The Black Stone (23 page)

Cassius stood alone on the verandah and watched the men gather. Not his men – they were topping up their water supplies from a cistern – but the group Censorinus had swiftly assembled from his family and staff. In charge was one of his sons, a well-built fellow armed with spear and sword. There were two other sons, three nephews plus a dozen labourers. They had been tasked by Censorinus with recruiting more sword-hands from Dhiban, then heading north in search of the brigands that had attacked Usrana.

The son gave a shout and led them away towards the road at a gallop, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. The boys and women who had been looking on dispersed rapidly when they saw Censorinus exit the front door.

He too watched the group depart. ‘I hope they find plenty of help. These thieves are growing in numbers and confidence – they even tried to take us on a couple of times recently.’

‘The people are lucky to have you watching over them.’

‘This is the first year I’ve had to do so alone.’

‘No help from the army?’

Censorinus gave an ironic grin. ‘You’re the first officer I’ve spoken to in months. No, brigandage is generally kept under control by the local Saracen chief – we’re on the western edge of what’s long been considered his territory. No thief would dare rob one of the locals if they thought he would hear of it. But no one’s seen him or his men in weeks.’

‘Any idea where they are?’

Censorinus ran his hand across the few white hairs left on his head. ‘Some say he’s gone north to fight the Palmyrans, others that he’s fighting
with
them. He never stays in one place for long anyway – he’s heavily involved in the incense trade – but he’d always leave a few men behind to keep the peace. Seems like they’ve all gone with him this time.’

‘This chief, he’s part of the Tanukh?’

‘I believe so.’

‘I see,’ said Cassius. It all tallied with what Calvinus had revealed about the apparent absence of many of the chiefs and their men. Where were they all?

Censorinus tapped his hat against his leg. ‘I hope and pray the Saracens return soon. We haven’t enough men in Dhiban to keep the brigands at bay for long and I need my employees working, not riding around the desert.’

‘Apologies for the imposition. I didn’t feel I had a great deal of choice.’

‘No apology necessary. You did the right thing. That lad is in a lot of pain. I hope Eugammon can do something for him. He should be here by nightfall.’

‘He is a good surgeon?’

‘Yes. Greek. Old and hates to travel, but he knows I pay well.’

‘Talking of money,’ said Cassius, ‘I will of course give you whatever you think is fair.’

‘Keep it,’ said the ex-centurion. ‘I have more money than I know what to do with anyway.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Don’t tell my wife I said that.’

‘Trade is good?’ enquired Cassius. Like all men of the upper class, his father had tried to engender an appreciation of agriculture in his son, but Cassius had never been able to get all that excited about crops or weather or animal husbandry. ‘The land around here doesn’t look particularly promising.’

‘It’s not. But with a bit of creative irrigation we’ve enough water and fodder for our four-legged friends.’

Censorinus waved a gnarled hand at the patchwork of fields between the house and the road. Most of the sheep and goats were sheltering from the sun by buildings or beneath trees.

‘Twelve hundred head at the last count. We send hides and wool as far as Aila and Damascus. The meat and milk bring in a fair bit too. I started up with three goats, would you believe?’

‘Impressive.’

‘Few envious locals to contend with, of course.’

‘Well, they have to pay all the taxes,’ said Cassius with a grin.

‘Indeed, but I try to balance the scales by helping out where I can.’

Cassius backtracked swiftly, anxious not to offend his host. ‘I too have cause to be thankful for your generosity. It is much appreciated.’

‘Least I can do for a fellow officer.’

‘You don’t mind helping a grain man?’

‘My brother worked for the Service for a while; bit of secret stuff in Persia. We don’t speak – he’s an arsehole – but some of the others weren’t too bad.’ Censorinus nodded at Cassius’s tunic. ‘Talking of covert work, what’s all this with the pretty colours and the gold?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘And confidential, I expect.’

‘Well, yes. On that subject, I’m sure I don’t have to—’

‘Don’t worry. Only my sons saw the spearhead. The others think you’re a merchant.’ Censorinus winked. ‘And as you’ve probably already gathered, I don’t tell my wife anything she doesn’t need to know.’

He hurried down the steps. ‘Come, let’s see how those men of yours are getting on.’

With the horses refreshed and the water replenished, Mercator and the auxiliaries were soon ready to leave. The men were clearly concerned about Druz and Censorinus took it upon himself to put their minds at rest.

‘Listen, he is badly hurt – there’s no two ways about it. But there is an excellent surgeon on the way and he is currently in the hands of my wife, my daughters and the maids. He’ll not want for attention.’

‘I almost feel jealous,’ ventured Yorvah.

‘Watch it,’ said Censorinus, playfully raising a fist, ‘or you might also find yourself in a lot of pain.’

The men laughed.

Censorinus put his hat back on. ‘If he’s fit for travel we’ll get him to Bostra.’

‘If not we can pick him up on the way back,’ suggested Mercator.

‘Ah, wait there.’ Censorinus strode over to the closest barn and went inside.

