by Brown, Nick
‘I am a merchant, looking to buy goods in Hegra.’
‘You don’t look like any merchant I’ve ever seen – even one from Raetia. And what kind of merchant travels without anything to trade?’
‘It is my first trip to Arabia – more of a fact-finding visit really.’
Khalima looked past him. ‘And these two?’
‘My bodyguard, Indavara. And the leader of my hired men, Mertan. He and the others are locals. They joined me in Bostra.’
‘What are you looking to buy in Hegra?’
‘I’m not sure yet. Certainly some frankincense.’
‘Really? Well then, tell me – what would you expect to pay for top-quality Sabaean? Per pound.’
Cassius had done a little research in Bostra and Petra in case of such situations but was already wishing he’d done a little more. ‘I believe twelve denarii is the going rate.’
Khalima gave no indication of whether this was correct. ‘And nard – small leaf, per pound?’
Cassius considered his answer. Was nard the really expensive one or was that myrrh? Hesitation might cost him as much as a wrong answer. ‘That would be expensive. Very expensive.’
‘Indeed it would.’
Cassius scratched his chin to cover a gulp.
Khalima fingered the bangles on his left wrist. ‘You shouldn’t have any problems with this last question – it concerns a product from your homeland. Raetian honey is considered the best and sells well in the markets of Antioch. They charge five times what it would cost back in Raetia. What would a native merchant pay?’
‘Er … honey … you see food’s not really my area.’
‘But you are from Raetia. You could certainly make an educated guess.’
‘Per pound?’
‘Yes.’
‘Er … three denarii? I’d say about three.’
Khalima drew his sword and walked up to Cassius, who sensed Indavara poised to move.
‘Don’t,’ Cassius told him, even though Khalima had now raised the sword.
The Saracen’s unblinking eyes were a pale orange. He brought the finely honed tip of the blade up until Cassius felt it against his throat. ‘Liar. They don’t even export honey from Raetia. The good stuff comes from Dacia. Who are you?’
‘Now, don’t go casting aspersions on our fine Raetian honey,’ Cassius stuttered. ‘Highly underrated – why, it’s lovely on a piece of—’
‘Who – are – you?’
‘I told you.’
Cassius felt the sword pressing into his skin. On balance, he didn’t think Khalima would kill him, but he wasn’t about to take the risk.
‘All right. I’m not a Raetian merchant. I’m Roman. I’m a Roman soldier.’
Khalima lowered the blade.
‘An officer, in fact,’ added Cassius.
‘You’re not old enough.’
‘It’s true.’
‘Prove it.’
‘Er, the thing is, at this particular moment … I can’t.’
Indavara spoke up. ‘Actually, I think you can.’ He pointed outside.
A mule had appeared on the far side of the oasis and was walking towards the pool. The barrel and the saddlebags were still attached.
Indavara was grinning. ‘That’s Patch.’
The spearhead lay on a rug: three feet of steel topped by a blade kept safe by a piece of cork. Welded to the middle of the shaft was the square badge bearing the SPQR legend and the (recently inscribed) emblem of the Governor’s Office of Arabia.
Khalima was lying against a pile of cushions, eyeing it. A young girl had just brought him some wine in a fine glass which he hadn’t yet touched. He picked up the spearhead – which took two hands to lift – and peered closely at the inscriptions.
‘Would you like me to translate?’ asked Cassius.
‘Are you trying to offend me, Roman? I’ve been speaking Latin since before you were a glint in your father’s eye.’
‘Apologies.’
‘I saw such a thing once before. During the Palmyran war.’
Cassius hadn’t been offered any cushions. He was sitting cross-legged on a reed mat.
The Saracen put down the spearhead, then took a drink. ‘You, Mertan.’
Mercator and Indavara were standing outside with Khalima’s sons. All four turned round.
‘Your men may take what water they need. Stay on the far side of the pool, away from my people.’
After a nod from Cassius, Mercator left.
‘I would speak with you alone, Roman.’
