The Black Stone (36 page)

‘Is this really necessary?’

Khalima had his arm over Cassius’s shoulder as he led him into one of the smaller tents. Standing inside were the three young women he’d seen earlier.

‘Let me put it this way,’ replied the Saracen. ‘When we reach Galanaq are you keen to be the first one pulled out of line by Ilaha’s guards?’

‘Er, no.’

‘Well then, let me introduce Farrai, Elymaris and Golpari.’

‘Your daughters?’

Khalima roared with laughter, answering only when he’d recovered himself. ‘No, Roman. My wives. Well, some of them.’

Though surprised, Cassius was aware of this tradition among certain peoples of the East.

‘Is it really so shocking?’ asked Khalima, eyes twinkling.

‘I suppose not,’ said Cassius. ‘In fact I think it’s an excellent idea.’

‘Quite so.’

Khalima spoke a few words of Nabatean and the oldest of the girls came forward. She looked about Cassius’s age.

‘Golpari is Persian. She was an actress and what she doesn’t know about altering one’s appearance isn’t worth knowing.’

Golpari examined Cassius’s face and hair, then pointed at the freckles on his forearms. The two other girls giggled.

‘Where are you from originally?’ asked Khalima. ‘Gaul or Germany, I imagine.’

‘The north of Italy.’

‘Ah. Well, by the time Golpari’s finished with you, you’ll look like one of us.’

‘What? How?’

‘You’ll see. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. You’ll join me later?’

‘By all means.’

Khalima left.

Cassius stood there for a moment, not quite sure what to do with himself. ‘Do you speak Greek?’

‘And a little Latin,’ said Golpari. Her voice was almost as enticing as her face. ‘Which would you prefer?’

‘Greek is fine.’

Golpari gestured to a large cushion below a lantern. ‘Could you kneel there, please?’

‘Happy to.’

Farrai and Elymaris went to the back of the tent, where there were several wooden chests and some mixing bowls. Golpari brought over a stool and sat in front of Cassius. Unable to see much of the rest of her body because of her robes, he found himself staring at her face – and what a face it was. Her skin was flawless and surprisingly pale, though more surprising still were her eyes. They were an entrancing light blue, brilliant amidst the dark kohl and beneath the sweep of black hair.

‘You are fair,’ she said. ‘But I’m sure we can do something.’

As she spoke, Cassius’s gaze drifted to her plump, sensuous lips. It took him a while to remember what she’d said and formulate a reply.

‘Er … what exactly?’

The girls returned with two bowls. One contained a watery brown liquid, the other a thicker black substance.

‘Yuk.’

‘The brown is for your skin. It is a mix of plant dyes and oils. Usually we use it for decoration, like a tattoo. It will stain the skin temporarily.’

‘How temporarily?’

‘It will wash off gradually over a period of weeks.’

‘And the other one?’

‘That’s for your hair. It contains many ingredients including vinegar, nut extract and …’ She gave a little smile and consulted the other girls for a translation. ‘… and leeches.’

‘Leeches? By the gods.’

The three girls laughed.

‘It’s harmless,’ said Golpari. ‘It too will wash out after a while.’

‘Very well. I suppose I shall just have to trust you.’

‘What will you be wearing? How much of your skin will be visible?’

‘I can keep my riding breeches on, I suppose. Face and hands should be enough.’

Golpari took a dark cotton sheet from Elymaris. ‘It will be easier if you take off your tunic. I’ll have to do some of your neck.’

‘I’m sure you know best.’

Cassius removed his boots and socks, then his belt. Farrai and Elymaris took them and put them to one side. Cassius couldn’t actually stand up straight in the tent so he bent over and Golpari helped him take his tunic off over his head, leaving him in just his loincloth. He had spent enough time naked around both men and women not to feel self-conscious, though he imagined his newly acquired tan lines looked rather unattractive.

Golpari gestured at the cushions and he knelt down again. She had to lean forward to wrap the sheet around him and Cassius breathed in the heavenly scent she was wearing. After a week on the road with the men, being alone with these three was really quite delightful.

Once the sheet was tied, Golpari took a brush and put it into the liquid. ‘Now, Master Cassius, close your eyes.’

An hour later, the transformation was complete. Golpari held up a mirror.

‘By Jupiter.’

Cassius watched the new him frown. He really did look like an easterner. His hair and skin were as dark as Indavara and Simo’s and looked convincingly natural. Golpari had even tinted his eyebrows with an appropriate tone.

‘Did we do well?’ she asked.

‘Exceptionally well.’

‘You must not wash – tonight
or
tomorrow.’

‘Oh, really?’ said Cassius. ‘But it smells a bit.’

‘That will wear off too.’

Golpari removed the sheet and picked up his tunic.

‘Shall I put it on for you?’

‘Please.’

Cassius used every last moment to examine that wonderful face and commit it to memory.

‘Come on, then, who’s going to crack the first joke?’

The men had gathered around their own fire. Cassius came close enough to the flames so that they could see him. Their reaction confirmed the quality of Golpari’s work.

‘Remarkable, sir,’ said Yorvah. ‘Just like one of us now.’

Simo peered at him. ‘Amazing, sir. Amazing.’

