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

by Brown, Nick

  Khalima and his men drew their swords but kept them low and out of sight. Cassius wedged himself in place and put down the lantern. Reyazz was at the front once more, again with Adayyid’s knife pressed against his back.

  The guards were still watching the fire but they turned as the cart stopped. One man steadied the nearest horse and spoke to Reyazz. Instead of replying, Reyazz threw himself forward off the bench. He slid down the horse’s side and landed on all fours, already yelling.

  The driver tried to set the horses away but the guard had already jumped up and grabbed his belt. As the tribesman was hauled to the ground, Adayyid leaped after him, dagger at the ready.

  Khalima gave a shout. Despite his size, he leaped nimbly out of the cart and came down beside his son. The closest guard still hadn’t drawn his sword when a slash from Khalima’s blade carved a diagonal line across his face. As he fell, the Saracens piled out of the cart and past their leader to take on the guards. Khalima shouted at Cassius without turning round. ‘Go! We’ll catch up.’

  Cassius scrambled past the stone and climbed onto the bench. The startled horses were already on the move but he grabbed the reins.

  Suddenly one of the guards appeared to his right, sword swinging up at him. Cassius threw himself to the left and the blade clanged harmlessly against his flank, the tough copper alloy doing its job.

  The horses pulled away, veering dangerously close to the side of the gate. Cassius winced as the cart scraped along the door.

  Once they were clear, he recovered the reins and yanked them to the left, guiding the horses into the middle of the road. He looked back in time to see the last of the guards’ lanterns smash upon the ground.

  Gutha had collected six more guards on the way out. As he reached the top of the path, he knew instantly that the fire wasn’t their only problem. There were no lights by the platform or at the gate. Then he heard the cries.

  ‘Help us here!’

  ‘Guards to the gate!’

  ‘With me.’ Still wishing he had his armour on, Gutha charged down the slope. As his eyes adjusted, he spied the clashing figures close to the gate. He slowed as he neared them; with only the moonlight to see by, it was hard to make out who was fighting who.

  ‘Careful,’ he told the guards behind him. ‘Mark your man.’

  The closest combatants were a pair swinging wildly at each other. Gutha couldn’t tell friend from foe.

  ‘Snake’s tongue,’ he shouted.

  ‘Vulture’s claw.’

  Relieved that the man had the presence of mind to recall the previous week’s watchword, Gutha circled around to his opponent. The warrior never saw him or the weapon that almost took his head off. Gutha needed both hands to dislodge the blade from the lifeless lump of flesh at his feet.

  As the guards came past him yelling the watchword, he skirted around the melee along the wall. Such a chaotic scrap robbed him of his advantages and – as the guards seemed to have the numbers – his priority was to get through the gate and find out what was going on. As he neared the doors, a figure tottered out of the fight and fell in front of him.

  This warrior hadn’t seen him either. He leaped to his feet, panting like a dog.

  Gutha knew it might be one of the guards but if he called out he would alert him. Better not to take the chance. He raised the axe.

  The warrior twitched, sensing danger.

  Just before Gutha brought the blade down, something hit him hard in the back. The pain dropped him to his knees and it took a moment for him to realise he hadn’t been cut. He swung the axe at where he thought his foe was but missed. Sand splattered into his face.

  Someone ran past. Someone else said ‘this way’ in Nabatean.

  Fearing he would be struck before he could see again, Gutha got to his feet and withdrew to the wall. He stayed there until he’d managed to blink and paw most of the sand out of his eyes.

  ‘Commander Gutha? Commander?’

  ‘Reyazz? Over here!’

  The engineer could barely get his words out. ‘They – they have the stone. I’m sorry, sir. I’m so sorry.’

  Indavara was down to one dagger – his own – so was therefore relieved when his fingers found the edge of the surround. He paused to make sure none of the archers had noticed then hauled himself up. His left boot found half a hold on a protruding brick; enough to help him get his elbows over the surround.

  Beyond the flaming torch – which was mounted to one side – were the backs of the three archers, each man still entranced by the unfolding chaos below. Indavara almost grinned. The hard part was over.