‘Very well,’ said Cassius. He looked at Indavara. Though the others’ weapons had been returned, Cassius was unarmed and wouldn’t stand a chance against Khalima. But he could not afford to offend this man.
‘It’s all right.’
Indavara followed Mercator. At a word from the Saracen, his sons lowered the flap of canvas so that no one could see inside.
The Arabian leaned forward and offered his forearm. ‘I believe this is how you people greet each other.’
Cassius was ready for the strong grip, but not for the way Khalima held on and locked eyes with him. ‘This means only that we can speak as equals. I have not decided yet whether you are enemy or friend.’
Cassius pretended he hadn’t noticed the marks Khalima’s fingers had left on his arm. ‘Is there no position between those two extremes?’
‘These days – not much.’ The Saracen looked at the spearhead. ‘The other officer I saw with one of those was a scout. Is that what you are doing this far south?’
‘I suppose you could say that.’
Cassius was unsure how to proceed. Having admitted his true identity, he would now have to reassure Khalima without revealing too much. He resolved to handle it one point at a time. ‘The governor is interested in what is going on beyond the reach of our conventional forces.’
‘I’m sure. This incident at Ruwaffa must be of great concern to him.’
‘Indeed.’
‘To be honest, I’m surprised he hasn’t taken action already. Calvinus always seemed to be a decisive man. Perhaps it is his age.’
‘You know the governor?’
‘Not to speak to. I’ve heard him address the Confederation several times over the years.’
‘You belong to the Tanukh?’
‘I do. Though it now seems a long time since the tribes last fought together.’
Cassius almost asked another question but he held back.
Khalima grinned, those amber eyes glinting like some wise old lion. Cassius found him frightening and engaging in equal measure.
‘You would like to press me, wouldn’t you, Roman? See what you can find out? But you’re not sure of me yet.’
‘This is a delicate situation for us both.’
‘You are lucky it was me you blundered into. Many of those you’ll meet south of Humeima would happily kill a Roman spy and his men – slit their throats and bury them in the Sea of Sand where they’d never be found.’
Cassius didn’t want to dwell on that thought. ‘The governor wishes only to understand why the Confederation has turned its back on Rome.’
‘Is it really such a complicated question?’
‘Educate me.’
Khalima threw up a hand. ‘Why? Why should I tell you anything? I am a businessman, not an informer. I trade – something for something.’
‘Perhaps I can help you. I am a member of the governor’s staff. I have influence. How is business?’
‘I think you already know the answer to that question. Business is bad. Rebellions in both neighbouring provinces, brigandage on the rise and the producers down south squeezing our profits.’
‘Perhaps we can discuss money.’
‘I certainly hope so. But before you make me an offer, you should know that you are already worth a great deal to me. A certain individual would pay handsomely if I were to deliver you and your men to him.’
‘Yet you don’t seem overly keen on doing so.’
‘I am not part
icularly keen on the said individual – what he stands for or what he has done. But be in no doubt, I will serve you up to him on a golden platter if you cannot offer me something of substance.’
Cassius wasn’t sure the bribe money would be enough; fortunately that wasn’t all he could offer. He touched the spearhead. ‘This gives me the power to act with the authority of the governor. Tell me what I can do for you.’
Khalima ran his tongue around his mouth while he considered his reply. ‘As I said, business is not good. Most of those people outside are members of my family: I have to provide for them all. We have with us seven hundred pounds of incense, ready for the markets of the Red City. As usual, I have already paid out to the three kings and two priestly clans whose lands I have passed through in the south. Then there are my other costs: water, fodder, materials, breakage – the list goes on. And before I can even sell in Petra I must pay a quarter to your administrators. When my margins were better, I could just about live with the import tax. Now it’s wiping out all my profit. On this trip, I’ll be lucky to break even.’
‘I think I can help. But what can you offer in return?’
Khalima straightened his robes while he considered his reply. ‘You seem to be lacking information. I am prepared to tell you what I know. We are in an isolated spot. My men can be trusted. As long as yours can too, no one else need even know we ever met.’
