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

by Brown, Nick

  ‘Answer the question, Roman,’ insisted the ethnarch, a broad fellow with a pale scar that ran all the way across both his chins.

  Cassius aimed a slight bow at him. ‘With respect, this is not a court. I am not obliged to disclose that. Khalima did help us but he has betrayed no one.’

  ‘By bringing a Roman spy into our very midst?’ yelled Kalderon. Another ethnarch admonished him and the meeting briefly descended into a shouting match. Cassius understood not a word of it, but retreated two steps. After a time, tempers died down and Yemanek continued.

  ‘In trying to kill Ilaha, our three compatriots went against the traditions and spirit of the Confederation. Regardless of Ilaha’s intentions, they betrayed us, as did Khalima. He will be punished.’

  Despite his situation, this was not a point on which Cassius was going to concede easily; the man had already lost his son. ‘Without Khalima, you and your warriors would now be setting off behind Ilaha, believing yourselves to be under the protection of “mighty” Elagabal.’

  ‘You dare to walk in here and insult us!’ spat Kalderon. ‘How I would love to slit your throat and—’

  Yemanek silenced him.

  Cassius clenched his fists to stop his hands shaking; it didn’t work.

  Yemanek continued: ‘Khalima’s fate is neither your concern nor the most important matter we must discuss. What of the stone?’

  ‘It will be returned to its rightful place. Ilaha stole it from the temple where it has resided for decades.’

  ‘The Black Stone of Emesa belongs to no one,’ said one of the older ethnarchs. ‘Ilaha’s tricks do not reverse hundreds of years of reverence nor the power of the object.’

  ‘The Emperor agrees. He wishes to honour and celebrate the black stone, not exploit it.’

  The elderly ethnarch waved a dismissive hand at him and spoke in Nabatean.

  Yemanek translated. ‘He says you are far too young to be a man of importance. Why should we believe that you have any influence with the governor – you will say whatever you have to to save yourself.’

  ‘Perhaps if I show you this.’ Cassius opened the satchel and took out a letter which he gave to Yemanek. He doubted the ethnarchs would know a great deal about the Imperial Security Service but he was sure they would know who led Syria’s Fourth Legion. Some of the other ethnarchs read the letter over Yemanek’s shoulder.

  ‘Venator – of the Fourth?’ asked one.

  ‘Yes. Though I’m currently attached to Calvinus’s staff, I am an officer of the Fourth.’

  ‘You know him?’ asked Yemanek, running his fingers through his beard.

  Cassius gestured to the letter, which was written in the prefect’s own hand. It described Cassius as an officer of ability and repute and requested the reader to lend him whatever assistance necessary.

  ‘A capable warrior and a wise man,’ said Yemanek before returning the letter.

  ‘Indeed.’

  Cassius decided to capitalise on the moment of calm. ‘I am not a tribune or a procurator but I know the governor well and I know he would prefer an agreement to bloodshed. Whilst here, I have seen and understood the depth of feeling against Rome. I can represent your interests, arrange a meeting. Calvinus appreciates that the current situation has led to disillusionment and frustration. He is keen to make an accommodation.’

  Kalderon retorted in Nabatean.

  ‘Our compatriot argues that we can force an accommodation,’ explained Yemanek.

  ‘I don’t believe you need to. Before I left, certain alternatives were already being discussed. Governor Calvinus recognises that your profits have fallen. There was talk of a reduction in the import tax.’

  ‘You were in league with Uruwat and the others,’ said another ethnarch. ‘They told you what we discussed at our first meeting.’

  ‘Not true,’ answered Cassius honestly.

  A few of the Saracens spoke amongst themselves.

  Cassius pounced on the next pause. ‘If I may, I should also mention that this “revolt” at Palmyra has been wildly exaggerated. Ilaha and others have used it to suggest a wider loss of control but this is simply not the case. The Emperor and his four legions will deal with it in a matter of days, then move south to crush the rebels in Egypt.’

  Cassius dropped the ‘four’ in casually; and this too provoked a response. He in fact had no idea about the size of the Emperor’s force.

  ‘You mentioned the import tax,’ said Yemanek. ‘What can you offer us?’

  ‘As you will appreciate, I cannot make the deal. But I know the governor is open to negotiation on this point.’

  ‘That means nothing.’ said the double-chinned ethnarch. ‘He might simply refuse.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ replied Cassius. ‘After so long without contact from his Tanukh allies, he is very keen – I might even say desperate – to re-establish relations. I can get a message to Bostra from Humeima. Perhaps we could agree now that the ethnarchs will meet with Governor Calvinus, let us say in Petra, as soon as possible. I have the utmost confidence that he will attend and that agreement can be reached.’

  ‘You say whatever you think we wish to hear,’ said another of the ethnarchs – one of the men who had not yet spoken. ‘You are a spy. You will tell Calvinus that we were about to ride against him.’

  ‘Sir, unless you know differently, I wasn’t aware that you were riding to war, merely to make your point. Only Ilaha’s men have drawn Roman blood. He is the enemy of Rome. What I have seen today assures me that he is the only true enemy of Rome here.’

