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

by Brown, Nick

  ‘Tell me, Ilaha,’ he continued. ‘Are you also keen on being dragged to Rome in chains?’

  Almost imperceptibly, Ilaha’s jaw trembled.

  Enzarri continued. ‘My point is, the Romans may be on the back foot and their response may be slow, but there will be a response. Aurelian is marching eastward with tens of thousands of men.’

  ‘You probably wish you were with him.’

  Enzarri glared at Kalderon. ‘Unlike you, I respect my fellow chiefs and the traditions of this Confederation. I meant no insult to Ethnarch Ilaha. I simply wish to remind him of certain realities.’ Enzarri turned back to his host. ‘The Romans will wipe Palmyra out in weeks, days even. The Emperor will show them no mercy this time. And you would choose this moment to provoke him?’

  Ilaha had calmed himself down. ‘As direct as ever, Ethnarch Enzarri. I thank you for your contribution. But there is one crucial difference between us and the Palmyrans. Zenobia attacked Rome, took territory that had never been hers. I – we – are asking for no such thing; merely control over our own lands and the right to provide for ourselves.’

  Kalderon was still eyeballing his fellow ethnarch. ‘Your lack of insight surprises me, Enzarri. The Romans could never do to us what they did to Palmyra. We have no cities to raze, no standing armies to meet in battle. If it came to it, we would strike when and where we wanted to then disappear into the desert. They would get lost or die of thirst. They couldn’t defeat us with ten legions!’

  Three other men cheered and banged their fists on the table.

  Ilaha smiled. ‘Kalderon is right. We do not want war, but we must show our strength to get what we want. The Romans know they need us. They will negotiate.’

  Enzarri looked at Mushannaf, then Uruwat. It was obvious to Gutha that while perhaps half were onside, these three were not the only ones to harbour doubts.

  Ilaha seemed sure he would never get a better opportunity to bend the Confederation to his will. He leaned forward once more. ‘The Tanukh must speak as one. If I am to communicate our demands to Calvinus he must see that we are in agreement.’ Ilaha tapped the treaty. ‘Shall I burn this, free us from enslavement?’

  ‘Do it,’ demanded Kalderon.

  Ilaha took out a second, newer sheet. ‘I have here the agreement, written up with the three clauses I described. Shall we all sign it and despatch it to Bostra at dawn? A show of hands, perhaps?’

  Of the twelve other ethnarchs, six raised their hands immediately. Several others appeared to be wavering.

  Enzarri spoke up. ‘I believe there are some other issues worthy of discussion.’

  ‘You have spoken enough,’ said Kalderon.

  ‘What is it, Enzarri?’ asked another of the chiefs impatiently.

  ‘The raid on Ruwaffa. An unprovoked attack that the Romans might easily interpret as an act of war. Does our host deny responsibility?’

  ‘I do not know who was responsible,’ said Ilaha flatly. ‘If you do, please share the information with us.’

  Enzarri glanced up at Gutha. ‘Perhaps he knows?’

  Gutha resisted the temptation to meet his stare.

  ‘You should be wary of making unfounded accusations,’ said Ilaha.

  ‘It’s true I have no proof,’ conceded Enzarri. ‘Though the same cannot be said of the two raids on temples within my territory. Men were killed, treasures taken.’

  ‘You would blame me for brigandage within your own lands?’ asked Ilaha.

  ‘Witnesses I trust recognised some of the warriors,’ continued Enzarri. ‘They were your men.’

  ‘That is idle rumour,’ countered Ilaha. ‘Not proof.’

  ‘You have spoken today of enslavement,’ said the older ethnarch. ‘My people worship a dozen different gods.’ He gestured around the table. ‘And how many within all our lands? A hundred or more. Tell me, Ilaha, under your leadership will they – will we – be able to worship freely? Or will you demand that we all prostrate ourselves before your sun god?’

  Ilaha had put his hands under the table so no one could see them shaking.

  Yemanek was about to speak but Enzarri wasn’t finished yet.

  ‘Today you carry a sword and appear to be one of us. But it is said here, among your own people, that you consider yourself more priest than warrior these days, that you spend most of your time engaged in religious ritual with your … elderly friend.’

