The Black Stone (43 page)

‘Draw your blade,’ repeated Oblachus.

One of the guards called out. For a horrifying moment, Cassius thought they’d emptied the grain sack, but the man came out of one of the auxiliaries’ tents. He hurried over to Oblachus and gave him a small object.

The commander limped over to the fire and held it up. ‘Well, well. An interesting find.’

It was a small wooden figurine; a god holding a spear.

‘Mars,’ said Oblachus distastefully. ‘Tell me, who has dared to enter Galanaq as a devotee of the Roman god of war?’

Mercator had reddened with rage. Andal looked almost as angry as the optio. Yorvah was chewing the inside of his mouth.

‘It is mine.’

One of the younger auxiliaries stepped forward. Khiran – an excellent rider who often volunteered to do the cooking and had struck up a friendship with Simo.

Oblachus gave Adayyid a triumphant smirk. ‘I knew something didn’t smell right about you lot.’

The rest of the guards had finished their search. At Oblachus’s order, they readied their weapons and gathered behind him.

Cassius could feel Mercator’s eyes on him but he was still looking at the figurine. He decided to act quickly.

‘Ha.’

Oblachus glared at him. ‘Something funny, Syrian?’

‘Not really. But if you want to have a go at our mate, you might want to take another look at that.’

Oblachus did so.

‘No beard, right?’ added Cassius, maintaining the low-born accent.

‘So?’

‘Mars is one of the Roman
father
gods. He has a beard. That ain’t Mars.’

To Cassius’s surprise, Ulixes spoke up. ‘He’s right.’

Now Oblachus was looking confused.

‘That there is Ares,’ said Cassius. ‘Greek war god. Ares is young – no beard.’

Oblachus turned to the man who’d found the figurine. The guard shrugged. Two other, older men nodded. Oblachus aimed his stick at Khiran. ‘That right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, Greek’s better than Roman, I suppose, but as you can see’ – Oblachus tapped the solar emblem on his tunic – ‘we’re of one mind in these parts when it comes to worship. You lot better get that message pretty quick if you want to stick around.’

He tossed the figurine into the fire.

To Cassius’s amazement, Khiran ran at him. Fortunately, Andal and Yorvah blocked his path and grabbed him before he got very far.

Oblachus found this very amusing. ‘Just trying to help you lads fit in, is all. Best watch yourselves.’

After a last look around, the commander addressed his men in Nabatean. They sheathed their swords and followed him back along the track.

Mercator ran up to Khiran, grabbed him round the throat and shoved him towards one of the tents. Andal and Yorvah followed. The others – auxiliaries and Saracens alike – remained where they were.

Cassius caught Indavara’s eye. The bodyguard hurried after Mercator.

Cassius watched the guards disappearing into the darkness. ‘By the gods.’

‘Lucky,’ said Ulixes. ‘Very, very lucky.’

Simo was holding his chest and drawing in deep breaths. ‘Is that true, sir? About the figurine?’

‘Not entirely,’ said Ulixes. ‘Most images of Mars are of him as an older man, but some – like that one – show him as a youth.’

‘So it wasn’t Ares?’ asked Simo.

‘It was Mars,’ said Ulixes. ‘But your master here guessed that ignorant nomad wouldn’t know the difference.’ He offered Cassius an approving grin. ‘Nicely done, grain man. It seems that you are not averse to the odd calculated gamble yourself.’

Having prevented Mercator from beating Khiran to a pulp, Indavara waited for the optio and the guard officers to leave the tent. Khiran lay in a corner, groaning, having been struck half a dozen times by his superiors. Indavara threw him a flask of water, then left. He reckoned Mercator and the others would have been justified; the idiot had risked all their lives. But they might need every last man fit and able to fight.

Realising the state Simo was in after his encounter with Oblachus, Indavara decided to keep him busy. They hadn’t eaten yet so he asked the Gaul if he wanted to investigate the food tent. Simo agreed and they set off.

Some of the Saracens were working but most were sitting around their fires. Indavara had noticed how sociable these desert men were but there was little singing or laughter tonight.

‘I don’t like this place,’ said Simo, staying close to the middle of the track.

‘Me neither. But I’ve a feeling we won’t be here too long.’

‘Master Cassius hasn’t told me much about what we’re doing here but I’m not sure I really want to know.’

‘It may not even happen,’ said Indavara. ‘I don’t think he and Abascantius realised what it would be like here. These bloody guards – there’s hundreds of them.’

Simo reached inside his tunic. ‘That horrible limping man. I thought he was going to hit me with that stick of his.’

‘Fortunate timing with them finding that figurine,’ said Indavara. ‘I bet you were praying. Perhaps your god answered you.’

‘The good Lord has always watched over me, even in the darkest places and times.’

‘If you really want to avoid dark places and times, you should find a new master.’

Indavara had often tried to draw Simo into criticising Corbulo, never with much success.

As they passed a group of Saracens coming the other way, Simo kept his head down. Indavara looked at them only to check the colour of cloth on their arms but it was too dark to tell.

‘You should have seen him back in Bostra, Simo. He was in a right mess without you. We were starting to think you weren’t coming back. He practically pleaded with me to come along.’

‘As long as I can be of service to Master Cassius, I will remain by his side,’ said the Gaul stiffly. ‘I am not a freedman. I do not have the choices some others have.’

‘Good point. And yet I’m here too. Which probably makes us as stupid as each other.’

They passed the latrine and reached the food tent. Simo slowed when he saw a pair of sentries outside but Indavara gave him a nudge. Just as they arrived, a trio of tribesmen left, each carrying a wicker basket full of food.

