The Black Stone: Agent of Rome 4 (The Agent of Rome)

by Brown, Nick

  ‘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.

  To Indavara’s dismay, Mercator weighed in next with a spectacularly dull anecdote; something about a mix-up with some signal flags. Adayyid then offered his contribution – a short but engaging tale about a remarkable coincidence. Then it was Indavara’s turn.

  Cassius couldn’t help feeling apprehensive on his behalf but the bodyguard was by now onto his fourth goblet of wine and seemed keen.

  ‘I was a fighter,’ he said. ‘It’s true.’

  He was holding the goblet at a dangerous angle. To avoid any wine spilling on the rug beneath them, Cassius took it from him and put it down. Indavara didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘There was this trainer, Derkylos. He fought with sword and shield. Big tall sod. He didn’t believe in taking your time, softening the man up. With him it was always: “The head! The head!” That was all he ever said: “The head! The head!” Anyway, somehow he got into debt so he decided to return to the arena – a one-off contest for the money. He was in a pair, up against these two Africans. I wasn’t fighting until the next day so I was watching with this other fellow, Krantor. Towards the end of the bout Derkylos lost his shield. Can you guess what happened?’

  ‘No,’ said Khalima.

  ‘Can you?’ he asked Miraz.

  ‘No.’

  The bodyguard reached for his goblet.

  Cassius moved it away. ‘Just finish the story.’

  ‘So anyway, this African got Derkylos against the wall. The first swing shattered his blade, the second one took his head clean off. Clean off.’

  Indavara made a cutting motion with his hand. ‘Krantor started laughing and I couldn’t work out why because I liked Derkylos and although it was quick I didn’t like seeing him go.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Khalima. ‘And?’

  ‘Krantor was still laughing. He pointed at Derkylos and said: “The head, the head!”’

  Indavara looked around at the blank faces and chuckled to himself. ‘Ah, it was funny. Very, very funny.’

  XXI

  As the tents were taken down and the two groups prepared to leave, Cassius returned to the quiet cool of the date palms. He walked up to the water and looked at his reflection. The bright dawn light showed the full extent of his new colouring.

  ‘By the great and honoured gods.’

  Of all the turns his life had taken since joining the Service, this was surely the most bizarre. Yet he was grateful for Khalima’s help; infiltrating Galanaq sounded hard enough – he certainly didn’t want any extra attention coming his way.

  He looked across the pool. While the auxiliaries packed their gear away, Ulixes stood alone with his horse. The previous evening, while Cassius had checked that all the money was still in the barrel, Indavara had queried why he didn’t just pay the man off and cut him loose.

  It was a fair question. Khalima had corroborated the significance of Galanaq and it seemed likely this man Ilaha would keep the stone there. Ulixes himself was desperate to leave and Indavara, Mercator and the others would be glad to see him go. But – after some consideration – Cassius had decided to keep him around.

  He could not be certain of Khalima. The Saracen didn’t seem like a man to renege on a deal but he was in effect turning against his own, and who knew what they would find at Galanaq? With this meeting of chiefs – Khalima’s clan leader included – the situation would be complicated, fluid and dangerous. If the chief’s nerve failed him, there was no one else but Ulixes who knew the area; no one else to help them escape.

  And there was another reason. Even if Cassius did give the gambler his money and let him go, what was to stop him betraying them to Ilaha? Unlikely perhaps, but Ulixes clearly wasn’t happy with his cut and – unlike Khalima – he knew exactly why they were headed to Galanaq.

  Cassius nodded to himself, satisfied with his original decision. When – and if – they located the stone, the gambler could leave.

  He snapped off a dead reed and flicked it into the water, shattering his reflection.

  As well as Ulixes, he now held another man’s fate in his hands. He looked at the busy auxiliaries; twenty had become eighteen, and now he had to lose another.

  Most of the horses were loaded and some of the men had already mounted up but Indavara and Simo seemed to be lagging behind.

  ‘Hurry up, you two,’ said Cassius as he trotted past them up to the ridge.

  In his hand was a cloth bag containing two encoded letters – one for Abascantius, one for Calvinus – each detailing what he had learned about Ilaha (including the attack on Ruwaffa) and the assistance secured from Khalima. Accompanying Calvinus’s letter was a copy of the agreement which Cassius and the Saracen had both signed.

  Cassius had disclosed little about his intentions; merely that the party would proceed to Galanaq and he would report back at the next available opportunity. How his superiors reacted to what he’d discovered was up to them; by the time they knew of it, Cassius’s party would be deep in the mountains.

  Mercator was with Andal and Yorvah. Cassius would gladly have entrusted either man with the task of delivering the letters but he couldn’t spare them.

  The optio looked at the bag. ‘So who are we sending?’

  ‘Apollinaris.’

  The big auxiliary did not welcome the news. When Cassius and Mercator went to tell him, he screwed his eyes shut and shook his head.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Mercator. ‘But Officer Corbulo here needs a reliable man.’

