The Black Stone (7 page)

‘You can do it. I know you can!’

The other two girls shouted encouragements too, then all three set off back towards the crowd. Indavara waved a thank-you and walked on.

He had never met anyone who smiled so much. Sanari was nineteen – a bit younger than him – and worked for the army administrator two doors down. She had first spoken to Indavara while he was doing his exercises in the back garden and she’d been hanging out washing. Corbulo reckoned she was too chubby and that it wasn’t a girl’s place to talk over a wall to a stranger but Indavara didn’t mind any of that. They had taken a few walks since then, and he’d told her he would buy her the biggest bunch of flowers in Bostra if he won.

Shaking his head to dispel such distractions, he reached the target and plucked out the arrows. One had hit the shaft of another and was no longer usable but the rest were fine. Careful not to touch the flights, he walked back along the range. Unable to spot Sanari, he found himself looking at the images carved into the pale stone of the spine. Most of the carvings showed racing chariots and athletic contests. One, however, showed two gladiators standing toe to toe, swords raised. Indavara looked away and hurried on.

It’s different. You have nothing to fear now. You are free.

He told himself these things a lot. Often at night; when he awoke and thought he was back in his cell beneath the arena at Pietas Julia. If he wanted to get back to sleep he would have to go to a window or door so that he could see something – reassure himself he really wasn’t there.

He felt sweat form under his arms; and as he approached the tables he thought again about walking straight out through the gate.

No. He couldn’t let himself down like that in front of Sanari. He wanted to beat Eclectis. And he wanted to beat the fear.

He didn’t even listen to the comedian’s last few japes; he was busy examining the arrows, selecting for the next round. Once Eclectis and the other man were ready too, Taenaris turned the hourglass over and the second round commenced.

Indavara got off to another poor start – three whites – but he forced himself not to look at either the spine or the crowd. He imagined the range as a tunnel down which the arrows would fly, straight into the eye. Of the next seven shots, five hit red. He finished shortly after Eclectis, who had registered precisely the same score. The third man was slower and needed two reds from his last two arrows to equal the others. He managed only whites and uttered a stream of imaginative curses as he took a seat in the front row.

For the next break, Taenaris had recruited a juggler and a pair of acrobats. Feeling rather calmer, Indavara even left the table and watched their alternating routines, which drew cheers and whoops from the crowd. Spying some frantically waving hands, he spotted Sanari and her friends and summoned a smile. He was grateful, but he really wished Simo or Corbulo were there.

Eclectis sidled up to him, running his hands through his shiny mane of hair. ‘Now we can get down to the real fight, eh, big man?’

Indavara did not reply.

‘Nothing new to you, I’m guessing.’

Indavara watched the juggler, pretending not to listen.

‘All those scars. Never seen so many on such a young man. Too young to have got them all in the army, so I’m guessing maybe you’re used to contests of a different kind.’

Indavara tried desperately not to react.

‘Thought so,’ continued Eclectis. ‘So you should be used to all this. The sand, the heat, the noise. Except you look a bit nervy to me, big man – have done since you got here. So I’m thinking maybe you haven’t been back in a contest like this for a while. And now it’s starting to get to you a bit.’

‘You think you’re the only one who notices things?’ Indavara replied, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘Four times I’ve seen you compete and not once before did I see you try to put someone else off. You must be worried.’

He returned to the table. There was one easy way to shut Eclectis up and he wanted it now more than ever.

‘We come to the final round,’ announced Taenaris. ‘Sixty-four are now two and only one man can walk away from here victorious.’

Indavara realised he had forgotten his prayers. He reached down and touched the little figurine of Fortuna nestling behind his belt.

Dear Fortuna, goddess most high, make my hand steady, make my aim true.

‘Eclectis and Indavara will take turns with their ten arrows,’ continued Taenaris. ‘When both are finished, we will have our champion. In the event of a tie we move into “sudden death”. Are the competitors ready?’

Indavara nodded. When Taenaris didn’t continue, he glanced left.

Eclectis was facing the crowd, bow held casually in one hand. ‘I am sometimes known as the Hawk, because of my unerring eye. It seems only fair that our new friend has his own title. I suggest the Maid – because he likes to take things from the table!’