Indavara was sitting against some sacks of fodder, nibbling a piece of lamb stuck to the end of his dagger.

‘Well?’ said Cassius.

‘You look the same,’ said Indavara, ‘but darker.’

‘Insightful as ever.’ Cassius sat down next to him. ‘Get me a plate of something, would you, Simo, I’m starving. Oh, have you finished the agreement?’

‘Yes, sir. Both copies.’

‘What’s that smell?’ asked Indavara.

‘Me. Apparently it will wear off.’

Indavara downed the rest of the meat then let out a satisfied belch. ‘Delicious. That Censorinus knows his lamb.’

‘Fancy a few drinks to wash it down?’ asked Cassius. ‘Khalima has invited me for an evening drink with my senior men. That means you and Mercator.’

‘If you like.’

‘Best behaviour. We will be relying on these people.’

‘Ha!’ cried Khalima when they arrived at his tent. ‘Look at our new Arabian friend! Did I not tell you that wife of mine has a talent?’

‘Indeed she does,’ said Cassius.

The Saracen appeared the picture of contentment, again leaning back on a mountain of cushions with his two sons beside him. A teenage girl was kneeling to one side.

‘Please, sit.’

More cushions had been put down at the guests’ end of the tent. Dividing them from their host was a line of bowls containing various foods. Khalima clapped his hands and the girl poured wine from an ornate silver jug into equally expensive goblets. She placed one in the hand of each of the three guests then left. Nothing was said while this was going on and Cassius felt himself growing rather nervous. After their earlier meeting, he felt he had some measure of the Saracen but he doubted Mercator would feel much more comfortable than Indavara.

The chief gestured to his left. ‘My oldest son, Miraz. He will take my family and the caravan on to Petra.’

Miraz looked like a younger version of his father, though he clearly preferred a more natural look for his beard. He offered a vague nod.

Khalima gestured to the right. ‘Adayyid, my youngest. He will accompany us.’

Adayyid was slimmer than his father and brother. He was slumped languidly against the cushions.

‘A pleasure,’ said Cassius.

‘Please, eat,’ said Khalima.

Mercator selected some dates and seeds. Though full after the lamb, Cassius took a handful of raisins. Indavara grabbed a selection of everything and noisily devoured it all.

Cassius gave an apologetic grin and aimed a thumb at him. ‘Never needs a second invitation.’

‘A body such as that needs feeding,’ said Khalima. ‘Were I a few years younger I might challenge your friend to an arm wrestle, but I fear I might embarrass myself.’ He turned to Mercator and spoke in Nabatean. The exchange was brief but – to Cassius’s relief – friendly.

‘I asked Mertan if he likes our little oasis,’ continued Khalima in Greek. ‘It is good that your men will enjoy a pleasant night’s rest. We have far to go tomorrow.’

‘Khalima, I wonder if you could tell us a little more about your business. We can pass it on to the men; and will be prepared if any of us are questioned.’

‘Of course.’

Khalima did precisely that, outlining the basics of his work and the incense trade. Cassius had to nudge Indavara several times when he seemed not be listening. After Khalima had finished, Cassius supplemented his knowledge with a few precise questions.

The chief then told Adayyid to refill everyone’s goblet and asked Indavara how he had acquired such a remarkable number of scars. Fearing an awkward exchange, Cassius intervened, joking that Indavara was ‘accident prone’. Fortunately, Khalima pressed him no further.

‘My people have a tradition of telling stories,’ said the Saracen. ‘Miraz will start us off. But you three had better start thinking of a good one – we consider it rude not to contribute.’

Miraz’s tale involved an unfortunate merchant who became rather too close to his camel and met a sticky end. Cassius wasn’t really one for jokes or humorous tales but Indavara and Mercator seemed to enjoy it and he made himself laugh along.

‘And now it is the turn of our guests,’ said Khalima.

‘Do they have to be funny?’ asked Mercator.

‘No, not at all. We just like a good story. Anything interesting or entertaining. As long as you keep the listeners listening.’

‘I have a few,’ said Indavara, who had already finished his second goblet of wine.

As the bodyguard usually struggled to string more than a few sentences together, Cassius couldn’t imagine what he would come up with. ‘Why don’t I go first?’

‘Please,’ said Khalima.

Despite his reticence about comic offerings, Cassius retained a bank of amusing tales for social occasions and he chose one guaranteed to elicit a few laughs. Rejecting any of the more subtle anecdotes, he instead opted for one from his teenage years.

Having successfully wooed a neighbour’s daughter back in Ravenna, he’d had to escape her room via a tree. His toga had got caught on a branch and he’d eventually found himself hanging several feet from the ground with his nether regions exposed. When the girl’s father arrived he’d expected a beating at the very least. However, it turned out the man was in desperate financial straits and eager to marry off his daughter as soon as possible. He not only helped Cassius down from the tree but made his wife repair the tunic.

‘Did you see the girl again?’ asked Adayyid.

‘No,’ said Cassius. ‘But I still have the tunic.’

Khalima laughed until his whole broad frame was shaking. He then took his turn; a scatological tale about an inept doctor and his bizarre prescriptions.