  ‘Quite so.’ Cassius also needed someone who people would think twice about taking on. ‘I appreciate that you don’t want to leave the others but these letters are extremely important. One is bound for the governor himself.’

  Apollinaris cheered up a bit. ‘To Humeima, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Report to the senior officer at the fortress and tell him these are for the imperial post – utmost urgency.’

  Apollinaris took the bag and tucked it into his tunic.

  A shout went up behind them and Khalima’s people set off to the north, with Miraz in the lead. Some of the older children rode mules while the younger ones sat behind their mothers and sisters. Khalima, Adayyid and ten of his warriors watched the rest of their clan leave.

  ‘You’d better go,’ Mercator told Apollinaris.

  ‘With them?’

  ‘No,’ said Cassius. ‘Too slow. I suggest you head straight for the road, leaving the formation to the south. You should make Humeima by nightfall. Stop for nothing and no one. Those letters must arrive. Wait for us at the fort.’

  ‘Understood, sir. Can I say farewe
ll to the men?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Mercator was looking at the Saracens. ‘I’m not sure Khalima’s warriors are as happy with this new alliance as he is.’

  ‘Possibly not. But I gather they’re mostly nephews and cousins. I doubt we need concern ourselves with their loyalty.’

  Mercator inspected Cassius’s clothes – he had changed into his dullest tunic and riding trousers. ‘So no more pretty colours and bracelets, eh? Sure you’re ready to rough it with the rest of us?’

  ‘A rather sudden demotion, but I think I’ll manage.’

  In fact, Cassius found it rather pleasant to be temporarily free of the travails of command. He and Mercator stayed at the rear while Khalima returned them to the Incense Road in good time. With the sky patched with white cloud and the temperature warm rather than hot, they continued southward. The road was marked only by intermittent lines of pebbles and took occasional diversions around rock formations both large and small.

  Later in the morning, Cassius moved up to give Indavara more guidance on his riding. He was not at all bad now when walking, so Cassius asked him what problems he had at speed and offered advice. Despite his obvious hangover, Indavara seemed to appreciate the help.

  Just after midday they passed a caravan heading north, each of the fifty men towing a packhorse or camel heavily laden with the usual jars of incense. Once they were past, Khalima dropped back to speak to Cassius.

  ‘Their leader is named Anzarekk. I have met him before but I thought a conversation best avoided.’

  ‘Quite so. He belongs to your tribe?’

  ‘No. That was the other reason I ignored him; his ethnarch is Kalderon – one of our more fiery chiefs. I’m sure he will already have allied himself to Ilaha. Like many, he has harboured ill will towards Rome since the Palmyran war.’

  ‘Do Kalderon and Ilaha and their like not appreciate the fact that Rome has never even tried to conquer their lands? There are many other provincials with a good deal more to complain about.’

  ‘That is only because your masters know they would fail,’ said Khalima. ‘And don’t forget, Rome has repeatedly called on us to lay down our lives in the defence of the province.’

  ‘Surely you would have done so anyway?’

  ‘Certainly, but on our own terms. No offence, but we would have stood more chance against Zenobia’s horde without the Roman commanders. They do not understand how to use the desert as we do. People were hopeful about Aurelian but now it seems not even he can bring peace.’

  Cassius didn’t want to argue with the man so he changed the subject. ‘The Saracens don’t actually harvest the incense, correct?’

  ‘We never have. It grows best in the coastal areas near the Arabian Sea, almost a thousand miles south of here.’

  ‘What is the ocean like?’

  ‘Like any other. But on a clear day you can see what your people call Dioscorides’ Island.’

  ‘I vaguely recall the name.’

  ‘Great winged beasts dwell there, guarding a distant land far over the sea. We have our own term for the creatures in Nabatean. You Romans use the northern word. Dragon.’

  ‘You have seen these beasts, I presume?’

  Khalima stroked his beard. ‘Not personally. But then I don’t suppose you’ve seen Jupiter either. Does that mean he doesn’t exist?’

  Cassius had no desire to get into that one. ‘Back to the incense – so the south Arabians grow it, you Saracens move it?’

  ‘For centuries it has worked this way. Of course, your antecedent Aelius Gallus tried to take the lands of both peoples but he didn’t fare very well.’

  ‘Strabo tells us he was betrayed by the locals,’ replied Cassius.

  ‘He failed for the same reason that an invasion would fail now. You Romans cannot build one of your big roads through there. You will never govern the Sea of Sand. That is why you need us.’

  ‘I daresay you’re right.’

  ‘They came through this area,’ continued Khalima. ‘Gallus and his men. I have seen markings on the rocks at Ruwaffa – dedicated to the emperor Augustus.’

  ‘How far is Ruwaffa from here?’

  ‘A couple of days’ ride west. In my grandfather’s time there was an entire legionary cohort split between there and Hegra. Calvinus should have known that leaving a single century so far from help was a risk.’

