by Brown, Nick
Other than them, and the guards at the inner gate, the previously packed canyon was now deserted. Ilaha had retreated into the caverns – to rest, he said – before a later meeting with his commanders.
In the moment of the vision, Gutha had felt so convinced, so sure; and he could not forget that voice. At the end, when every last warrior had knelt before him, Ilaha had walked past with a victorious look upon his face. Was it aimed at Gutha himself – the satisfaction of showing him the true power of the sun god? Or was it solely because he knew now the other ethnarchs could not resist him?
It was then that the doubts struck. Amongst all the hundreds of men serving the likes of the hostile Enzarri and Mushannaf, the traitor had come from Kalderon’s ranks? And Kalderon himself had abandoned his man almost automatically, without pause or question.
And yet that light, that voice.
Some ill-defined thought lurked at the back of his mind, yet to fully form and offer itself. Something was wrong.
He heard a shout from the gate. A waving guard pointed to a lad running along the path. As he got closer, Gutha recognised him as one of the boys who delivered messages around the town. When he took the note, he saw his name written in one corner. The handwriting was familiar.
Qattif’s horse was tied up outside the inn. Judging by the state of it, he’d not been there long. The parlour was empty apart from Alome, who was sweeping up behind the counter.
‘Wine?’
Gutha shook his head.
Qattif was sitting alone on a stool by the unlit hearth, a mug on the table in front of him. On the floor were his sword and saddlebags.
‘Afternoon,’ said the nomad. ‘Sounds like I missed all the excitement.’
‘What do you have for me?’
‘I had to spend a lot.’
‘You’ll get it back,’ growled Gutha as he sat down.
Qattif reached inside his tunic and pulled out a worn sheet of paper. He laid it out on the table between them. ‘It’s all a bit complicated so I took some notes.’ He ran a finger down his bony nose. ‘You really wouldn’t believe how much I had to spend.’
Gutha’s hand thumped down onto the table. One of the legs cracked but it stayed upright. Qattif’s mug, however, had landed on his saddlebags, spilling wine all over them. He would have grabbed it if not for the look on Gutha’s face. ‘I suppose I can clean that up later.’
He coughed, straightened the page and began. ‘I eventually found the only man still in the village who knew anything about the old girl. Like everyone else he was reluctant to talk about it so I had to give him … well, anyway, here’s what he told me. It turns out one of his aunts had lived quite close to this “queen”’s family – this would be about fifty years ago now. Her name was Kara Julia. Apparently she was quite a beauty in her day and she caught the eye of a young local priest. Rumour had it they were lovers. A few years later this priest became popular with the local legion. It was a time of great unrest for the Romans and he also happened to have certain influential family connections. You’re not going to believe this next bit.’
‘He became Emperor of Rome. Elagabalus of Emesa.’
‘You know the story, then?’
‘The basics. Continue.’
‘When Elagabalus journeyed to Rome he insisted that this Kara Julia accompany him. He never married her but kept her as a consort through most of his four-year reign. As you will know, things didn’t go well for him. He lost his mind before the end and rejected her. She was cast out with not a coin to her name and returned to Syria, to this village. Even so, she told everyone that she had been his “queen”. A few weeks later Elagabalus was assassinated. Talk of his insanity and depravity had spread even to Syria and she was shunned by what remained of her family and the other villagers. So she was cast out again, and went to live alone in this house I mentioned before.
‘Except she wasn’t alone for long. She had been with child before her return. When anyone saw her, she would rant and rave about how her son would be a great man, a leader, a king. But she bore a daughter. It was said that she had inherited her mother’s beauty but that she was simple; because Kara Julia had tried to strangle her for not being a boy. When the child was older she would offer her to the men of the village but none of them would go near the place, or the girl.
‘Apparently Kara Julia began to study lore and magic and eventually tempted a traveller to the house. He stayed – and when it became known that the daughter was with child, lived with them as a family. A boy was born but the mother and father disappeared not long after. The villagers were sure Kara Julia had poisoned them. When the boy was fully grown, the pair of them left.’