  ‘Watch yourself,’ warned Kalderon.

  Despite the tension, it was clear to Gutha that even the more sympathetic of the chiefs wanted to hear a response.

  Ilaha seemed to be fighting to control himself. He eventually took a breath and leaned back, the tension gone from his arms.

  ‘I could answer you now, Enzarri. I could. But I should prefer to wait until after the ceremony tomorrow. I think what you see will give you all the answers you need.’

  After a long silence, Yemanek spoke. ‘My friends, it is perhaps better in any case that we all take time to consider Ilaha’s proposal. I suggest that we reconvene tomorrow to make a final decision.’

  ‘As ever, you speak with great wisdom, Yemanek,’ said Ilaha. ‘Shall we meet here at the same time?’

  Yemanek and the other ethnarchs gave their assent, Enzarri included.

  As the chiefs rose and left, Ilaha stood by the door, maintaining his composure until the door was shut.

  Then, fists clenched, he stalked back to the table.

  Gutha took his axe from his shoulder and put it on one of the chairs. ‘Overall I think that went fairly—’

  Ilaha swept a hand down, sending a goblet clattering into a corner. ‘That piece of shit Enzarri. I’ll bleed him white and feed him his own innards.’

  Ilaha grabbed the sheet outlining the new treaty and crushed it into a ball. ‘They almost signed it. I almost had them.’

  ‘You may still,’ said Gutha, electing not to mention his previous warning about the temple raids. ‘Perhaps if you told me what you have in mind for tomorrow.’

  The door opened. Mother walked in and one of the guards shut the door behind her. She looked at Ilaha, who was leaning against the table. He didn’t even move when she walked up to him and placed her hand upon his shoulder. Gutha took a step backwards. He could smell her.

  Ilaha turned to him. ‘Enzarri has no more than fifty men here. Take Oblachus and Theomestor and as many warriors as you need. With him dead, the others will fall into line.’

  ‘That would be a terrible mistake,’ said Gutha.

  To his surprise, the old woman agreed. ‘He is right.’

  ‘I want him dead,’ said Ilaha, his eyes wet and bright.

  ‘What happened?’

  Ilaha told her; and the process of repeating it all seemed to calm him down.

  ‘Enzarri’s time will come,’ said Mother, stroking Ilaha’s back. ‘You can rest easy tonight, my son, for tomorrow they will see. They will see the true power of Mighty Elagabal. They will kneel before him and they will kneel before you.’

  Ilaha closed his eyes.

  ‘I wish I was so certain,’ said Gutha.

  The crone smiled; a joyless smile that cracked her wrinkled face. ‘You will kneel too.’

  XXVI

  The ceremony began at midday. For an hour beforehand the beat of drums and the clanging of bells rang out from beyond the inner wall. When the noise stopped, the doors opened and the guards lined the road all the way to the town. Once the men of Galanaq had entered, the ethnarchs came out to lead their warriors inside.

  Uruwat was one of the last to appear, accompanied by a retinue of senior men, his son Urunike included. Cassius guessed the ethnarch was at least sixty. He was small in stature and wore modest attire, but had a stately manner about him and was clearly revered by his tribesmen. Once he reached the camp and collected them, Cassius and the others followed Khalima and started down the track. As a mark of respect, only daggers were to be carried. Each man still wore the green cloth upon his arm.

  Two things led Cassius to belie
ve that they wouldn’t particularly stand out. The first was the air of tense expectation that seemed to focus all discussion and attention on Ilaha and the upcoming ceremony. The second was the weather. The sun was blisteringly hot and many – Cassius included – were wearing their hoods.

  Where the track met the road they waited for another tribe to pass, then joined the throng heading for the inner gate. The guards stood in silence and good order. Unlike the other Saracens, they had kept their swords. The compound – like most of the rest of Galanaq – was empty.

  Cassius grimaced at the harsh odour in amongst the men. Beside him, Simo plucked a handkerchief from his belt and wiped his face and neck. Even Indavara seemed unnerved by the sheer size of the crowd. Cassius was glad to be surrounded by friendly faces; just ahead were Khalima and Adayyid, behind were Mercator and the guard officers.