Eclectis’s acolytes weren’t the only ones to laugh. Face glowing once more, Indavara kept his back to the crowd, eyes locked on the target. As the noise faded, a high-pitched voice yelled a response: ‘And now he will
take
your prize!’

The auxiliaries’ attempts to shout Sanari down were drowned out by the noise from the rest of the crowd. It took several efforts by Taenaris to restore order.

‘As the competitor with the highest total score, Eclectis wins the right to choose who shall loose first.’

Smirking, Eclectis jabbed his bow towards his rival.

Indavara started well, the first arrow landing only an inch or two above the red. The smile finally off his face, Eclectis matched it.

Though there was noise after each arrow hit the target, the crowd remained respectful as every man took his turn. By staying focused on the imaginary tunnel, Indavara found he became calmer and calmer. Both he and Eclectis had struck red with their second shot and hit white only twice more with their next six arrows.

At this point, Taenaris broke in: ‘A tie, with only two shots left!’

Most of the crowd was now standing. Taenaris held up a hand to Eclectis and Indavara; the bookmakers wanted time to register a last few wagers.

Eclectis took a couple of steps towards Indavara. He smiled for the benefit of anyone watching and kept his voice low. ‘Seeing as you got out alive, I’m thinking you must have been quite a killer. That right, big man?’

Indavara just wanted to get on with it.

‘Always wondered what it must be like,’ continued the Egyptian. ‘Standing over some poor bastard with a blade in your hand, waiting for the decision. Feel good, did it?’

Images flashed into Indavara’s mind. So many men. All hurt, all bloodied, all lying in the sand.

The betting was over. Taenaris addressed the competitors. ‘Indavara will loose first.’

Eclectis was already back at his table, the picture of innocence.

Indavara nocked the arrow. He raised the bow and pulled the string back. A thick bead of sweat dropped onto his right eyelid. He shook it off and adjusted his aim.

Feel good, did it?

That rush of relief, the glow of victory? Oh yes. Once the decision had been made you just got on with it. Didn’t even think about it. Just did what you had to. The guilt came later.

Indavara gulped, lowered the bow, took a breath.

A few murmurs from the crowd.

He adjusted his feet slightly, raised the bow once more. He closed his left eye.

A single image returned: that poor bastard who had just lain there; his slimy, smelly guts hanging out of him, crying like a child.
Mama, Mama, Mama.

Complaints rang out from the crowd, demanding he hurry up. Taenaris tried to silence them but the shouts continued.

Indavara tried to shut it all out. He drew back, exhaled, let go.

A white. A bad white, close to the target’s edge. At least he hadn’t missed.

Mild applause.

Eclectis, calm as ever, went through his smooth routine and let fly. A red.

The crowd erupted.

Indavara took a drink. Eclectis was two points ahead. Only red would do. He picked up the arrow and readied himself.

Sanari waited for a gap in the shouts. ‘You can do it, Indavara! You can do it!’

I can. I can. It’s all in the past. I am free
.

He closed the eye, exhaled.

Mama, Mama, Mama.

He noticed something moving in front of him. The iron point of the arrow was trembling. Worse, his arm was starting to shake from the effort of holding the string.

He blinked and looked at the target once more; repeated his routine, let go.

High. So high in fact that the arrow struck the top edge, spun several times in the air, then landed in the sand.

The auxiliaries were already celebrating. Indavara put a hand to his head, suddenly dizzy. The moment passed. He looked up at the bright blue sky and suddenly the thoughts and images were gone. He couldn’t believe he’d let the bastard get to him like that.

Eclectis put his bow down then turned to the crowd, arms high, lapping up the acclaim.

Indavara threw his bow onto the table and walked towards him, fists clenched.

Eclectis yelled back at his supporters, ‘Just another year! Just another year!’

Sensing that their attention had shifted, he turned and grinned at Indavara. ‘No hard feelings.’

‘This’ll feel pretty hard.’

The head-butt struck Eclectis just above his nose and knocked him clean off his feet. Indavara barely noticed the spike of pain and when his eyes cleared the Egyptian was lying in the sand, mouth hanging open.

