The Black Stone (71 page)

Indavara took a while to reply. ‘It’s not the first time. What about Africa? The legionaries at the bridge?’

‘This was different.’

‘Up close, you mean.’

‘Why did he have to come in there? If only he’d just kept walking along the street.’

‘There is no if,’ said Indavara. ‘There is only what is. You must live with what you have done. So must we all.’

‘Not me. I
can’t
live with this.’

‘Stand up.’

‘Why?’

‘Just do it. We’re going to the hippodrome.’

‘What?’

‘Do you want me to help you or not?’

Neither of them said a word as they walked out to the edge of the city. The only light at the hippodrome came from the gatehouse. An elderly man appeared when they approached the open door.

‘We’d like to go inside,’ said Indavara.

‘No chance, son.’

Indavara took a denarius from his money bag.

The gatekeeper looked tempted. ‘Why do you want to go in there? It’s empty.’

‘That’s our business. We won’t be long.’

The gatekeeper reached for the coin but Indavara kept hold of it. ‘And you make yourself scarce. Come back in half an hour.’

The gatekeeper considered the offer.

Indavara took out a second coin and handed them both to him.

With a grin, the old man went to fetch his keys. Once he’d opened a side gate and left, they entered the stadium. Stopping once they felt sand under their feet, they could just about see the spine and the curve of the great arched walls high above. Cassius waited for Indavara to speak.

‘The first man I killed – he was very young, very weak. I wasn’t up to much myself then but I was better than most so they made me fight a pair. I knew I couldn’t mess around because the other one was dangerous. But this first one, when I went for him he didn’t even move, didn’t even get his sword up. He begged me not to hurt him, begged me to let him live.’

It was so dark that Cassius could see nothing of Indavara’s face. Only his words mattered.

‘I stuck him in the stomach and he fell right in front of me. It took him a while to die – until after I’d killed the other man. He just kept calling for his mother. It was five months before I fought again. I couldn’t get him out of my head. I couldn’t sleep. His face, his voice. I thought of nothing else. After a while, one of the trainers noticed the state I was in. He knew how to help me.’

‘Yes?’

‘You must talk to him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘To him, the man you killed. The gods too if you wish.’

Indavara put a hand on Cassius’s shoulder. ‘Walk out into the stadium and say whatever’s inside you. You can apologise, or explain. Shout or scream if you have to. But leave nothing inside. Let it all out. And when you leave this place, try to leave it behind.’

Indavara walked back towards the side gate. ‘I’ll be waiting.’

He had no idea how long Corbulo was in there. He sat down against the wall, wishing he had some water to quench his thirst. Several times he heard a cry echo around the stadium but he couldn’t make out a word.

He felt sorry for the poor bastard; and not only because he knew what he was feeling. Corbulo had seen a lot but he wasn’t cut out for killing. He thought too much; and lacked the guts of those who’d had to fight their way through their whole lives.

Indavara still didn’t really understand why Corbulo thought he had to get rid of Simo, but he knew he had to do something. He wanted to help his friends and keep the three of them together.

Eventually Corbulo returned.

Indavara stood up and walked over to him. ‘Do you feel better?’

‘I – I don’t know.’

‘You will, trust me. And if you don’t, we will do this again and again until you do.’

They set off back towards the city and soon passed the gatekeeper, who cheerily bid them goodnight.

‘Well,’ said Indavara after a while, ‘what about Simo?’

‘I’d like to keep him on. I would. But he is not suited to this life and he will not change. He is a coward.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘I don’t claim I’m all that different,’ said Cassius. ‘But I will fight for my life, and my friends.’

‘Back in Antioch, when you were trapped on that ship – I wanted to leave. I did in fact. Simo came after you alone. He risked his life to help you. There is more to courage than killing. And now you will punish him because of what you have done?’

Cassius did not reply.

Indavara stopped and turned towards him. Surrounded by darkness, they could barely see each other.

‘Simo doesn’t need to fight. Whatever comes at us next time, I’ll be there.’

‘If he stays, you’ll stay?’

‘I will. You’ll come home and tell him?’

‘No,’ said Cassius. ‘You can. I’m not going home tonight.’

An hour later, Delkash locked the door of her room and sat beside him on the bed. Cassius was naked, holding another mug of wine.