‘My thoughts precisely. Now, this tax situation. I am sure that exceptions can be – and are – made. A letter to the governor from me and we can have a written agreement in Petra within days. It would explain that Calvinus himself has awarded you a special exemption regarding import tax – reduced rates for a certain period of time.’
‘What rate? What period?’
‘That depends on the value of what you tell me. As a starting point, let us say that you will pay no more than twenty per cent for the next two years.’
Khalima didn’t look impressed.
Cassius held up his hands. ‘A starting point. No more.’
‘Very well. What do you want to know?’
‘You mentioned a certain individual who would be interested to know of my presence here. Is this the same individual responsible for Ruwaffa?’
‘Nobody knows for sure who attacked Ruwaffa. Just as nobody knows for sure who has been raiding the temples. But nobody is mentioning any other names.’
‘And what is his?’
‘I am told he goes by Ilaha these days. He is a warrior who fought the Persians and the Palmyrans under Charaz, a great ethnarch of the Tanukh.’
‘Ethnarch?’
‘That is what we call the leaders of the thirteen tribal clans. Mine is named Uruwat. Charaz was killed during the Palmyran war and – in the absence of any male heir – succeeded by Ilaha. He had a reputation for being more interested in fighting than trade and was generally considered one of the less powerful ethnarchs. But a year or so ago we began to hear that he had styled himself as a warrior-priest and devoted himself to the sun god Elagabal.’
Cassius maintained a neutral expression as Khalima continued.
‘It is said that he can perform magical acts – that he can summon the voice of the god and see into the future. No one took him particularly seriously to begin with, but his warband has grown rapidly and his warriors are fiercely loyal. It is said he now has more men than any of the other ethnarchs.’
Cassius remembered Calvinus mentioning the name but it seemed odd that news of Ilaha’s rise had not reached Bostra.
‘His ascent seems swift indeed.’
‘That in itself is exceptional; and some say further evidence of a divine hand at work.’
‘You don’t agree?’
‘Unrest breeds unrest. The chiefs all know what is happening to the north and south of us. This Ilaha thinks his time has come, and it seems some of the other ethnarchs agree with him.’
‘But not all?’
‘Far from it. My chief, Uruwat, believes in the old ways. The Tanukh has never fought against Rome and has always spoken with one voice when negotiating with the governor. It seems that Ilaha prefers to hear his voice alone.’ Khalima smiled. ‘I see from your face that this is all useful to you.’
‘Most useful,’ admitted Cassius. ‘Useful enough for us to make considerable modifications to our starting point. What else do you know about this Ilaha?’
‘I saw him once. He is very handsome.’
Now Cassius smiled. ‘Anything else?’
‘I met Uruwat’s son while passing through Dumata. Ilaha has called a meeting for the last day of this month. All the ethnarchs have been asked to attend. Uruwat will be there.’
‘Where is this meeting to be held?’
‘He operates from a base deep in the Hejaz mountains. That too might explain why his rise has not been fully appreciated by you and your colleagues in Bostra.’
‘This base – a town named Galanaq?’
‘You are not as ignorant as you claimed, Roman. Now, tell me what “modifications” to your original offer I can expect.’
‘We can discuss that if you wish but I have a further request. There is considerable risk attached for you so let me first disclose what I will offer in return. You will pay no import tax. For five years.’
Khalima tried not to show too much but his eyes shone. ‘You can really make that happen?’
Cassius felt sure Calvinus would consider it a small price to pay. ‘Absolutely.’
‘What must I do?’
‘I and my men need to get to Galanaq. If we journey there alone, as strangers, I doubt we’ll get within ten miles of the place. I want you to get us into the town. Nothing more, but you must get us inside.’
Khalima looked away. ‘Information is one thing. That is something else.’
‘But in five years you’ll be a very, very rich man.’
‘Such a risk might expose not only me but my entire family. I must consider it.’
‘I want to be there before that meeting. Which would give us only four days.’
