The Black Stone (59 page)

‘They’re behind us,’ shouted someone.

‘Javelins. Javelins from behind us!’

‘Leave the horses,’ thundered Gutha. ‘Cover! Move to the sides!’

Indavara reached down and gripped the cold metal. He set his feet, aimed at a torch and let fly.

Disappointingly, no cry went up.

Beside him, Yorvah and two other auxiliaries launched the remaining projectiles. They were standing just below the top of the formation that made up one side of the gully. At about a hundred feet from the first of the ropes, it was the perfect position from which to attack the rear of the column.

Indavara picked up another javelin. Like the others, it was shorter than standard army issue but well balanced and lethal enough. Most of the Arabians had been bright enough to drop their lanterns or torches but he could just make out a group heading for the opposite side of the road. He waited for them to reach it, then launched his remaining three javelins in quick succession. At least one found its target.

Gutha made sure he was well away from the lights. He already had his helmet on and was crouching behind a rocky outcrop. He supposed it might have appeared rather cowardly to any of the watching men, but if they were sensible they would be doing exactly the same thing.

One of the javelins struck the outcrop. A fragment hit Gutha’s cheek and he ducked lower. Another of the projectiles hit a man close by. From the sounds of it the javelin had gone through his throat – he seemed to be choking.

‘Commander?’ Reyazz dropped down next to him. ‘Sir, they’re definitely behind us – on the other side, I think.’

‘They’ll run out before too long,’ said Gutha. ‘They must have horses waiting ahead of us. Take five men and see what you can find.’

‘Yes, Commander.’

The last javelin had already been thrown. While Indavara had seen to the ropes, Yorvah had worked out the easiest route back over the lump of rock and he now led the way. Once down on the ground, they ran along the edge of the formation towards a ravine that cut through to the road. Waiting there were the horses and the man they’d left to guard them.

The sentry had been holding a lantern but, as they approached, they instead saw three flaming torches.

‘Looks like a few of them,’ said Yorvah. ‘How did they get ahead of us?’

‘What about Sergius?’ asked one of the other men.

‘Probably dead,’ said Indavara. ‘We have to be quick, before more of them arrive. You three go in from the left – and make plenty of noise. I’ll come in around the horses where they won’t expect it.’

The three auxiliaries moved off. Indavara continued forward. As he got closer, he could see enough below the torches to count six men. He climbed a few yards up the rocky slope, then carefully rounded the horses until he had a clear run at the Saracens.

Yorvah and the others had taken the long way round and were now heading for the ravine; feet scuffing the ground, voices loud. One of Ilaha’s men gave an order and they turned towards the auxiliaries, swords at the ready.

Padding softly towards their backs, Indavara at last drew his own blade.

The Saracens were whispering – they seemed confused as to why their enemies were announcing their presence. Then Yorvah gave a cry and the three auxiliaries charged out of the gloom.

Indavara had never particularly enjoyed sneaking up on a man but there was no sense using surprise if you didn’t make it tell. The first warrior never knew what hit him. Indavara swept the blade into the back of his neck, cutting deep.

Hearing the blow, the next man turned. He hadn’t even brought his sword up when the tip of Indavara’s blade sliced across his throat. He tried to fight but by then blood was spraying out of him and he was unable to make his arms work. He fell beside his compatriot.

Three of the Saracens were now battling the auxiliaries.

The last man had just enough time to parry Indavara’s first strike. Even so, the weighty blow knocked the flat of the blade back onto his nose. Momentarily stunned, he dropped his guard, seemingly unaware that he’d lost his one chance at survival.

The thrust tore in under his ribs. Indavara wrenched the sword free and cursed as the poor bastard hit the ground. The trio hadn’t died well. He picked up a still-burning torch and moved forward but he could see only four men. The two men standing had no symbols on their tunics (the auxiliaries had torn them off) but the pair lying motionless did.

‘Good work,’ said Indavara. ‘Where’s Yorvah?’

The two auxiliaries were still looking down at the men they had killed. Indavara heard something hit the ground a few yards away. He hurried over and found the guard officer and the last Arabian. The dead Saracen was lying face down. Yorvah was sprawled next to him on his back. His tunic had been sliced apart and his wounds were bleeding badly.

‘Did I get him?’ he spluttered.

Indavara knelt down as the other two arrived. ‘You got him.’

One of the auxiliaries grabbed the dead man’s hair and turned his face towards him. ‘The engineer.’

‘Others?’ asked Yorvah.

‘Got them too,’ replied the second auxiliary.

Indavara couldn’t help wishing it was one of them with his chest cut up. He had taken to the popular guard officer who always seemed to have a smile on his face.