‘Ilaha joined Charaz’s tribe—’
‘And eventually became the leader his “mother” wanted. Quite a tale, eh?’
Gutha sat back and stared at the floor. Ilaha – grandson of a mad Roman emperor; raised by Elagabalus’s murderous mistress. And he wasn’t even Arabian.
Qattif at last felt safe to retrieve the mug and wipe down his bags. ‘Er, Commander, if it’s all right with you, I was thinking of taking a few days off. Done a lot of riding of late.’
Gutha was preoccupied. ‘What did you say?’
Qattif repeated himself.
‘You have done well. But I have one last job for you. Come.’
Up in the bedroom, Gutha counted out one hundred aurei and placed them inside a tatty sack. ‘Here. Deliver that to my man in Gaza and you can take a tenth.’
Qattif’s eyes lit up. ‘Very generous. Thank you. Should I come back here after? I mean, will you—’
‘You’ve got your orders.’
‘Very well. The Goat Trail will be quickest. I shall try and get away tomo—’
‘Today.’
‘I shall leave today.’
‘Qattif – that was quite a tale. Don’t be tempted to tell it to anyone else. Not here. Not anywhere.’
‘As you wish. One more thing, Commander. Ilaha – the name. I asked around up in Syria. People had only heard of it as the first part of a longer name – Ilaha Gabal – the ancient version of Elagabal.’
‘You’re quiet, Gutha.’ Oblachus was sitting on the other side of the table. ‘Still hearing that voice in your head? Me too. I must admit I had my doubts when he took up these priestly ways. Nor did I understand why he was so determined to take the stone. Now I see it is the will of Mighty Elagabal that we embark on this struggle. What a sight it will be – thousands of us riding together. Those legionaries at Humeima won’t believe their eyes.’
‘But will it be enough to force concessions from Calvinus?’ said Theomestor.
‘I hope the old drunk does make a fight of it,’ replied Oblachus. ‘The light of Elagabal will blind the legions as we fall upon them.’
Theomestor didn’t appear excited by the prospect. ‘I would have thought a man of your age had seen enough bloodshed.’
‘Depends on whose blood is being shed.’ Oblachus turned his attention back to Gutha. ‘Come, man, drink with us.’
Reminding himself to keep up appearances, Gutha downed the wine and raised his mug with the other two. He wasn’t particularly keen on either man. Oblachus was as arrogant as he was ugly, Theomestor conservative and parochial. But the pair were capable and – more importantly – loyal. Gutha wondered how long they would remain so if they knew what he did.
The door opened and Ilaha entered, once more in simple robes. Like the others, Gutha stood and bowed.
Ilaha smiled as they all sat down. ‘Since the ceremony I have received messages from Enzarri, Uruwat and Mushannaf. They have pledged themselves unconditionally to our cause.’
‘Every last swordsman will fight for you, Lord Ilaha,’ said Oblachus.
‘How are the preparations proceeding?’
‘More mounts have arrived and more will be brought up from the valley in the morning. There will be one for every man and a hundred spare. We have also sent word to our patrols – those men will join us on th
e Incense Road. By the time we reach Humeima, there will be two thousand behind you bearing the sun upon their chest. Each warrior will carry extra supplies of fodder and the baggage will follow in a few days. We can use the springs in the northern Hejaz if necessary. We can make camp wherever you need us to, for as long as you need us to.’
‘Excellent. Commander Theomestor?’
The aged warrior delivered his report in a rather more sober manner. ‘If the other ethnarchs and their men do indeed ride out with us tomorrow, we can count on at least another six hundred warriors from their honour guards. Kalderon and our other long-standing allies have already sent messages to their homelands. If they all produce the numbers they have promised, our total force will number somewhere between eight and nine thousand men.’
‘More than a legion,’ said Ilaha.
‘With many more in reserve, if required,’ added Theomestor.