  The doors of the inner gate looked new; the huge slabs of timber pale, the nails and bolts free of rust. The wall had clearly been improved too, with rubble and cement inserted to plug weak points.

  As they passed through, the first thing Cassius noticed was the crane. It had been erected at the base of a rocky slope on the left side of the canyon. The main arm was a reinforced triangle of timber, hanging from which was a rope connected to the triple pulley system that gave the crane much of its lifting power. The rope ran down to the base of the arm and from there around the winch, which was turned by two spindle wheels. Iron weights at the rear stabilised the machine.

  As the column shuffled on, Cassius also saw that a level platform had been carved from the slope next to the crane. The platform was about ten feet above the canyon floor and the front three sides of it were protected by dozens of closely packed guards. Steps had been cut up to the platform, and from there to the narrow path where the slope met the cliff face. Upon the steps stood nine priests of varying ages, all clothed in red cloaks and each holding drums or bells.

  Above them, lining the path all the way back to a large cavern, were dozens more guards. Outside the cavern was a group of older men. Cassius recognised only one: the shiny head and unpleasant visage of Commander Oblachus.

  The lemony, woody aroma of incense had reached the encampment hours earlier but now the grey smoke seemed to be everywhere. Wafting it away from his nose, Cassius waited for his eyes to clear then realised there were great smoking bowls of the stuff lining the canyon.

  Indavara was coughing. Once he’d drunk from his flask and recovered, he croaked a whisper to Cassius. ‘I feel like a smoked fish.’

  ‘It’s supposed to purify you. These easterners love it.’

  Cassius didn’t mention his suspicion that their host might also be trying to intoxicate his guests; make them more susceptible to suggestions of the fantastical or the divine. He was in little doubt about what the guards on the platform were protecting.

  Some of the tribes had already stopped but Uruwat kept moving. As they drew level with the platform, Cassius noticed a youthful warrior supervising a large crew of guards moving the crane to create more space. When four of them thumped one of the weights down upon another, the young man loudly berated them.

  Uruwat led his men beyond a tribe of warriors wearing red cloths. Cassius and the others followed Khalima to the rear of their group and they turned to face the platform. Not long after, a clan wearing white cloths lined up beside them, farthest from the gate.

  Ulixes sidled up to Cassius. Despite their situation, he was grinning. ‘I think we both know what’s up on that platform,’ he whispered. ‘Hope you’ve got that coin ready.’

  Once the doors were shut an uneasy quiet settled over the mass of men. Cassius estimated there were a thousand of Ilaha’s warriors, five hundred visiting tribesmen and a similar number of locals. The rock walls seemed to magnify the heat and suck any remaining moisture out of air already thickened by sweat and smoke. Cassius had downed half his flask of water but was relieved to find that others were faring no better. One of Uruwat’s men was vomiting and another from a neighbouring tribe actually passed out.

  The drums and bells began again; a simple, repetitive beat that further dulled the senses. After a time, heads began to turn towards the cavern. Oblachus and the other senior men moved away from the entrance and three figures emerged from the shadows. The first of them was a slight man wearing a voluminous purple cloak embroidered with gold. Little of his face could be seen under the hood but Cassius noted the sword swinging from his belt. He thought of another man clad in purple whom he’d faced in battle three years ago; a nerveless warrior who’d led from the front and given his life fighting Rome.

  But surely this was Ilaha. Five paces behind him was an old woman who was moving surprisingly swiftly. The third individual was a giant of a man with blond hair and a freakishly thick neck. He was wearing a plain tunic and was armed with some weapon hanging from a strap on his shoulder.

  Adayyid had subtly edged back through the men to stand beside Cassius. Indavara joined them.

  ‘Lord Ilaha,’ breathed the Saracen contemptuously.

  The guards on the path bowed as their leader passed. The low drums and high-pitched bells echoed around the canyon.

  ‘Who’s the big fellow?’ asked Cassius.

  He could now see that the northener’s weapon was an enormous double-bladed axe. Even at that distance, the man looked like a different species to everyone else present.