  He swung his right leg over the surround, not seeing the mug until he kicked it – straight across the tower and into the backside of one of the archers. The mug clattered to the ground and the three Arabians turned. As Indavara dropped over the surround he was glad to see none of them had swords.

  One man gave a shout and charged straight at him. Indavara didn’t have enough time to draw his blade, only enough for two thoughts. First, the guard was brave. Second, the guard was small.

  They met in the middle of the tower. Indavara drove in low, his shoulder audibly cracking a rib or two as he sent the lighter man flying back through the air. Eyes bulging, arms clutching at the others, the archer bounced off the surround then disappeared into the darkness.

  ‘Is Indavara going to give a signal or what?’ asked Yorvah.

  The body thumped into the ground three yards away.

  ‘Offhand, I’d say that’s it,’ replied Mercator. He pointed at the town side of the path. ‘Archers there, swords with me. I want every one of those guards down and cold inside a minute.’

  To Indavara, they weren’t really men now: just two dangerous shapes he had to get rid of. One had just drawn his dagger, the other was pulling his bow from his back and hammering on the wooden floor with his boot.

  Sword now drawn, Indavara came at the dagger-man from the left, forcing him towards his compatriot. He feinted a sweep then thrust straight into him. The blade bounced off the guard’s breastbone but froze him. The second thrust went in close to his heart. As Indavara pulled the blade out, the archer collapsed against the surround, wheezing.

  The last man’s bow came down hard on his arm but met only the unyielding metal of the mail-shirt. Realising he was in trouble, the archer sidestepped away, fending off his pursuer with the bow.

  As Indavara went for him, his left foot landed on nothing and he fell onto his right knee. Someone grabbed his leg. He peered down through the trapdoor and saw a head of greasy black curls. As the Arabian looked up, Indavara brought the sword hilt down on his skull. The guard blinked once then fell. He grunted as his groin landed on a lower rung, then tumbled all the way to the bottom.

  Indavara was more concerned with the archer, who was coming at him with the bow again. Still stuck, he stretched out his sword arm and hacked at his assailant’s legs. The blade connected with both of them.

  Shrieking, the archer dropped his bow and fell head first through the trapdoor. He landed next to the other guard with a crushing thud.

  Tasting blood, Indavara realised the leg wounds had splashed him on the way past. He wiped his mouth, then sheathed his sword and started down the ladder.

  Cassius was all set to drive past the figure waving at him. But then the hood came down and he saw the distinctive features of Ulixes. The gambler was holding his lantern in one hand, the sack in the other. As Cassius stopped the horses, Ulixes nodded at the rear of the cart. ‘You might want to cover that up.’

  ‘There wasn’t much time.’

  ‘Allow me. Before you attract some unwanted attention.’

  Ulixes climbed on, put the lantern down and lifted the wine skin. Cassius turned and watched him spread it over the top of the stone. Ulixes nodded at the compound. The fiercest of the flames were now higher than the buildings.

  ‘Distracting enough?’

  ‘I’d say so.’

  Two warriors ran across the road, heading
for the compound. Ulixes waited for them to pass, then pulled the skin down over the other side of the black stone.

  ‘Where are Khalima and the others?’

  ‘Got caught up in a fight.’ Cassius peered at the track to the right of the road. ‘I think I can see Andal and the horses.’

  ‘Then let’s get them and head for the gate.’

  ‘We wait for Khalima.’

  Ulixes thumped down onto the bench. ‘We have one chance to get out of here, grain man. It won’t last long.’

  Cassius couldn’t deny the logic; he at last had the stone, his job now was to get it out of Galanaq.

  He took up the reins. ‘Yah!’

  Indavara reached the first floor and ran to an arrow slit facing the gate. Below, Mercator and the auxiliaries were already in control; while the optio and Yorvah stood guard, the others were dragging bodies away into the shadows.

  But suddenly they all stopped what they were doing and looked along the street. Mercator led them forward, sword high.

  Indavara ran across the tower to the door. He grabbed the latch and pulled it up but the door was locked. There was a torch in a bracket nearby but the light was weak, the twigs and oil almost burned out.

