The Black Stone (21 page)

‘“Day of Judgement” – that nonsense again.’ Cassius held Simo by the shoulders. ‘Pull yourself together. That smoke could be anything, there are hot springs in this area. War? What your people call sin? It’s nothing new. And do you think your Christ was the first man crucified? I have ancestors, family, who died on the cross in the civil wars. Our gods, our traditions, go back a
thousand
years. This prophet of yours has barely been dead two centuries, yet you believe he and your one god have all the answers.’

Simo reached for the cross, then thought better of it.

Cassius let go of him.

‘I am sorry, sir. But we are close to many holy places here.’

‘Yes, and I expect you spent all your time in Antioch doing nothing but praying and listening to those fools who think the world will soon come to an end. There is more to life than worship, Simo. The gods do not always hear us. Sometimes they forsake us entirely. You have seen more than enough to know that.’

Simo bent down and picked up the lamp.

‘I cannot control what goes on in your head,’ added Cassius. ‘And unlike your people, I am not arrogant enough to assume I can control what you believe. But you belong to me; and you must do as I tell you. Any more of this and I will have to consider letting you go. Now is not a good time to be trying my patience, Simo. I don’t have much left.’

‘What is that smell?’

‘Bitumen,’ replied Mercator.

Cassius looked around. Apart from a single hamlet between them and the hills, the surrounding area was empty.

‘Coming from where?’

‘It occurs naturally – pools of it float to the surface of the Dead Sea. The locals go out in boats and scoop up all they can. It’s worth a lot but doesn’t appear very often so it’s very competitive. They go armed to the teeth. People get killed over it.’

‘Really? I must confess I had no idea.’

‘What’s bitumen?’ asked Indavara, listening in as he rode along behind them.

‘Black stuff, like pitch,’ said Cassius. ‘Used for proofing and glue.’

‘It comes up from the bottom of the sea?’

‘The Dead Sea’s not actually a sea, technically speaking,’ said Cassius.

‘It’s pretty big,’ said Mercator.

‘It’s a lake,’ affirmed Cassius. He turned and gestured to Indavara and Simo (who’d said almost nothing for the entire morning). ‘We have been on several voyages across the Great Green Sea.’

Mercator looked impressed. ‘I’ve still never seen it.’

‘You’d never forget it if you did.’

‘Squint and Captain Asdribar went farther than that,’ added Indavara.

‘Men we sailed with,’ explained Cassius. ‘They have been out past the Pillars of Hercules, seen the Great Ocean.’

‘Does it ever end, do you think?’ asked Mercator.

‘They said it goes on forever,’ replied Cassius. ‘Hard to imagine.’

‘I don’t know,’ said the optio. ‘My first centurion once marched us to Damascus and back in five days. That felt like forever.’

Later that day they got a chance to see some of the bitumen up close. Running east from the Dead Sea and bisecting the Via Traiana were numerous tracks; and when they halted by one to rest the horses, a cart came along. The man driving it was with two lads and seemed wary at first but he reined in when Yorvah gave a friendly greeting. Cassius rather wished the guard officer had kept quiet but he was as bored and curious as the others and wandered over to investigate. When the auxiliaries offered to share some raisin cakes, the local climbed down and proudly displayed his cargo.

Tied to one side of the cart was a coracle made of reed and wood plus numerous pails and ladles.The bitumen itself had been stored in large amphoras. The driver introduced himself as Usrana and lifted out one of the containers. Inside was a thick, lumpy substance. One of Usrana’s sons picked up a twig and dipped it into the black liquid.

‘Like tree-sap,’ said one of the men.

‘Or honey,’ said Indavara.

‘Worth more,’ volunteered Usrana with a sly grin.

‘How much?’ asked Cassius.

‘For each amphora – about ten denarii.’

Some of the soldiers whistled.

‘Not bad,’ said Cassius.

‘As long as I can get it safely to market in Dhiban.’

‘Only five or six miles, isn’t it?’ said Yorvah.

‘Yes, but the smell draws everyone. We got to the lake early and took what we could. But the big crews were already arriving when we left and some of them don’t bother with boats. They just wait for poor folk like me to do the hard work then grab it.’

‘No army round here?’ asked Andal.

‘There’s a small fort at Haj but that’s a way from here. You see the odd century marching along but that’s about it.’

‘By Jupiter,’ said Yorvah, looking at one of the boys. ‘I thought I ate quickly.’

The lad smiled. All that remained of the raisin cake were some flakes of pastry around his mouth. ‘Got any more?’

The auxiliaries laughed; especially when Usrana clipped the lad round the ear. ‘Greedy little beggar.’

The Arabian bowed low to Cassius. ‘My apologies. Thank you for the cakes, sir.’

With a prod from their father the boys gave their thanks too.

‘Well, we’d best be off.’

‘Sure your horse is going to make it?’ enquired Andal. The animal wasn’t much bigger than a mule; and tasked with hauling quite a load.

‘Don’t you worry about her, she’s done worse in her time.’

‘Ride with us if you wish,’ offered Mercator. He hadn’t even glanced at Cassius, who swiftly quashed the idea.

