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

by Brown, Nick

  Half an hour later, they had the cart.

  ‘That’ll do nicely,’ said Cassius as he walked along the side of it, checking the sturdy wheels and solid construction. At the rear was a hinged plank of wood that could be lowered for loading. Mercator was already in the back, cutting up the huge wine skin. Yorvah had just brought out two of the calmest horses from the corral to draw the vehicle. Andal, meanwhile, was getting the other mounts ready to move. He was to lead a third group, which would bring the horses down to the outer gate at the last moment.

  Cassius looked out at the rest of the encampment. Although the canyon was now dark, many of the other tribesmen were still making their own preparations and were too busy to notice theirs.

  ‘Sir.’ From the top of the cart, Mercator nodded down at Adayyid, who had just appeared out of the gloom.

  ‘We have him.’

  Cassius followed the Saracen back to their tent. Inside, he found the young engineer on his knees and surrounded. One man was binding his hands, while another had an arm around his throat and a knife against his neck. Khalima ruffled his hair and grinned. The Arabian spat curses.

  ‘Adayyid told him we needed help with a damaged cart,’ explained Khalima. ‘Paid him up front for his help.’

  Adayyid plucked a silver coin from the money bag on the captive’s belt.

  ‘Sure he’ll cooperate?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘Never,’ said the young man in Greek.

  The Saracen with the knife pressed the blade in harder.

  ‘What’s the name?’ asked Khalima.

  ‘Reyazz,’ said Adayyid.

  ‘So you’re an engineer, eh, Reyazz? Good with your hands, then?’

  Khalima drew his own curved dagger and took hold of the younger man’s wrist. ‘Not so easy with missing fingers though, eh? Tell me, which one can you most easily do without?’

  Khalima gently ran the blade across the digits. ‘This one? This one? Come on, you choose.’

  Reyazz gaped at the knife, not daring to move an inch.

  ‘Very well, I shall choose.’ Khalima gripped the middle finger and lined up the dagger. ‘Ah. I almost forgot. The scream. Somebody gag him.’

  Another of the Saracens located a cloth and came forward. It was close to Reyazz’s mouth when he gave in.

  ‘All right. All right. I’ll do as you tell me.’

  ‘Good lad.’

  On the way back to his tent, Cassius passed Ulixes. The gambler was sitting alone, cracking a striker against a flint.

  ‘You have two, I take it. To be sure?’

  ‘Relax, grain man. I was doing this shit when you were just doing shit.’

  Cassius was too busy laughing to feel insulted.

  Ulixes put the equipment back into the sack. Next to it was a lantern and an hourglass which he peered at before packing it away. ‘Three-quarters of an hour. I’ll leave now, get in position.’

  ‘Where exactly are you—’

  ‘Haven’t decided yet. Just keep a look out – it’ll be big, orange and smoky.’

  ‘Sure you don’t want some help? I can probably spare a man.’

  ‘I’ll work better alone. This will help, though.’

  Ulixes touched the tunic beneath his cloak. Simo’s task had been to sew a yellow solar emblem onto one for every man. ‘Looks like I’m not the only one with good ideas.’

  Ulixes stood and patted down the usual errant strands of hair.

  ‘Be careful,’ said Cassius.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ replied the ex-legionary as he picked up the lantern. ‘Just make sure there’s a horse for me at that gate.’

  They gripped forearms. Ulixes shuttered the lantern, walked towards the track and disappeared into the night.

  As soon as Cassius entered their tent for the last time, Simo approached him.

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I understand that a third group led by Master Andal is to watch the horses and bring them down to the road for the others.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I wondered, sir – if it’s agreeable to you – could I stay with them?’

  Behind him, Indavara had just pulled his mail-shirt on and was now adjusting his belt.

  Cassius looked at Simo. His broad, kind face was tight with nerves.

  ‘Don’t want to get caught up in any fighting, eh? Well, why not? To be honest, I wish I could join you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. When are we leaving?’

  ‘As soon as I’ve got my mail-shirt on.’

