The Black Stone (51 page)

The cart trundled to a stop about halfway down the track. There were a few lights moving along the road but no one close by. Cassius looked up at the sky. Again, purple daubed the countless stars amid the black. The light of the half-moon was enough for him to see those around him but not much farther. There was nothing to do now but wait for the first sight of smoke and flames.

Gutha watched the ethnarchs arrive. Little was said as they sat around the table once more, bodyguards and advisers behind them. The mood was hard to judge but it was now Kalderon who seemed most preoccupied. Despite what Ilaha had told him about the newly receptive mood of Enzarri and the others, Gutha still wondered if he would get the twelve signatures he needed.

Yemanek was the last in. As he and his bodyguard reached the table, they hesitated. Gutha realised this was because some of the ethnarchs had taken a different chair from the previous day. Amongst those who had moved were Enzarri and Mushannaf. They were now sitting side by side, Enzarri only one away from Ilaha’s empty seat.

As Yemanek took another chair, Gutha tucked his thumbs into his belt and sauntered around the table so he could get a good look at Enzarri and Mushannaf without attracting their attention. He decided they didn’t look any more anxious then he would expect.

Hearing Ilaha’s voice outside, he returned to his position. He dropped his right hand to his side, fingers against the smooth wooden handle of the axe.

Probably nothing.

Even so, he kept his hand there.

Hunched over, hoods up, Indavara and Mercator crept along the narrow path between the buildings and the outer wall. The dwellings and inns to their left gave out little light or noise. Dead ahead were the torches at the gate and a larger one at the top of the tower. Three archers prowled below the bloom of flame, bows over their shoulders. Indavara slowed and drifted into the welcome gloom of the wall.

They had left the men in a courtyard hiding behind a stack of firewood – all except Yorvah, who remained on the slope above the town, watching the inner gate, waiting for the signal.

Indavara stopped by the staircase that led up to the first floor of the tower. The door was shut, the interior dark.

‘Just the bottom and the top to worry about,’ whispered Mercator.

‘Looks that way. Let’s check the gate.’

They edged around the staircase and along the tower. On either side of the doors was a torch mounted on a bracket, providing enough light to see the six guards on duty. The locking arrangement on the doors was as simple as Indavara remembered: a sturdy plank slotted across the middle.

They retreated along the path.

‘Those six we can handle,’ whispered Mercator. ‘But what about those bloody archers?’

‘I told you. Leave them to me.’

‘There,’ said one of the Saracens. Cassius followed the line of his outstretched arm and spied the flickering flame at the rear of the compound.

‘The stables,’ said Khalima. ‘Good choice.’

Horses began to whinny, then came a shout. After a while, more flames appeared in two other locations. The shouts multiplied and got louder.

‘Now?’ asked Khalima.

‘Wait a moment,’ said Cassius.

Inside the compound, torches and lanterns bobbed in the darkness as guards converged on the stables.

‘Look there,’ said Khalima. ‘Your friend has been busy.’

Fire and black smoke were also spewing from the door of a house on the edge of the town. A woman clambered out of a ground-floor window and fell to her knees, coughing.

‘All right,’ said Cassius. ‘Let’s go.’

The driver urged the horses down the track at a trot, then turned onto the road towards the gate. Cassius looked back at the town and saw two more figures fleeing the burning house. Some others arrived with pails of water but the fire had already taken hold and smoke was rising from the higher windows.

Cassius felt that familiar churning in his guts as they neared the gate. Khalima pulled back the shutter on his lantern and spoke calmly to his men. They shifted towards the sides of the cart, ready to move if necessary. As the driver halted the horses, one of the sentries called out in Nabatean. With a prod from Adayyid, Reyazz answered.

A guard holding a spear walked past them. He didn’t even look at Cassius and the others; he was staring at the flaming house.

Reyazz kept talking. Two of the guards lifted the locking plank and pulled back the doors. The slabs of timber were so huge it took a while to get them moving. Once there was enough space, the driver got the cart under way again.

When they were safely through, Cassius spoke to Khalima. ‘What did he say?’

‘That we’re under attack – that Commander Oblachus has ordered him to take the stone to a safe place.’

Cassius looked back at the gate. The guards had left the doors open. Every last one of them was watching the fire.

Gutha was beginning to relax. Ilaha had arrived, the door was closed and the other ethnarchs sat patiently waiting for their host to speak. Ilaha had once again forgone his priestly attire and was wisely avoiding the trap of appearing arrogant or overconfident. He spoke softly.

‘I do not blame anyone for not believing before. There are hundreds of gods and prophets and oracles. All I can hope for is that what you saw today has opened your eyes to the true power of Mighty Elagabal. It is his will that his earthly dwelling-place come to us. The stone has been in my possession for weeks yet the Romans have no idea where it is and have made no attempt to retrieve it. Their impotence is plain for all to see. There can be no question; now
is
our time. Your warriors know it, and I hope that each of you do too.’

Ilaha picked up a new copy of the treaty. ‘By signing our names, we show that we are united in seeking a better future for the thirteen tribes, for this great Confederation. Is there anyone still unwilling to do so?’

