by Brown, Nick
As he tried to barge his way through the auxiliaries, Cassius saw another horse fall, eyes bulging as it slipped over the cliff.
‘Cut it!’
‘Cut the rope!’
Each of the mounts had a line looped around their neck which was attached to the main rope. Braving the lashing hooves of the third horse, Mercator darted forward and clamped one hand over the rope.
Cassius glimpsed Indavara and Andal at the other end, vainly attempting to pull the mounts back the other way. As the horse tottered on the edge, mouth foaming, Mercator slashed the blade down, severing the rope. As both ends flew away, he fell back.
It was too late for the horse. Something close to quiet briefly returned and Cassius heard the animal bumping against the rocks as it fell the hundreds of feet to the valley floor. He joined the others as they grabbed the mounts, helping Indavara and Andal steady them.
‘Try to stay still,’ ordered Andal. ‘Calm them down.’
Though some were still whinnying and scraping the ground with their hooves, the wide-eyed horses gradually quietened again. The mules had been on a different rope; Patch and the others had remained safe throughout.
After a time, some of the men walked up to the cliff-edge and looked over it.
‘Oh dear Lord,’ breathed Simo.
The auxiliaries were cursing and shaking their heads.
‘An eagle of all things,’ said one.
‘A terrible omen,’ said another.
‘A terrible accident,’ affirmed Cassius.
Mercator’s hands were still shaking as he fitted his dagger back into the sheath. ‘We cannot leave the mounts like this.’
‘Agreed.’
Cassius also wanted to keep the auxiliaries busy, knowing how quickly this talk of an omen would take hold: ‘You men, listen.We’re going to move the horses out back along the road – give ourselves more space. Andal, Yorvah, quickly now.’
In fact it was Cassius who took charge, chivvying the men along, giving anyone unoccupied something to do. Within a quarter-hour they had the horses spread out opposite Khalima’s animals, with the best of the fodder to occupy them.
But the murmurings continued. When even Yorvah was heard to mention the ‘omen’, Cassius ordered Mercator to assemble the men. Given the effect of the accident and the fact that this was their last day before trying to enter Galanaq, he reckoned the time was right for a very specific concession, especially as Khalima and most of his men were absent.
While the auxiliaries gathered, he delved into the grain sack containing the satchel and pulled out the other item he had secreted there, which was wrapped in cloth. He walked over to a small outcrop of rock at the rear of the Step, the top of which was at head height. He waved Mercator and the men over and they formed a loose semicircle facing him. With Ulixes and the Saracens looking on, Cassius waited for silence before speaking.
‘Well done, all of you. We shouldn’t have any further problems here tonight. This was an unpleasant incident, but do not get drawn into fantastical talk. We all saw the bird drop the rabbit. The rabbit startled the horses. Simple cause and effect.’
‘But an eagle, sir,’ said one of the men. ‘I’ve never seen such a thing.’
‘Why now?’ said another. ‘It has to be a sign.’
‘Accidents happen,’ replied Cassius quickly. ‘We’ve dealt with it. It’s over. Do you think Jupiter would abandon his loyal followers because a bird drops its dinner? In any case, I wanted to take a moment together as a group. I realise that you men have had no proper opportunity to worship since we left Bostra. I don’t think we will have another chance to do so. We shall pray to the god of gods.’
Cassius carefully unwrapped the bronze figurine of Jupiter, which he had liberated from the villa in Bostra. It was no more than six inches high, the metal dull and marked, but it would suffice. Cassius placed it on the outcrop and wedged it between two stones (the last thing he needed was another bout of superstitious rambling).
Mercator got down on one knee and the others swiftly followed. Cassius was grateful that Indavara and Simo did so too, though he knew neither would say the words. He checked the figurine a final time, then turned and knelt beside Mercator. He thought briefly about what to say, then began, allowing time for the men to repeat each line.