  Cassius removed his belt and knelt down, then pulled his tunic off. Simo took the padded undershirt from where it had been lying on his pack and put it on him. Once it was tightened, Simo picked up the mail-shirt. The rings jangled as he lowered it over Cassius’s head.

  ‘At least you’re getting your money’s worth out of that thing at last,’ said Indavara.

  Cassius tugged at the leather collar of the shirt. ‘By Mars, I’d forgotten how bloody heavy these things are.’

  ‘Not as heavy as mine,’ said Indavara. ‘We can’t all afford copper alloy.’ He pulled a long-sleeved tunic on over it, complete with the solar symbol.

  Simo was tugging the bottom of the mail-shirt.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Cassius.

  Simo let go. ‘Sorry, sir. It’s been a while.’

  Indavara came over, shaking his head. ‘How many times do I have to tell you two? Practise, practise, practise. Check, check and check again. If either of you had ever bothered to listen to me you would know what you’re doing.’

  Simo moved aside.

  ‘Look here,’ said Indavara. ‘The double layer at the shoulder – it’s tangled.’ He pulled at the shoulders and sleeves until the mail was even against the undershirt. ‘There.’

  Simo put one of Cassius’s long-sleeved tunics on over the top – also complete with the symbol.

  Indavara had more advice as Simo put on his master’s belt. ‘Higher and tighter than usual – you don’t want the mail riding up.’

  Once this was done, Simo reached for the sword belt but Indavara grabbed it and chucked it at Cassius. ‘He’s not a child. Let him do it himself, get a feel for it.’

  Cassius hung it over his shoulder, then got to his feet.

  ‘Good height?’ asked Indavara.

  Cassius reached down for the hilt. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘Better than that big thing, but you’re not used to a smaller blade now, so if you get in a scrap remember to keep moving.’ Indavara tapped Cassius’s chest. ‘Fortunately, not much will go through that.’

  ‘Feels good. Safe.’

  ‘Safe? If anyone works out you’ve got armour on they’ll go for your head or groin.’

  ‘I take it back.’

  When Cassius’s hourglass showed that the third hour was close, the entire group gathered for a final time by the unlit fire. Quiet farewells were said then they pulled on their packs and went their separate ways. Indavara and his team left first; they were to edge around the camp and the town before approaching the outer wall. With him were Mercator, Yorvah and eleven of the auxiliaries. The other five men – along with Andal and Simo – headed over to the corral. Both groups would do nothing until they saw a signal from the third group.

  Cassius walked up to the cart. Khalima was holding a shuttered lantern and sitting in the rear of the vehicle along with most of his men. Between the driver and Adayyid on the bench at the front sat Reyazz. No longer bound, he nonetheless had to contend with the blade Adayyid was holding against his back.

  Cassius climbed up and saw that the box containing the purchased items was lying next to the wine skin. Once he’d taken his pack off and got settled, Khalima gave a quiet word to the driver, who set the horses away at a gentle walk. The only noise was the rattling of the wheels and the occasional shout from the compound. Cassius was certain Ulixes would be over there somewhere.

  The cart trundled to a stop about halfway down the track. There wer
e a few lights moving along the road but no one close by. Cassius looked up at the sky. Again, purple daubed the countless stars amid the black. The light of the half-moon was enough for him to see those around him but not much farther. There was nothing to do now but wait for the first sight of smoke and flames.

  Gutha watched the ethnarchs arrive. Little was said as they sat around the table once more, bodyguards and advisers behind them. The mood was hard to judge but it was now Kalderon who seemed most preoccupied. Despite what Ilaha had told him about the newly receptive mood of Enzarri and the others, Gutha still wondered if he would get the twelve signatures he needed.

  Yemanek was the last in. As he and his bodyguard reached the table, they hesitated. Gutha realised this was because some of the ethnarchs had taken a different chair from the previous day. Amongst those who had moved were Enzarri and Mushannaf. They were now sitting side by side, Enzarri only one away from Ilaha’s empty seat.

  As Yemanek took another chair, Gutha tucked his thumbs into his belt and sauntered around the table so he could get a good look at Enzarri and Mushannaf without attracting their attention. He decided they didn’t look any more anxious then he would expect.