‘Mount up,’ ordered Cassius. As the others complied, he kept his horse out of the way.

Censorinus returned holding a well-filled sack. ‘A few legs of lamb for you.’ He handed the sack up to Simo. ‘Here, you look like a man who knows how to cook a bit of meat. Add some salt and a few herbs and that’ll do you nicely.’

Mercator raised a hand. ‘Thank you, sir. Farewell.’

Indavara, Simo and many of the others added their thanks as the optio led them away towards the road.

Cassius and Censorinus shook forearms. ‘Again, much appreciated.’

‘Pleasure. We’ll do our best for the lad.’

Cassius mounted up. ‘Do you think we’ll make Karak in daylight?’

‘I should think so.’

Censorinus patted Cassius’s horse and led it along by the reins. ‘How far south are you headed?’

‘Beyond Petra. A long way beyond.’

‘Just remember – that’s true Saracen territory down there. Whatever your mission, be careful, young man.’

‘I will.’

‘May the gods smile upon you.’

‘And upon you.’

Censorinus handed Cassius his reins then stopped in front of the villa.

As he neared the road, Cassius looked back. He couldn’t help wishing the kind, capable veteran was coming with them.

Not far south of Dhiban, the road dropped down into the valley of the Mujib Wadi, a broad watercourse that ran east from the Dead Sea. At the top the ground was barren and dry, but as they descended hardy greenery began to appear, along with several species of bird. Simo pointed out a copse of balsam trees with their distinctive multiple trunks and writhing branches; their oil was highly valued but they appeared untouched.

The stream was shallow enough for them to bypass the causeway and ride across. Though he was keen to keep moving, the water was so cool and inviting that Cassius called a halt and allowed the men half an hour to bathe.

The decision to take a break was soon vindicated by the steep climb out of the wadi; they had to stop several times to rest the mounts. Only a few hundred feet from the top, one of the men cried out and pointed at an animal upon a high ledge. Cassius couldn’t identify the beast, which seemed frozen in a proud stance.

‘What’s that thing?’ asked Indavara. ‘Looks like a giant goat.’

‘Pretty much,’ replied Mercator. ‘Ibex. Big male.’

The animal’s coat was light brown, the crest of hair along its back darker. The formidable set of twisted, protruding horns were almost as long as the rest of it. Some of the auxiliaries offered a little bow and whispered a few words.

‘It’s sacred?’ Cassius asked.

‘Certainly to the nomads,’ said Mercator. ‘They call it the king of the desert – one of the handful of creatures that can survive in the southern lands. There is no trace of water there for hundreds of miles, just baking heat and the endless Sea of Sand. Amongst men, only the Saracens know the way across.’

‘We’re not going that far south, are we?’ asked Indavara.

Cassius didn’t reply. He took a last look at the ibex and moved off.

They almost reached Karak by nightfall, and made camp within sight of the wadi of the same name. With the darkness came a harsh wind. Exposed on the plain above the valley, they had to weigh down the tents with rocks and keep close watch on the animals. While the wind whipped at the tents, Cassius settled down to sleep at the end of what seemed a remarkably long day. He was at least again satisfied with the progress they’d made, having spotted a milestone just before they’d stopped. Fifty-nine miles to Petra. If they could avoid any more difficulties, they would reach the former capital in five days as planned.

Two days later, they left the Via Traiana for the first time. The road didn’t actually enter Petra but bypassed it to the east, continuing south past the town of Udruh. Cassius thought it preferable to avoid Udruh anyway: the legionary fortress there housed the entire sixth cohort of the Third Cyrenaican – five hundred men, any one of whom might recognise one of the auxiliaries and cause an unnecessary complication.

They had been travelling through a mountainous wasteland since morning, the road passing bulbous, layered rock formations. The palette of colours reminded Cassius of shells on a beach and the aquatic analogy didn’t end there. These were not hills or crags; to him they looked more like giant sea sponges squashed together then deposited on the ground, each a honeycomb of hollows and crevasses.

As the road became busier and hamlets appeared, Cassius knew they were nearing the city, but it remained hidden from view behind the towering natural defences of the landscape. Petra had originally been a retreat for the nomadic Nabateans, who’d made a home and fortress of the site over many centuries. The eastern approach was known as the Siq, a narrow gorge that led directly to the heart of the city.

A mile short of it, they came to a wide, flat area between sheer faces of rock. Built on either side of the road were two walled enclosures accessed by arched entrances. Within were dozens of bays containing horses, mules and camels. According to Mercator, this was a caravan station, where the travelling traders could safely feed, water and house their animals. The party would leave the mounts there and seek lodgings in the city, with Cassius hopefully meeting Ulixes the following day.

‘Going through or putting in?’ asked a loud voice in Greek.

A portly man with a tight belt around his robes had appeared in the middle of the road. Before either Cassius or Indavara could answer, another man stepped in front of him. This fellow had a multicoloured sash instead of a belt.

‘One silver per mount per night! Best rate you’ll find. Biyara’s yard – on the right.’