‘Usrana here is in a hurry,’ he said. ‘Our horses need a rest – we’ve been on the move since dawn.’

Mercator looked at him, brow furrowed.

‘We shall stay a while longer,
Mertan
,’ added Cassius.

‘Well, thanks again,’ said Usrana as Yorvah replaced the amphora on the cart for him. The men also helped him retie the rope so the load was secure. He and the boys climbed up and set off towards Dhiban.

While the men were still gathered, Cassius walked up to Yorvah. ‘“By Jupiter” – is that a common phrase amongst local tribesmen, do you think?’

Only then did the guard officer realise his error. ‘Sorry.’

‘He didn’t notice,’ said Andal.

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ said Cassius.

‘They couldn’t ride with us?’ asked Mercator.

Cassius ignored him and addressed the others. ‘The rest of you see to your horses. You have a quarter-hour.’

Mercator stayed where he was, arms crossed, staring at Cassius. He at least waited for the men to disperse before speaking. ‘Didn’t you hear what he said? What if they run into some of these brigands?’

‘What do we care?’ countered Cassius. ‘I am a merchant and you lead my hired swordsmen, so it’s hardly our concern. Our concern is getting to the south of this province with our cover intact; a task which seems to be a sufficient challenge for you and your men.’

‘No harm done,’ said the optio.

‘Rumour and gossip fly up and down roads like this quicker than the imperial post. I suggest you go and remind your auxiliaries of their obligations.’

‘Perhaps they consider this playacting dishonourable.’

‘Perhaps you do.’

Mercator looked away.

Cassius held up a hand. ‘Listen, I admire the sentiment, really – wanting to help. But we have no room for sentiment. Understood?’

‘Understood.’

As they rode on, the sun grew hotter. Cassius was grateful for the riding breeches protecting his legs and the hood protecting his head. He couldn’t stop his fingers sweating on the reins, though, and eventually had to ask Simo for a towel.

With the horses visibly slowing, he became increasingly keen to get to Dhiban and give the mounts and the men (not to mention himself) some respite from the heat. As they neared the top of a crest, Andal and Mercator assured him they were close. Beside the road was a milestone: like the others a thick, six-foot post of rounded limestone. Cassius peered down at the carvings, checking that the distance to Petra tallied with his map. Some idiot had daubed paint on one side and he couldn’t quite make out the figure. Waving the others past, he nudged his horse closer.

‘Shall I get down, sir?’ said Simo, who had come off the road behind him.

‘No, I think I can see it. That’s an eight, isn’t it?’

‘Look!’

The cry came from Mercator.

‘What is it?’ asked Cassius.

‘Usrana – looks like he’s in trouble!’

‘Of course he is.’ Cassius handed the map to Simo and trotted his horse up to the crest. About two miles to the south were the densely packed buildings of Dhiban. Closer, on the right side of the road, was a large farmhouse.

‘See there,’ said Mercator, pointing.

Usrana had just guided the cart behind the farmhouse. He jumped down and ran to the corner, then looked west. Riding hard across the flat, dusty ground towards him was a phalanx of around twenty horsemen.

‘Sir?’

Cassius knew instantly he could not say no. If something happened to Usrana and the boys while they simply looked on, the men would never forgive him. Come to think of it, neither would he.

Indavara rode up beside him. ‘I’ll go. We’ll see those thieving bastards off easily enough.’

Cassius looked at the horses. Most of the tired, heavily loaded mounts wouldn’t make a mile gallop; and if the brigands weren’t put off by the sight of them, they would reach Usrana first.

‘Sir?’ pressed Mercator.

‘You and Indavara take Yorvah’s squad. Drop all your bags.’

Mercator leaped down off his saddle.

‘You heard the man!’ yelled Yorvah as he and the others set about lightening their loads.

Cassius got down and helped Indavara, who was frantically untying blankets and bags.

‘Take it easy. This isn’t why we’re here.’

‘I know.’

Mercator was the first away, whipping his mount as he charged down the slope.

‘Stay on the road!’ shouted Cassius. ‘That ground is rough.’

Indavara was next away, followed by Yorvah and the nine men of his squad.

Cassius winced as he saw the bodyguard hunched way too far forward, and hoped he’d make it to the farmhouse without coming off.

He turned to Andal. ‘Load that gear up – quickly!’

Indavara cursed at his mount, imploring it to go faster as the auxiliaries sped past him. He was bouncing around all over the place and was pretty sure his horse was galloping only because the others were. Then he remembered what Corbulo had told him about gripping tight with his thighs, which seemed to help a bit. He snatched a look to his right as they neared the farmhouse – the brigands were close.

His mount seemed to sense he was distracted and slowed down. Indavara didn’t like to kick it too hard and his half-hearted attempts made no difference. Thankfully, the horse followed the others as Mercator came off the road, heading straight at the brigands. Indavara glimpsed Usrana, still at the corner. He and the boys watched them fly past.

Mercator came up in his saddle and slowed to a trot. As Indavara copied him, he heard a shout then two loud thumps.