‘We would need to leave tomorrow.’ Khalima fiddled with one of his bracelets for a while then looked up. ‘If I decline—’
‘We will discuss appropriate recompense for the information you have already provided. You have my word.’
‘I will give you an answer by sundown.’
Cassius felt numerous eyes upon him as he walked across the oasis. Khalima’s men were repairing the tents, the women preparing a fire. Perhaps still upset by the storm, the children were being allowed to play. To Cassius they seemed a healthy, harmonious group and every single one of Khalima’s clan wore clean, well-cut clothing and at least one piece of jewellery. The best clothes, however – soft, lustrous red robes – were reserved for a trio of lovely young women cleaning their hands in the pool. They were the only adults not working.
‘Well?’ said Indavara when Cassius reached him, Mercator and Ulixes.
‘Possibly an improvement in our fortunes.’
‘Better than having a sword stuck in your neck, you mean?’
‘Oh, certainly.’
Mercator had stationed the horses by the edge of the oasis so there was no risk of them fouling the water. They had been roped together and were being watched by a few of the auxiliaries. The rest of the men were washing and refilling their water skins.
‘You were in there a long time,’ said the optio.
‘Worth every minute, I assure you. Khalima has already provided me with some useful information and now we must wait to see if he will help us into Galanaq.’
‘Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be doing?’ asked Ulixes.
‘You may be able to find the place but getting inside might be difficult.’
‘You seem very trusting of a man who seemed about ready to chop off your head an hour ago. What have you offered him in return?’
‘That’s between him and me,’ said Cassius. ‘But given what he’s revealed about the man who may have the stone, I doubt we have much o
f a chance without him.’
‘All right if I send Yorvah to try and find those two last mules?’ asked Mercator.
‘Not yet. No one has witnessed this meeting and Khalima would prefer it to stay that way. Until we have a decision let’s keep our heads down and try not to annoy him.’
‘Very well.’ The optio walked away.
Ulixes was still glaring at Cassius. ‘You must have asked him about the stone.’
‘No. And I don’t intend to unless I have to. As far as he’s concerned I need intelligence for the governor, nothing more. You’ll get the money when I see the stone. But until then keep your mouth shut about it. Say nothing to anyone.’
‘What about giving me half now?’
‘No chance.’
Indavara stepped in front of him. ‘You heard the man.’
As Ulixes sloped off, Simo walked up from the pool. He was leading Patch, who was licking water off his snout.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ asked the attendant. ‘I was starting to wonder if you’d ever come out of that tent.’
‘Fine, Simo. And our furry friend?’
‘Better now, sir. He must have been so frightened during the sandstorm – he was still shaking.’
‘Well, he couldn’t have timed his return any better. And if we hadn’t gone after him, I would not have met Khalima.’
Cassius stepped forward and tried to stroke the mule but it veered away towards Indavara, who ruffled one of its ears.
‘You know who really likes you and who doesn’t, don’t you, Patch? Very good judges of character, mules.’
‘Ha bloody ha.’
XX
Cassius sat against a knobbly date palm, idly watching insects buzz around the pool. On the other side of the water, the fire was heating a steaming pot into which the women were dropping a seemingly endless series of ingredients. Most of the tents were now back up but the men continued with their repairs. Cassius guessed their horses had earlier been taken somewhere to shelter from the storm; a group of lads had just brought them back.
A few yards away, an old woman was supervising two young boys as they nimbly scaled another palm using belts. Given the season, Cassius knew they wouldn’t be collecting the dates but thinning them out to produce a better harvest later in the year. Their ascent had disturbed a small flock of colourful birds, some of which were now hunting in the reeds. According to Simo, they were bee-eaters: pretty little things with sky-blue chests, yellow throats and vicious-looking bills. Cassius knew of the breed; his grandfather had kept bees and once told him how they killed their prey. Once a bee was lodged in their bill, the birds would hammer it against something hard until the stinger fell out, then swallow their meal. Cassius was yet to see a single assassination.