Oblachus turned to Gutha. ‘And only two centuries at Humeima? You’re sure of the intelligence?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about the standards?’ asked Ilaha.
‘All ready, sir,’ said Oblachus. ‘The largest is twenty feet by fifteen, bigger even than the tower flag. It must be borne on poles and by two riders. The purple and gold cloth looks spectacular in sunlight.’
Theomestor spoke up again. ‘Lord Ilaha, as I mentioned before, the use of a standard could be seen as very provocative.’
‘That’s the idea,’ said Oblachus.
Theomestor continued: ‘All of us here have ridden under Roman standards alongside Roman soldiers. This new flag suggests not only that we reject Roman rule but also that we have raised an army to fight Rome. It may be a step too far. And if the Emperor hears of it—’
‘As ever, you make a reasoned point, Theomestor,’ said Ilaha. ‘But the flag is merely to show our unity and our connection to Mighty Elagabal. Surely you wouldn’t deny the men such a symbol; such encouragement?’
Theomestor conceded with silence.
‘An army we are,’ said Oblachus proudly. ‘An army to rival Rome. And if it comes to a war, then—’
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ said Ilaha. ‘The mere sight of us will be enough. We need only be there long enough for Calvinus to begin negotiations.’
There were numerous other details to be discussed. Gutha made only a few contributions and once Ilaha was satisfied with the arrangements he dismissed Oblachus and Theomestor.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, standing up and walking over to him.
Gutha was tired of playing along. ‘I was just wondering how you’re going to do it.’
Ilaha leaned back against the table. ‘Do what?’
‘Make sure the Romans fight. The show of strength at Humeima might do it, the flags might do it, but how will you make sure?’
Ilaha gave a thin smile. ‘If I am to answer that honestly, I first need to know I can be absolutely certain of you. You knelt, you bowed, but I wonder – even now – if you truly believe.’
‘I think we both know I didn’t before. But when that voice spoke … I saw … something. I think I saw him.’
Ilaha touched his arm. ‘Elagabal reveals himself to each of us in different ways.’
‘He is with us. I am sure of that now.’
In truth, Gutha wasn’t sure of anything. Yet he could see he had done enough to convince Ilaha.
‘I am so glad. Mother still has her doubts but I see the change in you.’
‘If we are to fight the Romans – and if you still wish me to be of use to you – I must know what you intend. I must be able to look ahead, to plan and prepare.’
‘You are right, of course.’
Gutha had leaned his axe up against a table leg. Ilaha ran a finger along the honed edge and waited for the blood to appear. ‘I do want to fight them. Now. While they are weak; while we are strong. Arabia will be mine before they can even react.’
Ilaha licked off the blood then laughed. ‘It was Mother’s idea. The treaty. Once all the ethnarchs have signed it, we will simply alter the text before despatching it to Bostra. Calvinus will see a demand not for import tax of one sixth, but one eighth.’
‘He will refuse.’
‘Of course.’
‘The ethnarchs and the men will be angry.’
‘Angry enough to storm Humeima,’ said Ilaha. ‘We will have the legionaries make crosses for themselves and leave them to die slowly under the glare of Mighty Elagabal.’
‘And then?’
‘And then Bostra, and then the rest of the province. And then Aurelian.’
Gutha tried to react to this as if it were a plausible course of action.
You mad bastard. You mad, mad bastard. Although … there is a kind of reckless genius to it. I wonder how far you might get?
Gutha was sure of one thing. The day he saw a legion marching towards him was the day he and Ilaha parted company. Until then?
He did pay well. Unusually well.
‘You will stand beside me, won’t you, Gutha?’
‘Lord Ilaha, I shall.’
XXVIII
Though tempted by a third mug of unwatered wine, Cassius resisted. While the men subtly went about their preparations to escape if need be, he circled the camp, glancing at the road every few minutes. Though he was looking for Khalima and Adayyid, he knew they might not return. It was perhaps just as likely that he might see that ugly bastard Oblachus and his guards coming for them.