Delkash ran her hand across his back and kissed him softly on the cheek. ‘You are handsome but you look like a boy. Not like a soldier at all.’

Cassius put the wine down, bent his head against her chest and wept until he could weep no more.

According to Herodian (a third century historian), The Black Stone of Emesa was indeed taken to Rome by Elagabalus and returned to Syria after the emperor’s demise. It’s theft and the subsequent events of this novel are however of course inventions of mine. The stone was a ‘baetyl’: a sacred monolith of the type revered in numerous cults and religions throughout history. Some worshippers clearly believed that the object had been ‘sent from above’ but the unusual composition of the rock was almost certainly earthly in origin.

Cassius’s description of Elagabalus as ‘one of the worst emperors of all time’ reflects the attitude of commentators like Herodian who revelled in describing the young ruler’s excesses, which apparently included harnessing naked women to a wheelbarrow and driving them about and torturing his dinner guests on a water wheel! He is also portrayed as a weak leader frequently manipulated by others, his mother in particular. It is thought that his elevation of the solar cult above the traditional Roman pantheon contributed to his downfall.

Aurelian – ruling half a century later – took care to avoid the same mistake. By the summer of AD 273 he had established a strong relationship with a solar deity, the precise identity of which is unknown. But Aurelian was not intent on supplanting the ‘great gods’; he was by nature conservative and must have known that do so might fatally undermine his position. Although there is no direct evidence that he returned the stone to Rome, he did collect numerous other items of religions significance, particularly those related to the solar deity.

Arab historical texts confirm the existence of the Tanukh; the confederation of tribes that fought with Rome against the Palmyrans. We also know that there were ongoing diplomatic relations, even though those the Romans termed ‘saracens’ were often viewed as mysterious nomads who might easily cause unrest. The incense road and the associated trade existed as described, though by the third century sea transport had claimed much of the Arabians’ business. The one quarter import tax (known as the
tetarte
) was a long-standing arrangement in the eastern provinces, though we can surely assume that Khalima and his like never have been particularly happy about it. After the failed invasion of Aelius Gallus in the first century, it seems that the Romans let the trade run its course and settled for the considerable profits of taxation; the primary reason for their continued occupation of Arabia.

Some minor issues of note: the inspiration for the character of Gutha comes from an inscription found in Arabia mentioning one Guththa (a German name) who was apparently a commander in charge of local soldiers. The inscription dates from 208 AD and Septimius Severus’s second campaign against the Parthians. The valuable face mask that Gutha finds so appealing comes from Gerrha, the ancient Arabian city renowned for gold-working.

The ‘wine cart’ used by Cassius in Galanaq might seem like a convenient invention but such vehicles did exist in Roman times; a large leather bag was sometimes used because it was simply a lighter method of transporting liquid than amphoras.

Scooping bitumen out of the Dead Sea sounds similarly outlandish but this is also based in fact. The precious substance had been exploited since the Babylonian era and also by the Nabateans. The Greek historian Diodorus Siculus tells us that the bitumen was easily collected and that its arrival was indeed preceded by a widespread stench.

Haboob
is the Arabic name (meaning ‘blasting’) for the intense dust storms that afflict the desert.

Contemporary readers (and writers) find slavery both alien and repellent but it is perhaps worth highlighting just how ingrained it was in the Roman world, if only to illustrate that Cassius’s attitude towards Simo is essentially a product of the time. In this era, there was no serious challenge to the existence of slavery and the Christian Church did not oppose the institution until centuries later. Even those writers who had been slaves rarely wrote of their experiences or suggested that the practice be ended.

‘The Black Stone’ was completed between January and September, 2013. I’m still surprised it got finished in that time – the length and nature of the story made it a more complicated undertaking than the previous novels.

Thanks are due once again to my agent David Grossman, for continuing to guide me through the complicated world of publishing and helping me cut a long initial draft down to something far more dynamic.

Thanks also to my editor Oliver Johnson; firstly for running his expert eye over the manuscript and secondly for buying three more in the series! The work of Anne Perry and everyone else at Hodder & Stoughton is greatly appreciated.

Four books in and a fourth striking cover from the extremely talented Larry Rostant. Thanks also to cartographer Rosie Collins, who faced a tough job in producing the map of Arabia.

Professor Kevin Butcher of the University of Warwick deserves a mention for answering my (often inane) questions with patience and expert knowledge.