The sentries ignored the pair as they entered the tent. Several lanterns were hanging from the walls, illuminating a large and varied array of food in barrels, boxes and amphoras. Two serving women came forward. One said something in Nabatean and the other gave both of them a wicker basket then gestured at the food.

Given Galanaq’s location there weren’t a lot of fresh fruit or vegetables but Indavara was almost drooling as he ran his eyes over the rolls and loaves, the strips of dried meat and the wheels of cheese.

He beat Simo to the nearest basket of bread. ‘Maybe this Lord Ilaha isn’t so bad after all.’

Khalima returned to the camp at the third hour of night, by which time the other tribesmen and soldiers were inside their tents. Cassius had asked Indavara to keep an eye on Ulixes while he waited by the fire with Mercator. The temperature in the canyon had dropped sharply; both men wore their thickest cloaks.

Khalima fetched Adayyid then came and sat with them. The Saracen looked preoccupied and refused the offer of a drink.

‘Well?’ said Cassius.

‘An interesting meeting.’ Khalima rubbed a thumb and forefinger down his chin.

‘Will your chief join Ilaha?’ asked Cassius.

‘The ethnarchs are meeting this night. I believe Uruwat, and many of the others, are waiting to hear what Ilaha has to say before making any decision.’

‘Any idea what the general feeling is?’

‘No. Only that nothing has been agreed upon yet.’

‘Did you learn anything else?’

‘There will be a ceremony inside the inner wall tomorrow. Everyone is to attend.’

‘What kind of ceremony?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘What does it look like over there?’ asked Mercator.

‘Well guarded. Dozens of men on either side of the gate. The chiefs are being housed on the right side of the canyon, Ilaha’s headquarters are to the left. Something’s going on; there were men working by torchlight.’

‘Working?’ asked Cassius.

‘They were operating some kind of crane.’

Cassius resisted the urge to look at Mercator. ‘A crane? For lifting something?’

‘What else would one do with a crane?’

‘Fair point.’

‘Adayyid told me what happened earlier with Oblachus. I hadn’t anticipated this amount of attention.’

Cassius held up a calming hand. ‘We dealt with it.’

‘Can we speak alone?’

After Adayyid and Mercator had left, Khalima stood up and gazed thoughtfully down at the flames for some time. Cassius stood too and waited for the Saracen to speak.

‘Roman, if you and your people are found here my position will be very difficult – Uruwat’s too. I am an acquisitive man but not even I will forever tarnish the name of my family by bringing my ethnarch down with me. Every hour we remain here we risk discovery. I will glean what further I can about the meeting and its results. But once this ceremony is concluded we will have little opportunity to learn anything more. We must leave tomorrow. You agree?’

Cassius looked down at the inner wall. ‘I agree.’

Ilaha and Mother walked down the passageway, arm in arm.

Gutha knew what they had been doing. According to Oblachus, dozens of goats and calves had been taken up to the temple during the evening. Apparently the animal screams had gone on for so long that one guard had vomited and another had fled outside.

Gutha saw they had washed but the pink stains remained on their fingers, the blood in the lines of the old crone’s skin. He wondered – how strong could their faith really be if they felt such excessive offerings were necessary? Perhaps they just enjoyed it.

After a wary glance at Gutha, Mother spoke some quiet words to Ilaha then walked back the way they’d come, stick tapping on the rock.

Ilaha ran his fingers through his hair. He had forgone his priestly garb once more and was wearing his sword. He touched the hilt then looked along the passageway. ‘Are they all here?’

‘All twelve. They have eaten, the table has been cleared. We will not be disturbed.’

Around them, a breath of air made the torches flicker.

‘I have waited a long time for this moment.’

‘I know. Lord Ilaha, I advise caution.’

‘Yes you do, Gutha. Persistently.’

‘Having at last gathered the ethnarchs it would be … regrettable if some were put off by—’

‘By what?’

‘By going too far too fast.’

Gutha was relieved to see his employer remain calm, despite the provocation.

‘Mighty Elagabal has spoken to me. Now is the moment.’

Ilaha composed himself, then walked on.

Gutha fell in behind him, holding his axe handle to stop it swinging. One way or another, he reckoned what happened in the next hour might affect not only his destiny but that of every man gathered in Galanaq.

Commanders Oblachus and Theomestor stood on either side of the doorway, a dozen guards lined up beside them. They all bowed as Ilaha and Gutha strode into the cavern. The twelve other ethnarchs were already sitting. Several men stood but Ilaha waved them back down with a genial smile. As dictated by tradition, each chief was accompanied by another man. Some were sons or trusted advisers, others bodyguards. All were well armed and several glanced curiously at Gutha’s axe.

The heavy door boomed shut. Gutha waited for Ilaha to sit down then took up a position by his right shoulder. Some of the ethnarchs looked attentive and keen; others would clearly be harder to win round. Mushannaf made little attempt to hide his contempt as Ilaha poured himself a drink with a remarkably steady hand.

‘Welcome, all, to Galanaq. A toast – to your safe arrival and the favour of Mighty Elagabal.’

Ilaha raised his goblet and drank. The others matched the gesture.

‘More than a year has passed since the Tanukh last met, since we ethnarchs sat together. At the meeting before that we were addressed by the Romans Marcellinus and Calvinus.’

Ilaha spoke clearly and precisely, the cavern amplifying his soft, earnest tones.

‘They thanked us for our efforts and sacrifices and told us we would now reap the rewards of fighting alongside them against the Palmyrans. We, the Saracens, were told our losses would be worthwhile, that we were still better off with Rome.’