‘Great and honoured Jupiter, king of kings, god of gods. We – your children, your followers, your warriors – are gathered here in the service of Rome and the Emperor. Pray favour us. Pray watch over us and deliver us from harm. In return we offer our ever-lasting love and fidelity. Great Jupiter, watch over us.’
A welcome distraction arrived an hour later in the form of Khalima and his hunting party. Two of the warriors were carrying slain ibex over their shoulders, each with a single arrow wound to the neck. They were large animals – one male, one female – and caused a good bit of interest fom the auxiliaries.
Upon hearing what had happened, Khalima apologised for not seeing the danger and posted some of his warriors to watch all the horses. As his other men built up a fire farther down the road, he promised a good cut of meat for everyone.
By the time the meal arrived, the auxiliaries had settled down for the night but they tucked in with enthusiasm, all pronouncing it at least as good as Censorinus’s lamb. Cassius allowed Adayyid to drop a portion on his plate to avoid causing offence but later gave it to Indavara. He couldn’t face a thing.
XXIII
Cassius hardly slept. The valley below and the surrounding rock seemed to amplify every sound; every fall of scree, every bird’s cry, every wolf’s howl. But worst of all was the horses. Cassius lost count of the times he and various others sat up at the slightest noise from them, dreading a repetition of the earlier disaster. Simo seemed equally unsettled; Indavara snored through it all.
Grateful for the dawn, Cassius was one of the first up, walking a respectful distance down the road to relieve himself. On the way back he exchanged a greeting with Khalima, who was already breakfasting on more of the stringy ibex meat. Ulixes was still asleep, wrapped up in his blankets just feet from the cliff.
Brushing away thoughts of the fallen horses below, Cassius went to the outcrop and recovered the figurine. As he replaced it in his satchel, he noticed his papers and thought of Apollinaris. If all had gone to plan, both letters were now speeding north to Calvinus and Abascantius.
The men were beginning to stir. Cassius gave Simo and Indavara a gentle kick. ‘Come on, you two, we’re leaving within the hour.’
Mercator was already up. Belching and rubbing his stomach, he ambled over to Cassius. ‘Not the most restful night I’ve ever had.’
‘Me neither. I shall be glad to leave this place.’
Mercator looked along the road. ‘Though at least here we only have ourselves to worry about.’
‘For now our main aim is to just get through the gates. Remind the men: nothing but Nabatean. If anyone questions them, they must stick to the story and keep it simple.’
‘Will do. So you three are supposed to be Syrian, yes?’
Cassius indicated himself, then Indavara, then Ulixes. ‘Castor, Imbrasus and Ucalgen. Simo will stay as he is. I’ve come up with some details and a backstory. We’ll go through it with everyone on the ride down.’
‘Sir, what if we are discovered?’
‘If we do have to escape or if we get split up, I suggest two rally points – here and the mushroom. Everyone should be able to find their way to those. And from there to Humeima.’
Mercator scratched his flattened, lumpen nose. He lowered his voice. ‘And the rock? We’ll need a big cart to get it back along this road.’
‘If it is at Galanaq, then they brought it here all the way from Emesa, so there’s no reason why we can’t take it back.’
‘You make it sound easy.’
Cassius bent his head towards the shorter man. ‘Mercator, listen. I’ll follow orders, but only up to a point. If there’s no chance of recovering the stone, we’ll withdraw. I�
�m not about to throw our lives away on some suicide mission, regardless of how much the Emperor wants the bloody thing. Establishing its location will still represent considerable progress. We can always just get the lie of the land and report back to Abascantius; let the top brass take it from there.’
‘I’m glad to hear you say that.’
‘All this for a rock, eh?’
The road clung to the side of the cliff and descended past precipitous drops and around perilous corners. Even though there was sufficient space, the party moved in single file; everyone seemed to prefer it that way. Around the third hour they passed a merchant heading a column of six carts. Cassius was relieved to see the vehicles negotiating one of the steeper slopes with little difficulty; the main preoccupation for the drivers seemed to be staying away from the edge.