  Hearing Ilaha’s voice outside, he returned to his position. He dropped his right hand to his side, fingers against the smooth wooden handle of the axe.

  Probably nothing.

  Even so, he kept his hand there.

  XXX

  Hunched over, hoods up, Indavara and Mercator crept along the narrow path between the buildings and the outer wall. The dwellings and inns to their left gave out little light or noise. Dead ahead were the torches at the gate and a larger one at the top of the tower. Three archers prowled below the bloom of flame, bows over their shoulders. Indavara slowed and drifted into the welcome gloom of the wall.

  They had left the men in a courtyard hiding behind a stack of firewood – all except Yorvah, who remained on the slope above the town, watching the inner gate, waiting for the signal.

  Indavara stopped by the staircase that led up to the first floor of the tower. The door was shut, the interior dark.

  ‘Just the bottom and the top to worry about,’ whispered Mercator.

  ‘Looks that way. Let’s check the gate.’

  They edged around the staircase and along the tower. On either side of the doors was a torch mounted on a bracket, providing enough light to see the six guards on duty. The locking arrangement on the doors was as simple as Indavara remembered: a sturdy plank slotted across the middle.

  They retreated along the path.

  ‘Those six we can handle,’ whispered Mercator. ‘But what about those bloody archers?’

  ‘I told you. Leave them to me.’

  ‘There,’ said one of the Saracens. Cassius followed the line of his outstretched arm and spied the flickering flame at the rear of the compound.

  ‘The stables,’ said Khalima. ‘Good choice.’

  Horses began to whinny, then came a shout. After a while, more flames appeared in two other locations. The shouts multiplied and got louder.

  ‘Now?’ asked Khalima.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ said Cassius.

  Inside the compound, torches and lanterns bobbed in the darkness as guards converged on the stables.

  ‘Look there,’ said Khalima. ‘Your friend has been busy.’

  Fire and black smoke were also spewing from the door of a house on the edge of the town. A woman clambered out of a ground-floor window and fell to her knees, coughing.

  ‘All right,’ said Cassius. ‘Let’s go.’

  The driver urged the horses down the track at a trot, then turned onto the road towards the gate. Cassius looked back at the town and saw two more figures fleeing the burning house. Some others arrived with pails of water but the fire had already taken hold and smoke was rising from the higher windows.

  Cassius felt that familiar churning in his guts as they neared the gate. Khalima pulled back the shutter on his lantern and spoke calmly to his men. They shifted towards the sides of the cart, ready to move if necessary. As the driver halted the horses, one of the sentries called out in Nabatean. With a prod from Adayyid, Reyazz answered.

  A guard holding a spear walked past them. He didn’t even look at Cassius and the others; he was staring at the flaming house.

  Reyazz kept talking. Two of the guards lifted the locking plank and pulled back the doors. The slabs of timber were so huge it took a while to get them moving. Once there was enough space, the driver got the cart under way again.

  When they were safely through, Cassius spoke to Khalima. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That we’re under attack – that Commander Oblachus has ordered him to take the stone to a safe place.’

  Cassius looked back at the gate. The guards had left the doors open. Every last one of them was watching the fire.

  Gutha was beginning to relax. Ilaha had arrived, the door was closed and the other ethnarchs sat patiently waiting for their host to speak. Ilaha had once again forgone his priestly attire and was wisely avoiding the trap of appearing arrogant or overconfident. He spoke softly.

  ‘I do not blame anyone for not believing before. There are hundreds of gods and prophets and oracles. All I can hope for is that what you saw today has opened your eyes to the true power of Mighty Elagabal. It is his will that his earthly dwelling-place come to us. The stone has been in my possession for weeks yet the Romans have no idea where it is and have made no attempt to retrieve it. Their impotence is plain for all to see. There can be no question; now is our time. Your warriors know it, and I hope that each of you do too.’

  Ilaha picked up a new copy of the treaty. ‘By signing our names, we show that we are united in seeking a better future for the thirteen tribes, for this great Confederation. Is there anyone still unwilling to do so?’