  He blundered around in the gloom, searching for a key. From outside came shouts and the clash of blades. Fearing he might have to go back up and check the guards, he at last found a hook. The key was hanging from it on a string. He grabbed it and fitted it into the lock.

  ‘Come on!’

  He had to shake both the door and the key to get it to turn. Once it was open he drew his sword and sped down the stairs.

  The auxiliaries had been attacked by a group of Ilaha’s guards. Two figures moved clear of the melee. Indavara recognised Khiran, the auxiliary who had brought the Mars figurine. Clearly wounded, he seemed unable to lift his arms and defend himself. Indavara was already running but he knew he’d be too late.

  Khiran’s opponent thrust in low. The auxiliary’s head flew up, exposing his throat. A moment later, the guard’s blade slashed across it. Even before Khiran hit the ground, the man who’d killed him heard the new threat and turned.

  Indavara found himself face to face with Theomestor.

  ‘By Jupiter,’ said Ulixes as Cassius halted the cart. ‘What a mess.’

  The junction of the track and the road was a morass of men and horses. Most of the men were carrying pails of water towards the compound. Others were leading horses away from the fire. Cassius waved at Andal and pointed towards the town. The guard officer waved back.

  Cassius guided the horses to the left where there was more space, but it was slow going until they got well away from the junction.

  ‘Damn. Out already,’ said Ulixes as they passed the house he’d set aflame. A man outside was reaching through a window, recovering blackened clothes.

  ‘Are they behind us?’ yelled Cassius.

  ‘Andal is. Can’t see the others.’

  Driving the cart through the town was a nightmare. Despite the dozens of lanterns and torches alight, Cassius couldn’t keep track of all the people crossing the road ahead of him. Suddenly a woman and a girl shot out of an alley and disappeared in front of the mounts. He hauled back on the reins and horses skidded to a stop.

  ‘What are you doing?’ bawled Ulixes.

  The pair reappeared, the girl wide eyed and gripping her mother’s thigh.

  ‘By the great gods.’ Cassius wiped his slick hands on his tunic. He was about to move off when he noticed a large figure standing outside a doorway. Commander Oblachus was leaning on his stick, bellowing orders and directing any guard he saw towards the compound. He looked up at Cassius and Ulixes, then at the rear of the cart. Confusion became comprehension. Disbelief became anger.

  Before the Arabian could react, Cassius drove the horses onward. He could see the outer wall up ahead.

  Indavara hated fighting the old ones. Crafty, patient, controlled – that was how the bastards stayed alive so long. A flurry of well-aimed jabs and sweeps from Theomestor’s long, curved blade had already driven him back towards the tower.

  The old warrior’s movements were unerringly fluid. He came in at odd angles, used unusual combinations. Indavara had no idea what was coming next.

  He parried a high sweep then stumbled as he retreated, wondering how close he was to the tower. Once he hit the stone, the Arabian would have him at his mercy.

  Indavara tried to stand his ground but a sly flick caught his wrist. The mail held firm but it could easily have been his hand. He blocked another blow, evaded another flick and continued to back away.

  They were well into the shadows now.

  Cursing in Nabatean, Theomestor thrust at him two-handed. Indavara deflected the blow with the base of his blade, then chopped quickly at the Arabian’s face. To his amazement, the veteran made no attempt to avoid it.

  The blade cut across his chin. Theomestor staggered backwards as blood seeped from the wound. He centred his sword and peered forward. Only then did Indavara realise. The dark was even worse for his old eyes. He couldn’t see.

  Indavara just rushed him. Theomestor swung clumsily and far too early. Indavara had time to pick his strike – an arrow-straight thrust into his opponent’s throat.

  The Arabian somehow held on to his sword as he stood there, impaled by the blade, trembling and gasping.

  Indavara didn’t want him to suffer. He retracted the sword.

  As the veteran’s limp form fell, he wished he hadn’t had to kill him.

  Sorry, old boy. You had a good run.

  Cassius was surprised to see the gate still shut. He stopped the horses and looked down at the chaotic scene.

