The Black Stone (60 page)

By the time the tribesmen reached the road, other curious warriors were following in their wake – some from the camp, others who had been billeted in the town. Oblachus was now at the gate and yelling orders.

Cassius dragged himself a yard closer to the light and watched as the guards swung the doors open. Without breaking his awkward stride, Oblachus went straight through. At another sweep of his stick, the guards immediately shut the doors behind him. The fifty or so of them left outside turned towards the advancing warriors and formed a line in front of the gate.

The tribesmen stopped about ten yards short. Those that had followed them drifted into the rear of the group. A shout went up and hundreds of voices repeated a single line of Nabatean – the precise phrase Cassius had suggested.

‘Show us the stone! Show us the stone! Show us the stone!’

Cassius hoped things would move quickly. Despite Khalima’s prompting and the determination of the three tribes to see Ilaha discredited, the impact of the crowd would not last long. Their demand had to reach the ears of the other ethnarchs if it was to have the desired effect.

‘Look, sir,’ said Simo.

More warriors from the other tribes were now gravitating towards the gate.

After a few minutes the guards parted and the doors opened once more. Cassius half-expected to see Oblachus but it was in fact the richly attired ethnarchs who appeared, each on horseback and with a handful of their senior men. Only Kalderon was missing.

Their arrival drew virtually every last warrior to the inner wall. While the tribes of the three dead ethnarchs remained by the gate, the others congregated around their leaders, who stayed on their horses. Judging by their behaviour, Cassius gathered they were trying to calm their men down.

‘What is it, sir?’ asked Simo, noting his master’s grimace.

‘The ethnarchs. Either Ilaha’s convinced them he still has the stone or they know it’s gone but are remaining loyal. Either way, they don’t seem keen on a confrontation. But unless they turn against him, Khalima and the three tribes are heavily outnumbered. Which means we have no chance of getting out of here.’

‘And Ilaha will continue with the revolt.’

‘Precisely.’

The crowd had quietened, even though hundreds more guards and townspeople had arrived. The ethnarchs were no longer speaking and attention had shifted to the gate, where the doors remained open.

Oblachus reappeared, surrounded by a mass of guards holding heavy spears. With him were Kalderon and his men, each bearing the grey cloth upon their arms. The combined force moved up until they were only feet from the warriors of the three rebel tribes.

Behind them was a small cart being pulled along by four men. When it stopped between the doors, a slight figure climbed onto the back. Clad once more in the purple cloak, Ilaha strode confidently to the front of the vehicle.

Cassius grabbed his satchel. ‘Help me up, Simo.’

‘Sir?’

‘We’re going down there.’

‘Really, sir?’

‘Believe me, I’d prefer not to but there’s no other way.’

‘What if someone sees us?’

‘That is why we must go now,’ said Cassius as he pulled the hood up over his head. ‘Everyone is watching him.’

Indavara and Mercator looked on as Andal inspected the auxiliary’s shoulder. As exhausted as the rest of them, the soldier – who was named Damon – had strayed too close to the rear of the cart. The wheel had shaved one of his mount’s front legs, causing the horse to stumble and throw him. The horse seemed unhurt but Damon had landed awkwardly on the rocky ground. The shoulder was badly cut and bruising was already coming through.

Mercator looked back along the road. ‘How far ahead do you think we are?’

‘An hour if we’re lucky,’ said Indavara.

‘And they have the whole bloody day to run us down.’

Mercator turned back the other way. Less than a mile ahead were the soaring walls of the Scorpion Pass.

‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ asked Indavara.

‘We’re still a long way from open ground. We keep riding, we’ll just get more and more tired and they hit us when they choose.’

‘We’ve taken out quite a few already. At least we’ll get time to prepare; choose our own ground.’

‘I’ll tell the men.’

Indavara almost felt relieved. They could stop looking over their shoulders at last; the pursuit would come down to a simple, stand-up fight.

His thoughts turned to the others. Though he knew it would be light at Galanaq too, he somehow still imagined Corbulo and Simo being pursued through the darkened streets. Corbulo was a crafty sod – and perhaps Khalima or some of the others would help them – but however he looked at it, he couldn’t find much hope that he would see his friends again.

The soldiers broke up and hurried towards their horses. Indavara ran over to join them. If they couldn’t prevail, he, Mercator and the auxiliaries would never see
anyone
else again.

Cassius felt barely in control of his bowels as he hobbled across the sandy ground towards the crowd. There were, however, more new arrivals and no one took any notice of the two hooded men joining the throng. Cassius supposed it might have been wise to put his mail-shirt back on but it was unlikely to make much difference now.

Just as on the previous day, every pair of eyes was fixed on the compelling figure standing before them. Though pale and drawn, Ilaha stood proudly, chin held high as he addressed the crowd in a conciliatory tone. The Saracens listened respectfully.

Cassius was looking for Khalima but many of the warriors also had their hoods up and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Someone tugged on his sleeve. He turned and saw a familiar face: Urunike. The young chief nodded towards the gate and Cassius spied a squat figure ahead.

When he arrived next to the Saracen and drew back his hood, Khalima shook his head in disbelief. ‘By all the gods, I didn’t think you’d actually come down here.’

Cassius whispered, ‘What’s Ilaha saying?’

‘He has spoken about the assassination attempt and the death of the ethnarchs. He holds no grudge against the sons or the tribesmen and hopes they will now join him and the rest of the Tanukh in the struggle against Rome. He denies that the black stone has gone.’