Yemanek raised his hand. ‘You spoke of victory today, Ilaha. I – and many of us here – hope it is to be of the bloodless kind; and that you meant what you told us yesterday. You do not want a war?’

‘Yemanek, only a madman would want a war.’

‘Then let us proceed.’

Ilaha took a silver pen from a writing box. He tested the nib then signed his name halfway down the page, under the three clauses of the proposed agreement. Once it was done, he passed it to his left, to Dasharean, ethnarch of one of the northern tribes. Dasharean signed, then passed the paper to the next ethnarch. Just as Enzarri took the pen, someone hammered on the door.

Everyone turned.

‘Commander.’

Gutha didn’t recognise the voice but whoever it was sounded anxious. He had taken only three steps when chairs scraped on stone and shouts erupted behind him.

He turned, fingers already tight on the axe handle.

Enzarri and Mushannaf were up and moving, daggers drawn. Enzarri darted around Dasharean and jabbed his gleaming blade down at the still-sitting llaha. With nowhere else to go, Ilaha drove himself back, tipping the chair over. Enzarri ran straight into his flailing feet. As they – and the chair – crashed to the floor, Enzarri’s knife slapped harmlessly against Ilaha’s chest.

But the older ethnarch recovered quickly and – before Ilaha could get a hand on him – raised his dagger again. He seemed to have forgotten Gutha.

With a soft chop like a knife through an apple, the axe severed Enzarri’s arm at the wrist.

The dagger clattered against a table leg. The hand flew into the air then flopped down by another ethnarch’s foot, squirting blood.

Aware that Kalderon and some of the others were also moving, Gutha stepped in front of Ilaha and turned to meet the next attack. Mushannaf was just feet away but Gutha was more concerned about the big bodyguard behind him.

Seemingly unperturbed by Enzarri’s fate, Mushannaf tried to outfox the northerner with a sly slice at his groin. Gutha batted it away with an axe blade, then jabbed the top of the shaft up into the ethnarch’s chin.

Teeth shattered noisily. Mushannaf dropped like a stone.

‘Guards!’ someone shouted. ‘Fetch the guards!’

Gutha wanted a moment to check behind him but the bodyguard wasn’t about to let him have it. Stepping over his fallen master, he pivoted sharply as he swung the sword at his foe’s head.

Gutha centred his weapon and set himself for the impact. He doubted the Saracen would have encountered a war axe. Especially not one with a three-inch elm shaft reinforced by tempered bronze and blades of Noric steel.

The bodyguard’s sword was broad and long and well made, but not well made enough.

As it broke in two, Gutha felt something strike his head. Ignoring it, he took a step to his left and swung low into the defenceless Saracen’s belly, slicing him open from hip to hip. The warrior fell on top of his master, bloody innards sliding out over his tunic.

Gutha looked to his right. Kalderon was struggling with Uruwat while their bodyguards traded sword blows. Gutha only glimpsed them because Enzarri’s bodyguard had just pushed past another of the ethnarchs and was coming at him. Gutha backed towards the door to give himself space to fight.

Ilaha had pushed Enzarri off and was now lashing at him with his feet.

The second bodyguard wasn’t stupid. He kept his distance and used the sword’s range, jabbing at Gutha’s head. Wishing he had his armour on, Gutha was nonetheless unwilling to let the fight drag on, even though he’d just heard the door open at last.

As another straight thrust came at him, he lowered the axe then drove it up, jamming the sword between one blade and the handle. He wrenched both weapons to the right, stepped forward and head-butted the bodyguard.The stunned Saracen dropped his sword and slumped to the floor. As soon as he was down, Kalderon and his bodyguard arrived and stuck their blades into him, one in the gut, another in the throat.

The guards flew into the room, then stopped to survey the carnage.

Ilaha was dragging himself clear of Enzarri, who lay staring at his bleeding stump, long hair plastered to his brow. Mushannaf was rolling around, pawing at his ruined mouth. Uruwat was lying motionless, a gory wound in his neck. His bodyguard was dead too and the man who’d had his guts sliced out of him looked like he’d be joining him soon.

Kalderon and his man stood side by side, blades bloodied, breathing hard.

Ilaha hauled himself to his feet. His unblinking eyes ran over the dead and injured.

One of the ethnarchs put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Lord Ilaha, are you—’

Ilaha appeared not to have noticed him. ‘They … they …’

Mushannaf was groaning, now holding a handful of broken teeth. Enzarri was on his back, still entranced by his mutilated arm.

Ilaha drew his sword.

‘Yes,’ hissed Kalderon. ‘Finish the traitors.’

Yemanek held up his hand. ‘Wait. Perhaps—’

‘Now is not the time for mercy,’ said another of the ethnarchs. ‘You would do the same.’

Ilaha still hadn’t blinked. He extended his arm and put the tip of his sword against Enzarri’s heart.

‘We should question them,’ said Gutha. ‘Identify any other conspirators.’

Ilaha drove the blade in.