Then came the shouts. The auxiliaries charged off the benches, knocking several people over. One man was ahead of the pack. As he drew his knife, his trailing leg caught the clerk’s table and he hit the ground three yards away.

Indavara ran.

Cassius stood over the desk, gazing down at the piles of paper. He was determined not to let the unpleasant incident with Pontius affect him. Calvinus’s vote of confidence had given him a boost and he intended to repay the gesture. Provincial governors were generally an ambitious, manipulative bunch – mostly senators in the making – but, owing perhaps to his advancing years, Calvinus seemed like a decent, thoughtful man. Cassius admired his commitment to Arabia and its people. Here was a leader in the tradition of the Republic – a man more committed to Rome than himself. It was hard not to contrast him with Cassius’s commander in the Service – the ruthless, underhand Abascantius – though he was just as dedicated in his own way. Cassius hadn’t heard anything from his superior since being assigned to Bostra, which was fine with him.

After a bit of rummaging he found the list of informers Verecundus had left. Rolled up with the page were the notes Cassius had made while trying to re-establish contact. He’d secured meetings with only two of the men; one had never turned up, the other had blankly refused to discuss anything relating to the Tanukh.

Cassius dropped the pages and sat down. How could he help the governor find out more about the Ruwaffa attack and the chiefs? Calvinus had his emissaries, but they moved through official channels and seemed to have made little progress.

If in doubt, make a list.
His mother’s maxim for taking on a big task had always served him well so he reached for a blank sheet. He had no idea where his pen case was so he fished the charcoal out of the satchel and started writing.

Informers – check again. New ones?

Spice market – ask around, or get someone else to.

Moneylenders?

Army scouts?

Merchants?

Will need bribe money. A lot.

Cassius felt something brush his ankle. He looked down and watched the cat slink past. Imagining fleas jumping from its fur onto his exposed leg, he waved a hand at it.

‘Clear off, you.’

When it came to the animal kingdom, Cassius really only liked horses – as long as he didn’t have to look after them, of course. Dogs and cats he detested equally, and he had no idea why anyone would want to keep the accursed things as pets. The cat sat down and stared at him.

This time he used Greek. ‘Piss off!’

Cassius was about to throw the charcoal at it when he heard shouting from the street. Then the front door crashed open.

‘What in Hades?’

Grabbing his sword belt from a nearby couch, he hurried out of the study and into the atrium. Indavara had just slammed the door shut. He rammed the bolt in and turned round. He was breathing hard, his face flushed and wet.

‘What—’

The bodyguard held up a hand. ‘Just listen. You have to do something. I think they mean to kill me.’

‘Who? Why?’

‘Auxiliaries. I head-butted their friend.’

Cassius could hear more shouts and rushing footsteps outside. ‘Again – why?’

‘Long story.’

Someone hammered on the door, which fortunately was a robust slab of hardwood framed with iron.

‘We know you’re in there.’

‘Come out and face us.’

‘Show yourself.’

A red face appeared at one of the grilled windows. ‘I think I can see him!’

Cassius joined Indavara behind the door, which was now shaking, the bolt rattling in its mount. Despite the situation, Cassius couldn’t help being slightly amused by the look on the bodyguard’s face; it was unusual to see him so scared.

‘You’d better utter a prayer to Cardea,’ he advised.

‘Cardea?’

‘Goddess of door hinges.’

‘There’s a goddess of … forget that, do something!’

Cassius looked down at the sword belt in his hand. He drew the blade and held it up so that the eagle-shaped hilt was visible. He then motioned towards the door. ‘Open it.’

‘What?’

‘Open it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

Indavara retracted the bolt. The mob quietened.

‘He’s coming out,’ said one man in Greek. Others were talking in what sounded to Cassius like Nabatean.

Indavara lifted the latch and eased the door open, careful to stay behind it.

Cassius stepped forward, ensuring he kept the sword high. Every inch of space between the doorway and street was occupied. There were twenty men at least: some holding clubs, a few daggers. Cassius guessed most of them noted the red tunic first, then the pricey blade with the eagle head.