away; to the east was an isolated formation.

‘That’s closer,’ said Mercator.

‘But it means riding into it,’ replied Cassius. ‘We’ll reach the storm sooner.’

Mercator called up Andal. The veteran scratched his chin then nodded at the formation. ‘I’d say there.’

‘Ground’s not good,’ observed Ulixes. ‘The sand will slow us down and there’s all those nasty little rocks – difficult for the mounts.’

A flock of birds flew overhead, squawking as if warning the stranded humans below.

‘We can walk,’ said Andal. ‘Lead the horses.’

‘Tell the men,’ said Cassius. As Mercator began barking orders, he dismounted and led the way off the road.

They almost made it in time. As the storm rolled towards them, tendrils of dust swirled high into the air. Then came waves of wind that rippled across the sand, surging then dying like water upon a shore. As the great cloud loomed, the sun disappeared and visibility dropped to little more than a hundred yards. Soon everything was cloaked by an opaque, yellow hue.

Though the soft sand had slowed them, it was – as Ulixes had warned – the treacherous shards of rock that really caused problems. Cassius’s horse had already stumbled twice and – despite its compliant nature – was now resisting. He was sure this was at least partly because of the other animals fleeing the haboob: a small herd of ibex trotting west, hares bolting across the ground, high-flying vultures and eagles trying to outrun the storm.

Glad to see some clear terrain ahead, Cassius looked back. Most of the auxiliaries were in a straight line but one man towards the rear was off to the side, examining his horse’s hoof. Cassius gave not a moment’s thought to stopping. The auxiliary would just have to keep up as best he could.

The formation seemed to have been dropped from the heavens: a colossal lump of dark grey rock half a mile long. Cassius had been aiming for a hollow at the base of the western face but now saw it was an illusion created by a variance in colour.

Even so, he quickened his pace, tugging the horse after him. The dust had coated his tunic, his skin, his hair. He could feel it on his eyelids and taste it in his mouth. He snatched another look back but couldn’t even make out the middle of the column, let alone the rear. He ploughed on.

Nearing the formation, he heard what at first he thought was someone whistling. Then he realised it was the wind, howling through the voids in the rock. He towed his horse right up to the face and tied the reins around one of the numerous boulders scattered along the base.

Simo arrived, leading horse and mule. The Gaul’s dark hair had been made fair by several layers of sand.

‘Rope them to mine,’ Cassius told him.

‘Yes, sir.’

Cassius waved Indavara past too and then saw Mercator, who offered him his reins. ‘Here, I’ll go back and check the others.’

‘I’ll do it. Tie the horses in a line along the formation.’

With his cloak whipping around his legs and sand peppering his face, Cassius guided the others in. Having passed Ulixes, Yorvah and most of the men, he looked for the next auxiliary but there was no one there.

Visibility was down to a few yards now. He was about to give up when a shape emerged from the storm. It was Andal.

‘Straight ahead!’ Cassius shouted. ‘You’re almost there.’

‘Not sure who’s still with me.’

‘Just keep going.’

Behind the veteran were only three more men. Cassius had counted a total of sixteen. Two more were out there somewhere.

Hood flapping, wind blasting his back, he waited for the missing pair. Three times he thought a man was about to materialise, but they turned out to be imaginary spectres, like those glimpsed in a sea of cloud.

Fearing he would completely lose his bearings, Cassius retraced his steps and found the rest of the party in good order. The closely packed horses stood with heads bowed and eyes closed. Many of the men stayed beside them, a comforting hand on a shoulder or flank. Ulixes was sitting on a boulder, pouring water into his eyes. Mercator was with the guard officers.

‘Two missing, yes?’ said Cassius.

‘Plus some of the mules. A rope must have come loose. Andal suggests tying a long line on someone and sending them out. What do you think?’

‘Let’s try it.’

Simo appeared. ‘Sir – we saw them. We saw the men.’

Cassius followed him back to the end of the line. ‘Where’s Indavara?’

‘I think he went to find them.’

Cassius looked out into the swirling, orange fog. For more than a minute he saw no one but then he spied a single figure walking parallel to the formation, no more than twenty feet away.

He shouted.

The figure turned and walked towards him. The broad shoulders, bulky legs and shaggy hair made identification easy.

‘See them?’

‘I thought so,’ replied Indavara as he brushed sand from his eyes. ‘Lost them, though.’

‘Just stay here or we’ll lose you too.’

One of the mounts was unsettled and the movement on the line was upsetting the others. As Indavara and Simo went to calm their horses down, Cassius noted an absentee.

‘Where’s the mule?’

Simo looked around. ‘I’m not sure. I thought—’

‘Indavara. Where’s the mule?’

He didn’t reply.

Knowing the hearing in his disfigured ear sometimes failed him, Cassius shouted.

‘Indavara. The mule?’

The bodyguard looked at the empty space between his and Cassius’s horse. ‘He was there. I thought he’d feel safe between the horses.’

‘Tied on?’

‘No, but he wouldn’t go off on his own.’

‘Gods’ blood – the money.’

Cassius jogged all the way along the line. Having come across several other mules but not the one he was looking for, he sprinted back to the others and found Indavara still holding up his hands in dismay.

‘He was right there.’

‘
He?
By Jupiter – your precious Patch. Well,
he
is a lot less valuable than what he’s carrying on his back.’ Cassius kicked the ground.