Indavara had a standing order to stay by his side but they’d barely exchanged a word. Cassius halted by the corral. His horse trotted over and he stroked its muzzle, happy the beast had recognised him.
‘I – I saw something,’ said Indavara. ‘I saw a man rise up out of a lake of fire. He spoke those words. I can still hear them.’
‘It’s your imagination,’ said Cassius. ‘You created that vision.’
‘Me? No. It was him – Elagabal.’
Cassius slapped a fence post in frustration. ‘Tell me this: how does an artist create a picture? How do we dream? The images come from within, not without.’
‘What about the voice?’
‘That I’m still not sure about, but—’
‘Corbulo, you don’t know everything.’
‘True, but I do know more than you. So listen to me. Remember those vicious bloody mercenaries in Antioch? Carnifex and his murdering mates? Who got us out of those holes? It wasn’t any god.’ Cassius prodded Indavara’s arm then pointed at himself. ‘It was you and me.’
While Indavara considered this, Cassius noted movement at the inner wall. The gate had opened to admit a column of horses. Once they were through, a group of guards came out, heading for the town. Two figures hurried past them. There was no mistaking the broad Khalima and his lean son.
Cassius gripped Indavara’s shoulder. ‘Pray to your Fortuna if you must. Do whatever you have to do. But get hold of yourself. I don’t know who I can trust. I don’t know how Mercator and the others will fare. I need you at your best.’
Indavara nodded.
‘By the gods,’ said Cassius. Fifty feet left of the gate, a body had appeared at the top of the wall. It was hanging from a rope, the face swollen and red. As word spread, faces turned.
‘The spy,’ said Indavara.
‘Poor bastard.’
Indavara then pointed at Khalima and Adayyid. ‘They’re alone. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’
‘Be ready for anything.’
By the time the Saracens reached them, Khalima looked almost as anxious as when he’d left.
‘You won’t like what I have to tell you.’
Cassius had prepared himself for the worst. ‘Go on.’
‘Once he realised Ilaha had stolen the stone from Emesa, Uruwat had second thoughts about the new faces in my group. He questioned me, demanded I tell the truth.’
Cassius didn’t really want to hear any more but Khalima continued.
‘I did so. They wish to see you.’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘I have been forbidden to say any more. You must come with me – to a meeting place in the town. You may bring Indavara but no one else.’
‘How do I know it’s safe?’
‘You don’t. But unless you cooperate there’s nothing stopping them turning you over to Ilaha.’ Khalima gestured towards the road. ‘I must accompany you. Shall we?’
The centre of the town seemed even more crowded. Men gathered outside every house and hostelry but few were drinking; most were packing up or cleaning weapons or loading carts. The initial shock and awe generated by the unveiling of the stone seemed to have been replaced by the earlier atmosphere of excited anticipation. Yet more horses had been brought into Galanaq and the road was slick with manure.
Cassius slipped in some of it and stumbled. Indavara grabbed his elbow and helped him avoid a particularly unpleasant-looking guard. Cassius thanked him and they hurried after Khalima. As they neared the gatehouse, he saw that the doors had been shut and that dozens of warriors were on duty. There were now five archers at the top of the tower.
‘See that?’ said Indavara.
‘I know.’
Khalima turned left down a side street, which was also overflowing with Saracen warriors. Two tribesmen were arguing with a middle-aged couple outside an inn. As Cassius and the others passed them, a group of guards arrived and intervened. Fortunately, the day had remained hot; the trio’s hoods drew little attention.
On either side of Galanaq’s central road there was space only for one parallel street. Khalima led them across it and into an alleyway. A hundred paces beyond was the shallow slope that led up to the side of the canyon. The only people nearby were an elderly man lying on a bench, apparently asleep; and two children playing with a kitten.
At the end of the alleyway, Khalima turned right. The third house they came to was a ruin. The roof had collapsed into the first floor and a cascade of blocks covered the doorway. Khalima took a brief look around, then stepped through a low window. Cassius and Indavara followed.