Khalima paused to listen before continuing. ‘He says there is no time for a ceremony now, that we must put all our energies into finding the saboteurs who set the fire. Gutha is pursuing some but others may be hiding here.’

When Ilaha briefly paused, a big warrior from Mushannaf’s tribe shouted out.

Khalima translated. ‘He claims one of the guards admitted to him that the stone has been stolen.’

Ilaha offered an appeasing smile before replying. Khalima waited until he’d finished.

‘He told Mushannaf’s man to be careful with his words. He risks offending Mighty Elagabal and should pay no heed to these lies.’

Cassius glanced around. No one else seemed keen to persist, not even the ethnarchs. The eight men remained easily identifiable – they were the only ones on horseback.

‘Are you ready?’ Cassius asked Khalima.

‘Yes, I have it. But are you sure about this?’

‘If he wins this crowd over, all is lost. It’s now or never, I’m afraid.’

The Saracen closed his eyes and muttered a quiet prayer.

‘Khalima, if this goes badly – kill me.’

‘What?’

‘Torture – I can’t face it. Slit my throat. Promise me you’ll do it.’

Those amber eyes searched Cassius’s and saw that he could not have been more serious. ‘Very well. And I shall slit my own a moment later.’ He pulled his hood forward to ensure it still covered his bandaged head.

Cassius looked up at the sky. The sun had reappeared from behind a cloud, once more bathing the valley in light.

He nudged Simo. ‘You remember what to do?’

Simo wiped his brow, took two paces forward, then turned towards his master.

Ilaha was speaking again.

Cassius whispered a prayer to Jupiter then pulled down his hood and shouted in Greek: ‘There is a traitor here!’

Ilaha stopped mid-sentence, then shielded his eyes and peered at the figure twenty yards away in the middle of the crowd. ‘Who are you?’

All those close by turned to look.

Cassius’s throat felt as dry as sand but he got his words out. ‘Nobody special. But I can identify the traitor.’

Ilaha hesitated, then gestured towards him. ‘Show us.’

‘I do not need to. Mighty Elagabal will show us all.’

‘What do you mean?’

At a nod from Cassius, Simo and Khalima held up the small, circular mirrors of red-tinged glass each had just taken from their tunics. Khalima angled his so that the sunlight from above was reflected onto Simo’s.

Several of the nearby warriors moved away.

Despite his trembling hand, Cassius positioned his mirror opposite Simo’s, then aimed the beam at Ilaha. In the shadows of the wall, the light could easily be seen playing over his body and face.

Ilaha held up an arm to protect his eyes. ‘What … who are you?’

Oblachus hauled himself up onto the cart to get a better look.

Cassius let the light shine on Ilaha a little longer then lowered the mirror.

Once Oblachus caught sight of him, he bellowed at his guards to advance.

‘Let him speak!’ shouted Urunike, and many others took up his cry. The guards and Kalderon’s men were about to try to force their way through when Ilaha raised his hands. The crowd quietened once more. Ignoring the protests of Oblachus, Ilaha stared at Cassius, fists clenched. ‘Who are you?’

Cassius reached into the satchel, pulled out the spearhead and lifted it high. ‘My name is Cassius Corbulo. I am a Roman soldier.’

He ignored the gasps and jeers. ‘I was sent here to recover the black stone for the Emperor. My men are returning it to Emesa as we speak.’

‘He lies!’ thundered Ilaha.

Dozens of shouts rang out, ceasing only when Oblachus and the ethnarchs restored order amongst their men.

‘No.
You
are the liar,’ replied Cassius, lowering the spearhead and holding up the mirror once more. ‘I found these hidden inside the stone.’ He pointed up at the body hanging from the wall. ‘You used them yesterday to identify that supposed spy while I and my men stood untouched. If you let us through the gates I can also show how you created that voice.’

‘Kill him!’ raged Ilaha. ‘Kill him!’

At Oblachus’s order, the guards drew their swords. Kalderon did so too and cried out to his men. The tribesmen facing them seemed unsure what to do but Urunike’s warriors already had their weapons ready and had closed in around Khalima, Cassius and Simo.

Cassius glimpsed a flash of movement to the right. With scant regard for his own safety, the bearded ethnarch Yemanek was driving his horse towards the gate. Warriors and guards scattered as he forced his way between them.

Once he had separated the two factions, Yemanek wheeled his horse around. ‘Lord Ilaha, we must hear this man speak.’

Ilaha seemed unable to do anything but retreat to the back of the cart, arms wrapped around himself. Oblachus attempted to speak to Yemanek but the ethnarch silenced him with a word, then turned to Cassius.

‘Well, Roman?’

Cassius was surrounded by Urunike’s men, their shoulders pressed against his, a forest of swords raised high. He had to cough spit into his mouth to keep talking.

‘I did not come here to act against the Tanukh – only to reclaim the stone. Governor Calvinus wants peace.’ He pointed at Ilaha. ‘This liar wishes only to lead you into a senseless war.’

‘Any man who protects him will be killed!’ shrieked Ilaha.

‘It is you that should be killed!’ answered Urunike.

A spear flew through the air.

Ilaha threw himself to one side and fell from the cart.

Oblachus ordered the guards to attack.

But now all the other ethnarchs had reached the gate. Showing remarkable horsemanship, they lined up on either side of Yemanek, keeping the two sides apart.

As the Saracens surged past him, Cassius was almost knocked to the ground. He glimpsed Ilaha’s purple cloak as Oblachus and a few others retreated, pulling the doors behind them.