Still bringing up the rear, he was one of the last to hear from the front that armed men were approaching. Khalima issued a few orders to his warriors; Mercator and the guard officers did the same. The party moved to the left side of the road as the first of the warriors rode into view.
The Arabian was moving quickly, his horse taking the slope at a trot. In his attire, he looked little different to Khalima’s men or the auxiliaries. He was, however, armed to the teeth, with a sword at his belt, a long spear over his shoulder, and a circular shield hanging from his saddle. With no more than a cursory glance at the strangers, he continued on, followed by a dozen more warriors. Other than their heavy armament, the men displayed one other common feature: each had a bright yellow circle sewn onto their tunics over their hearts.
At midday they stopped to water the horses. An anonymous crack in the cliff turned out to be the top of a cistern; one of Khalima’s men collected water via a roped pail and two others distributed it. Every last man seemed conscious of the previous evening’s events and all took care to keep close control of their mounts.
Grateful that his horse continued to display a calm temperament, Cassius passed his reins to Simo and walked to the edge. The valley had narrowed to a canyon perhaps half a mile across. Directly below was the road; a few hundred yards ahead it turned back on itself then zigzagged down to the ground. From there it crossed a short causeway across a marsh – the first sign of fertile ground for days. Beyond the causeway, the road bent around to the left and finally reached the town.
Galanaq was protected by a massive, ancient-looking wall: row upon row of colossal grey stone blocks. A pair of masons were at work and, using them for scale, Cassius estimated the wall’s height to be at least twenty feet. The arched gateway was secured by two huge timber doors, now slightly ajar. The only high structure within the town was a circular stone tower set just back and to the left of the gate. A large standard flew from a pole but Cassius could see nothing of the design. Gathered in front of the gate was a handful of guards. Two other groups of riders were waiting outside – one of about a dozen, the other twice that.
Inside the wall were around a hundred small, rock-built dwellings squeezed in between the broad central street and the sheer sides of the canyon. Galanaq seemed an arcane, primitive place. There were no large buildings, little use of timber or in fact any material other than the grey and black basalt.
Past the last of the houses was a stretch of open ground. On the left side scores of tents had been erected to form a large encampment. To the right was a walled complex with several buildings plus a corral and stables. It looked to Cassius very much like a military compound.
At the end of the road was a second, inner wall that ran for perhaps two hundred yards across the width of the canyon. The only way through was another arched gateway; here the doors were closed. Over the top of the wall, Cassius could see the dark mouths of numerous caverns hewn from the rock. A quarter-mile to the east was the end of the canyon; another vertiginous face at least three hundred feet high.
Cassius’s stomach turned over as he at last saw the overwhelming obstacles that stood in their way. Locating the rock in this small town might prove the easy part. But getting it out? There was only one road, a pair of huge walls, and then the small matter of a three-day journey out of the mountains and two more to reach the safety of Humeima. And how many hundred warriors were down there, ready to protect the stone or give chase if it was taken?
Indavara and some of the auxiliaries were drifting across the road to join him but Cassius waved them back. As Simo returned his reins, he forced himself not to dwell on thoughts of the stone. It seemed likely that intelligence was the best they could hope to retrieve from Galanaq. First they had to get inside.
Once over the causeway, Khalima led the party off the road and sent Adayyid up to the gate. The large group had been allowed into the town but the smaller group remained outside.
Cassius looked at the tower. It was far more impressive up close; thirty foot high and twelve wide, with a high surround and several arrow slits. The two sentries on duty each had a bow over their shoulder and were surveying the new arrivals below. Cassius could also now see the detail on the big standard; another golden circle upon a square of purple.
‘Fancy flag,’ said Indavara.
‘Hundreds of denarii’s worth.’
‘So this Ilaha’s got lots of money and lots of men.’
‘Looks that way.’
Cassius turned his attention to Adayyid. The Saracen had spoken to the guards at the gate and was now returning. Behind him, the smaller group were trudging towards the causeway, towing their horses. They didn’t look happy.
Mercator walked over to Cassius as the departing swordsmen passed by. ‘That’s not good.’