  Yemanek raised his hand. ‘You spoke of victory today, Ilaha. I – and many of us here – hope it is to be of the bloodless kind; and that you meant what you told us yesterday. You do not want a war?’

  ‘Yemanek, only a madman would want a war.’

  ‘Then let us proceed.’

  Ilaha took a silver pen from a writing box. He tested the nib then signed his name halfway down the page, under the three clauses of the proposed agreement. Once it was done, he passed it to his left, to Dasharean, ethnarch of one of the northern tribes. Dasharean signed, then passed the paper to the next ethnarch. Just as Enzarri took the pen, someone hammered on the door.

  Everyone turned.

  ‘Commander.’

  Gutha didn’t recognise the voice but whoever it was sounded anxious. He had taken only three steps when chairs scraped on stone and shouts erupted behind him.

  He turned, fingers already tight on the axe handle.

  Enzarri and Mushannaf were up and moving, daggers drawn. Enzarri darted around Dasharean and jabbed his gleaming blade down at the still-sitting llaha. With nowhere else to go, Ilaha drove himself back, tipping the chair over. Enzarri ran straight into his flailing feet. As they – and the chair – crashed to the floor, Enzarri’s knife slapped harmlessly against Ilaha’s chest.

  But the older ethnarch recovered quickly and – before Ilaha could get a hand on him – raised his dagger again. He seemed to have forgotten Gutha.

  With a soft chop like a knife through an apple, the axe severed Enzarri’s arm at the wrist.

  The dagger clattered against a table leg. The hand flew into the air then flopped down by another ethnarch’s foot, squirting blood.

  Aware that Kalderon and some of the others were also moving, Gutha stepped in front of Ilaha and turned to meet the next attack. Mushannaf was just feet away but Gutha was more concerned about the big bodyguard behind him.

  Seemingly unperturbed by Enzarri’s fate, Mushannaf tried to outfox the northerner with a sly slice at his groin. Gutha batted it away with an axe blade, then jabbed the top of the shaft up into the ethnarch’s chin.

  Teeth shattered noisily. Mushannaf dropped like a s
tone.

  ‘Guards!’ someone shouted. ‘Fetch the guards!’

  Gutha wanted a moment to check behind him but the bodyguard wasn’t about to let him have it. Stepping over his fallen master, he pivoted sharply as he swung the sword at his foe’s head.

  Gutha centred his weapon and set himself for the impact. He doubted the Saracen would have encountered a war axe. Especially not one with a three-inch elm shaft reinforced by tempered bronze and blades of Noric steel.

  The bodyguard’s sword was broad and long and well made, but not well made enough.

  As it broke in two, Gutha felt something strike his head. Ignoring it, he took a step to his left and swung low into the defenceless Saracen’s belly, slicing him open from hip to hip. The warrior fell on top of his master, bloody innards sliding out over his tunic.

  Gutha looked to his right. Kalderon was struggling with Uruwat while their bodyguards traded sword blows. Gutha only glimpsed them because Enzarri’s bodyguard had just pushed past another of the ethnarchs and was coming at him. Gutha backed towards the door to give himself space to fight.

  Ilaha had pushed Enzarri off and was now lashing at him with his feet.

  The second bodyguard wasn’t stupid. He kept his distance and used the sword’s range, jabbing at Gutha’s head. Wishing he had his armour on, Gutha was nonetheless unwilling to let the fight drag on, even though he’d just heard the door open at last.

  As another straight thrust came at him, he lowered the axe then drove it up, jamming the sword between one blade and the handle. He wrenched both weapons to the right, stepped forward and head-butted the bodyguard.The stunned Saracen dropped his sword and slumped to the floor. As soon as he was down, Kalderon and his bodyguard arrived and stuck their blades into him, one in the gut, another in the throat.

  The guards flew into the room, then stopped to survey the carnage.

  Ilaha was dragging himself clear of Enzarri, who lay staring at his bleeding stump, long hair plastered to his brow. Mushannaf was rolling around, pawing at his ruined mouth. Uruwat was lying motionless, a gory wound in his neck. His bodyguard was dead too and the man who’d had his guts sliced out of him looked like he’d be joining him soon.