  Mercator was standing alone, staring at the ground. He was surrounded by fallen men, only a few of whom were still moving. It was hard to tell which were auxiliaries and which were guards. Yorvah was helping another soldier up while two more were attending to a man lying on his back.

  Ulixes spoke before Cassius could summon any words. ‘Mercator, the doors.’

  The optio didn’t respond.

  Cassius threw the reins at Ulixes and climbed down. ‘Mercator!’

  The optio managed to look at him but his eyes were glassy and wide.

  Yorvah grabbed his arm and shook him. ‘Sir, Optio Mercator, sir!’

  ‘What? What is it?’ He looked at Cassius. ‘Corbulo.’

  ‘We have to go. Now. Where’s Indavara?’

  ‘Right here.’ He ran past them, sheathing his blade once more. ‘I’ll get the doors.’

  Cassius spoke to Mercator and Yorvah. ‘Any injured that can move – get them in the cart.’

  He looked back along the road. Andal and another man were arriving with their horses.

  The three other auxiliaries were on foot. ‘Sir, we just couldn’t get through,’ said one. ‘We had to leave ours.’

  ‘Looks like we’re not going to need them all anyway,’ said Cassius. ‘Everyone mount up. Where’s Simo?’

  ‘Not sure, sir. We lost sight of him back there.’

  ‘Damn it.’

  Cassius turned back towards the gate. Indavara seemed to be having trouble with the locking plank. Cassius dodged through the men and drew his sword. Using the pommel, he knocked the plank upwards. Indavara pulled it free and threw it aside. They each grabbed one of the doors and heaved them open.

  Simo was stuck. In front of his horse was a hand cart stacked with barrels. The cart had lost a wheel and wouldn’t be moving any time soon. Next to it was a woman trying to round up a gaggle of crying children.

  Simo heard an angry cry from behind him and spun around.

  Oblachus. Not a name he was likely to ever forget. The commander was limping past the line of horses, stick in one hand, lantern in the other.

  Simo had seen the other men abandon their charges and decided he didn’t have much choice. He dropped the reins and slid off the horse, stumbling on an unsteady flagstone. He looked back. Oblachus had collared a guard and was poi
nting at him.

  Simo checked his pack was secure then ran.

  ‘What about Khalima?’ asked Indavara.

  ‘They got caught at the inner gate,’ said Cassius. ‘We can’t wait any longer.’

  An injured man had been put in the cart. Mercator and the others were on their horses and ready to move.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ yelled Ulixes.

  Cassius slapped Indavara on the shoulder. ‘Go. Get moving.’

  ‘Where’s Simo?’

  Cassius looked back along the road again. All of Andal’s group was there apart from the Gaul. ‘I’ll find him. Just get that bloody stone out of here.’

  Indavara hesitated. ‘Corbulo—’

  ‘That’s an order. You’re an army man now, remember?’

  Indavara climbed up beside Ulixes. As the ex-legionary got the cart under way, the others followed.

  Andal was the last in line. He was holding Cassius’s grey mare by the reins. ‘Here, sir.’

  Cassius took them and swung up into the saddle. ‘Go!’

  As Andal set off through the gate, Cassius wheeled his mount around and trotted back into the town. Several of the unused horses were now free and running loose, adding to the confusion. He had just rounded one when he heard a familiar voice.

  ‘Sir! Sir, I’m here!’

  Simo had just emerged from behind a pair of mules being towed across the road.

  ‘Here, Simo, jump up with me.’

  A less composed animal might have protested at such an added weight but the mare remained still as the big attendant hauled himself up behind his master. Cassius was already turning when he heard another voice in Greek.

  ‘You!’

  Oblachus was pointing at him. In his other hand was a long spear.

  But of more immediate concern was the guard just feet away. Cassius kicked out with his right boot but delivered only a glancing blow to the shoulder. The guard tried to grab his leg but Cassius urged the horse back and freed himself. His second kick cracked the Arabian’s chin and sent him tottering away.

  Wrenching the reins to his left, Cassius was about to charge for the gate when he spotted a boy of no more than five standing directly in front of him. The child was not crying or screaming, just staring up at the animal towering over him.