  ‘Name’s Gutha,’ replied Adayyid. ‘German mercenary. My father remembers him from the Palmyran war. He killed scores of them. They say he’s the only living descendant of hired men who came east to fight the Goths under your emperor Severus. He’s been with Ilaha for some years.’

  Cassius exchanged a speculative glance with Indavara, not only because of what they had heard in Bostra about the big, fair-haired warrior who’d taken the stone.

  ‘What?’ asked Adayyid.

  ‘Big Germans are his speciality,’ said Cassius

  Indavara ignored him.

  ‘And the hag?’

  ‘She’s always been with him,’ replied Addayid. ‘A sorceress, if rumour is to be believed.’

  As the trio neared the platform, the priests ceased their music and knelt down, prompting all Ilaha’s warriors to do the same. The other tribesmen, however, merely looked on in respectful silence. Cassius was encouraged to see that they and their ethnarchs were not yet in thrall to their host.

  In fact, most of the Saracens seemed more interested in their first sight of what the guards had been protecting. Cassius heard dozens of whispered comments as the men peered up at the object. It didn’t seem particularly large and was covered by a dark sheet.

  While Gutha and the old woman remained on the path, Ilaha strode down the steps. The priests and the guards withdrew to the rear of the platform.

  Suddenly alone, Ilaha walked to the front and pulled down his hood. Cassius was surprised to see a youthful face, though even at that distance he could see grey bags under his eyes. His dark hair was cropped short like a military man but his body appeared thin, almost wasted.

  Adayyid moved closer to Cassius, ready to translate.

  Ilaha clasped his hands together then spoke. ‘Welcome, great chiefs and brother warriors of the Tanukh.’

  He spoke loudly but did not shout, aware that the quiet and the amplifying effects of the canyon would do the rest.

  ‘I thank each and every one of you for journeying to Galanaq. Last night, I and the other twelve ethnarchs met. What I have asked of them I will ask of you. I believe you have come here because you realise that the Tanukh must stand up for our people. Rome has yet again shown itself incapable of ruling its vast empire. Rome takes; and gives nothing back. Rome is divided and weak. Now is the time to find a new path for we Saracens of Arabia.’

  Other than a few quiet comments and nods, there was no significant reaction.

  ‘But there is another reason why we must act now,’ continued Ilaha. ‘Mighty Elagabal has chosen this moment to favour us. You are privileged to be
here this day. You will see him, you will hear him, you will feel him among us. And with him at our side, you will know – as I know – that we cannot fail!’

  Ilaha held up a hand.

  A priest came forward and pulled the sheet away.

  Though black, the strange surface of the conical rock seemed to glitter and gleam. After a collective intake of breath, a third of the Saracens dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Cassius looked around. None of Khalima’s men had prostrated themselves but a few of their tribesmen had.

  ‘Fear it not!’ cried Ilaha. ‘For this is the earthly dwelling-place of Almighty Elagabal, god of the sun.’

  Though he had expected it to be bigger, Cassius had to admit there was something uncanny about the sacred stone. He had never seen a substance that so embodied both light and dark. Ilaha stood in front of it.

  ‘The Roman emperor wanted this – the Black Stone of Emesa – for himself, but I have reclaimed it for the true followers of Elagabal.’

  Ilaha changed the tone of his voice. ‘I know that this is difficult for some of you. You worship other gods. Elagabal does not hold this against you. He knows you are good, that you seek only freedom – to live under your own governance, to provide for your tribes and families. Mighty Elagabal welcomes you to the light.’

  The sun’s rays seemed to dance off the stone, creating a shimmering haze behind the small figure upon the platform. More of the Saracens dropped to their knees. A few cried out.

  ‘Pray silence, brother warriors,’ said Ilaha. ‘Listen now, to Mighty Elagabal.’

  He knelt down and bowed his head.

  Then came the voice.

  A low, unearthly rumble that seemed to emanate directly from the stone.

  A chill prickled Cassius’s spine. At first he could make nothing out of the slow, growling hisses, but then he realised the voice was uttering words.