‘Possibly not. Go and tell the men to loosen up and mix in with Khalima’s lot. They look apprehensive.’
‘What’s that mean?’ asked Indavara. ‘Apprehensive?’
Cassius didn’t answer; he was watching Adayyid and Khalima, who were deep in discussion.
‘Worried,’ explained Simo.
Indavara grinned at Cassius. ‘No one looks more … apprehensive than you.’
Cassius never ceased to be amazed at how Indavara could make japes on such occasions; then again, a man who’d fought for his life twenty times in the arena – and survived – was unlikely to be given to nerves.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Well, maybe Simo,’ added the bodyguard.
Cassius had insisted the Gaul wore his seldom-used dagger and Khalima had lent him a sword, but he remained a rather unconvincing Syrian mercenary. Cassius was still wearing the spare blade Mercator had given him; a well-used piece with several chips out of the blade and a smooth bone handle.
‘Simo, try and look a bit more like a fighting man. Also – you have a tendency to smile when you’re nervous. Do not smile.’
Cassius moved subtly through the men to Khalima and Adayyid, wary of suspicious eyes at the gate.
Khalima turned his back to the guards and nodded at the warriors who had been sent away. ‘They wanted to join Ilaha’s force but weren’t allowed in – no one here to vouch for them. Adayyid told the guards that we belong to Uruwat’s tribe. He is already here so they will try to find someone to vouch for us. Shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘Shouldn’t be?’
They had to wait for a quarter of an hour, though to Cassius it seemed twice that. He had retreated to the rear of the group once more, but looked on as the guards parted and two of their number appeared accompanying a third man with a piece of green cloth tied around his arm. The Saracen was wearing more gold than Khalima, and the pair met with an embrace and two kisses. The guards seemed satisfied and one of them handed Khalima a small woven basket. He passed it to Adayyid, who worked his way through the party, handing each man a piece of the green cloth.
‘The man with my father is named Urunike,’ he explained. ‘Uruwat’s son. Ilaha’s men are concerned about all the new arrivals so we have to wear these to mark our tribe.’
Cassius took his piece of cloth and tried to tie it around his upper arm one-handed. As he struggled, S
imo reached over to help him.
‘Get off, you dolt,’ snapped Cassius. ‘You’re a mercenary, remember? Not an attendant.’
‘Sir, everyone’s doing the same. It’s impossible to tie it yourself.’
Cassius looked around and realised Simo was right. ‘Ah. Very well, go ahead.’
Indavara grinned.
They walked the horses up to the gate and formed a line. Khalima went through first with Urunike, his performance an exemplar of jocular relaxation. The other Saracens also appeared at ease as they walked under the arch and past the guards, most of whom seemed uninterested.
Mercator had done a good job of mixing the auxiliaries with Khalima’s men. Cassius was in the middle with Adayyid while Simo and Indavara were towards the back, with only Andal behind them. As Cassius passed the tower, his horse slowed and he gave it a tug to keep it moving. Glancing left, he saw an aged warrior sitting on the steps that led up to the tower’s first floor. He was a rangy fellow with little hair and a white beard. He was wearing a sleeveless tunic and had a long, curved sword hanging from his belt. The veteran eyed Cassius from below a pair of remarkably bushy eyebrows.
Cassius kept his head down and quickened his pace. But after only a few yards he had to stop – there was some delay up ahead and the line had halted. Throat tight, he pulled up the collar of his tunic; even though the dye reached down as far as his chest, he was fearful someone might notice.
He heard a voice and turned to see the old warrior right behind him. The man spoke again in Nabatean.
Adayyid replied. The warrior listened but kept his eyes on Cassius.
‘You with Khalima?’ he asked in Greek.
‘I am,’ Cassius replied gruffly.
‘Where you from?’ The Arabian was chewing something that had stained his teeth green.
‘Syria.’
‘You a hired man?’
‘Yes.’
The veteran pointed at his sword. ‘Ever used that?’
‘Many times,’ said Cassius.