  ‘And a tempting target for Ilaha.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Khalima looked forward and cursed in Nabatean. ‘My son is a wonderful boy; brave and bright – but he always rides too slowly!’

  The Saracen galloped away.

  For the rest of the day they saw only the occasional trace of humanity; refuse left by the road, the scorched skeleton of a cart, some distant riders visible only by their dust trails. The quiet worsened Cassius’s sense of unease as they traversed the edge of the desert, hemmed in by the lifeless wastes to the east, the forbidding mountains to the west. With every passing mile, they were farther from help and deeper inside this foreign land.

  At dusk they made camp by the road. Khalima seemed confident the weather was set fair and with sentries drawn from both his men and the auxiliaries on guard, the night passed without incident.

  As evening approached on the following day, the Incense Road began to veer east, at which point they left it. Khalima picked up a westbound track even less clearly marked than the road and within a few hours they came to a pass between two imposing peaks, each at least a thousand feet high. Scree lined the pale grey slopes and lay close to the track.

  Khalima insisted they were still too far from Galanaq to be concerned about Ilaha’s men, but brigands were known to operate in the area and he advanced warily through the pass. Twice they stopped because of noises from above but it was nothing more than sliding scree.

  Beyond the pass, they found themselves in a landscape unlike any Cassius had seen or could ever have imagined. Separating them from the next group of mountains was a plain perhaps three miles across. The ground was unremarkable – sand dotted with thin shrubbery – but the shapes of the scattered rock formations were surreal. Sandy brown in colour, some resembled pyramids and towers, others enormous logs or beehives. Dead ahead was one so weathered and striated that it looked like a giant mushroom – a broad, curved head standing on a narrow body.

  Adayyid had ridden at the rear for most of the day. ‘Good shelter and a spring,’ he told Cassius and Mercator. ‘We will spend the night there.’

  Cassius looked south and spotted a distant line of camel-riders also heading west. ‘What about them?’

  The Saracen seemed unconcerned. ‘Could be a caravan headed for the coast. Or going to Galanaq like us.’

  Khalima opted for the northern end of the ‘mushroom’ and the entire party was able to shelter under the enormous overhang. As he dismounted, Cassius noted Indavara glancing warily upward.

  ‘Feels like it could fall at any moment, eh?’

  ‘I don’t want to sleep under that.’

  ‘Calm yourself, it’s probably been there for thousands of years.’

  ‘At least,’ said Khalima, stretching his arms as he walked over to them. He pointed at the base of the formation. ‘There are ancient drawings there. People have been stopping at this place since the beginning of time.’

  ‘You saw the riders?’ asked Cassius, taking off the sword Mercator had lent him.

  ‘I did. Tomorrow we will join the road to Galanaq – I’d be surprised if we didn’t see many others converging on the town.’

  ‘These ethnarchs,’ said Cassius, lowering his voice. ‘How many men will they have with them?’

  ‘Usually they travel with an honour guard of their finest warriors. Perhaps fifty or a hundred swords. Although Ilaha has organised the meeting alone, it is not unlike a gathering of the Tanukh. These occasions can be a chance for the chiefs to show off their riches and their strength.’

  ‘And Ilaha?’

  ‘He has a hand in the caravan t
rade himself and has gathered around him the single largest force of warriors. Probably two or three thousand men, though there won’t be that many at Galanaq. The town is small and there is little fertile land close by.’

  Cassius would have liked to grill Khalima about every last detail of the place but that risked betraying his true purpose.

  ‘How long are you intending to stay there?’ asked the Saracen.

  ‘Until this meeting of the ethnarchs at least. In case I can glean any information about the result and their future intentions.’

  ‘As long as you don’t expect me to provide it.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  The pair moved aside to let the auxiliaries lay out their bags and bedding.

  ‘By the way,’ said Khalima, ‘there are only two ways in and out. One is the road we will pick up tomorrow. The other is what they call the Goat Trail. Horses and camels can just about get through. It runs west all the way to the coast and comes out not far from the port at Leuke Kome.’

  The Saracen moved off. ‘We shall get a fire going. The nights can be very chilly under all this cold rock.’

  Cassius hurried over to Mercator. ‘Sounds like we’ll be encountering more tribesmen tomorrow; others headed for Galanaq, perhaps even Ilaha’s guards. I want the men to mix with Khalima’s people; get to know each other, practise your Nabatean.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Cassius picked his way through the auxiliaries over to Ulixes. The ex-legionary had grown even more reticent since their arrival at the oasis and had barely spoken to anyone for two days. Forcing himself to ignore the odour of the man, Cassius asked whether he was all right.

  ‘Wonderful,’ he replied, not looking up as he unrolled a blanket.

  ‘Do you know Galanaq well?’

  ‘Surely you don’t need my advice any more.’

  ‘Actually I do.’

  ‘Can’t you get what you need from your Saracen friend?’

  ‘You can only get what you need from me, so I suggest you cooperate.’

  Ulixes dropped his blanket in the dust. ‘I’ve been there a couple of times. Why?’