Yorvah touched one of his wounds. ‘Not good. Not good.’

One of the auxiliaries offered him some water but he couldn’t keep it down.

‘Can you ride?’ asked the other man.

Yorvah summoned what Indavara suspected would be his last smile.

‘Come on, sir,’ said the auxiliary. ‘We can help you. Indavara, can’t we get him onto one of the horses?’

Blood bubbled from the worst of the wounds. Yorvah had already lost pints. Indavara didn’t reply.

‘He’s right,’ said the guard officer, jaw now shaking. He gripped Indavara’s wrist. ‘How many did you get?’

‘Three,’ said one of the auxiliaries.

‘Ha.’ Yorvah slapped his arm. ‘Hard bastard, I knew it. You lot better get going. I’ll be all right here.’

The three men stood.

‘Marcella,’ said Yorvah. ‘You make sure she’s cared for. My money’s to go to her. Make sure they know in Bostra. Every last coin.’

‘I’ll do it, sir, don’t you worry,’ said one of the men, wiping his sleeve across his eyes. ‘By the gods I pledge it.’

‘Just get that accursed rock to the Emperor. If not, all this is for naught.’

Indavara knew the auxiliaries wouldn’t move of their own accord. He turned both men round and shoved them in the other direction. ‘Fetch the horses. All of them.’

As they reluctantly departed, Indavara knelt down once more. ‘Ilaha’s men will want information. You’re in enough pain as it is. Do you want me to—’

‘I won’t last that long,’ said Yorvah, letting his head drop back on the ground.

When Indavara looked at the wounds again, he realised the guard officer was right. Yorvah tried to speak but could manage only a whisper. He beckoned Indavara closer.

‘Sixteen aurei sounded like a lot,’ he croaked. ‘It’s not.’

Indavara placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Farewell, friend.’

Yorvah tried to reply but no words would come.

Gutha looked along the road but could see no trace of a light.

Two warriors came up behind him; one holding a lantern, one several coils of rope. ‘That’s the last of them, Commander.’

‘Mount up. We’re moving out.’

On the way back to his horse, he passed the injured. The choking man had been struck by a javelin that had pierced the right side of his neck and gone all the way through to his left armpit. He hadn’t lasted long. Two other men were dying and nine others were too badly wounded to ride. They had been put together by the side of the road with what supplies could be spared. One of them was leading the others in a prayer to Elagabal. Knowing most of them would be lucky to make it back to Galanaq, Gutha quietly cursed Ilaha.

They found Reyazz face down next to a dead enemy, his arm twisted under him. When they turned him over, they saw he was still clutching a golden solar symbol on a chain around his neck.

As they rode on, Gutha realised he had lost another twelve men. Only twenty left. Still enough, though, and more of the night had passed than was to come. Dawn – and a final reckoning – was not far away.

Sunlight filled the canyon, swiftly vanquishing the cold night. A baby’s cries grew louder and louder, despite its mother’s desperate entreaties. Two old men wandered along the main street, stopping to examine bloody puddles where warriors had fallen. A dog trotted towards the outer gate, then stopped to sniff a dead horse.

Before long, dozens of the townspeople had left their dwellings to speak with their neighbours and survey the damage. Over in the compound, guards picked their way through the ruined buildings, sorting through the remains and clearing rubble. Scores of other warriors were still gathered at both gates; others had been stationed along the road.

At the encampment, some of the Saracens were also up. A few set about everyday duties, most stood in small groups, talking. The camps of Uruwat, Mushannaf and Enzarri’s tribes seemed empty but then the men quietly filed out of their tents. Following the fallen ethnarchs’ sons, they met on the track then marched down towards the road, two hundred strong. Every man bore his sword but not the coloured cloths.

Cassius looked on. Despite the blanket over his back, he couldn’t stop shivering. He and Simo were lying just inside the tomb entrance. It had been impossible to sleep inside the icy chamber but they had at least eaten. Simo had also bandaged Cassius’s swollen ankle and re-dressed Khalima’s head. Cassius looked for him, but the Saracen had successfully hidden himself amongst his fellow tribesmen.

‘Look there, sir,’ said Simo, pointing at the compound.

Oblachus was not a difficult person to spot. He had seen the tribesmen on the move and was now hurrying away from the compound towards the inner gate, accompanied by a dozen men.

‘Still can’t believe he didn’t send anyone to check the tombs,’ said Cassius. ‘Someone must have been listening last night.’ At various points, all three of them had made requests to their gods, Khalima pleading with the supreme Nabatean deity, Dushara. ‘I just hope their favour continues for the next hour or so.’