  ‘Well, he and the German,’ replied Kalderon with a sly look. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s caught up with your friends by now. If he returned here with the stone, that would rather change things, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps. But I would remind you that my friends stole it from right under that German’s nose – it would be unwise to underestimate them. And even if he did return with the stone, would it really change anything? Surely such an august body as the Confederation would not follow a leader who is now a proven liar and charlatan?’

  ‘There is no question of Ilaha leading anything any more,’ said Yemanek.

  He then turned to the others and spoke for some time. At his prompting every man – Kalderon included – had their say. Cassius could glean little from their tone and at least a quarter of an hour passed until the Arabian finally addressed him again. Only Kalderon seemed unhappy with the decision.

  ‘You and your attendant are free to leave. Send your message to Calvinus and tell him that we await his invitation to Petra. If that meeting does not take place soon, my fellow ethnarchs and I might have to pay greater attention to less moderate voices.’

  ‘I shall of course do as you ask. I thank each of you for your time.’ Cassius bowed again and made a point of aiming the gesture towards Kalderon. ‘I am humbled to have stood in such esteemed company.’

  One of the other ethnarchs handed him the spearhead and the letter. Cassius knew he should have left it at that, but he had to ask. ‘I am sorry, but I must mention this. What is to happen to Ilaha? And Khalima?’

  ‘I suggest you leave quickly, Roman,’ said Yemanek, suddenly angry, ‘and be grateful that we are about to discuss their fate, not yours.’

  XXXV

  Indavara watched Nobus clamber past the highest of the painted faces, already three-quarters of the way up the north side of the cliff. The young auxiliary was apparently infamous for his climbing feats and had eagerly volunteered. Indavara supposed it was possible he also felt he had a better chance of survival up there. Whenever he spied a rock suitable for throwing, Nobus dropped it into his pack.

  Indavara glanced around at the others. It was all about numbers now. Only the seven of them left; it just depended how many came through the pass.

  He looked down at his sword and gripped the wooden hilt. Even though he’d had it only a few months, the finger ridges were beginning to wear down. It was a basic, inexpensive weapon; just like tho
se he had fought with in the arena. Light, well balanced and sturdy, it had already served him well.

  ‘Here.’ Mercator handed him his allocation of arrows: six.

  Indavara now had an opportunity to try out a quiver and he carefully placed the arrows inside. Itys was the best archer amongst the remaining auxiliaries so he had the other bow. He, Andal and Pelagius were now stationed to the right of the road; Indavara, Mercator and Bucoli to the left. Both groups were close to the boulders and outcrops they would use for cover when Ilaha’s men approached.

  Ulixes was lying on a blanket a few yards behind them, working his way through a flask of wine and occasionally spitting curses.

  ‘You think we’re far back enough?’ asked Mercator, brushing dirt off the javelin he’d found rolling around in the cart.

  ‘Think so.’ They were about a hundred feet from the centre of the pass – close enough to use the bows when Nobus got things started, too far for their enemies to rush them. Ilaha’s men would be vulnerable.

  ‘Hope they haven’t got too many shields,’ added Indavara. ‘Shields could cause us a real problem. We’re lucky no one down here wears much armour.’

  ‘Right now I’m wishing I had mine,’ said Bucoli.

  Mercator glanced across at the other three, who were staring anxiously at the pass. ‘By the gods, I took eighteen of them into Galanaq. Not even half left alive now.’

  ‘Yorvah told us to get the stone out,’ said Indavara. ‘Or else it was all for nothing. Who’s Marcella? His girl?’

  ‘Sister,’ said Bucoli.

  ‘His only relative,’ added Mercator. ‘Parents died years ago.’

  ‘Optio.’ Bucoli jabbed a finger up at the cliff.

  Nobus had reached a natural shelf close to the top and was staring intently at something to the south.

  ‘Gods,’ breathed Bucoli. ‘They’re coming.’

  Nobus turned and held up both hands, then repeated the gesture, then held up one finger.

  ‘Twenty-one,’ said Mercator, grimacing.

  Bucoli began a prayer to Mars.

  Indavara took a long last swig of water.

  Once outside, Cassius found the tent still surrounded. As the ethnarchs summoned their senior men inside, Khalima and Simo hurried over to meet him. The Saracen was still being followed by the four guards.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘They are allowing me and Simo to leave. They have agreed to meet with Calvinus in Petra.’

  ‘Praise to Dushara and the high gods. Something good has come of this.’

  ‘Khalima, listen …’

  An older warrior wearing the yellow cloth of Yemanek’s tribe strode back out of the tent. He held his hands up and waited for quiet then shouted a few orders to the crowd.

  ‘He is telling them you are not to be harmed,’ explained Khalima.

  To Cassius’s relief, few of the tribesmen seemed overly dismayed by this instruction.

  The warrior then approached Khalima and gestured inside the tent. Khalima spoke calmly to him and the warrior allowed him to call over another tribesman standing close to Urunike. Tall and broad, the warrior wore a shabby tunic and a decrepit pair of sandals. But hanging from his belt was a long and very well-maintained sword.

  ‘This is Zebib,’ said Khalima. ‘I’ve known him since he was a child. He will watch over you and escort you to the Goat Trail. You are still in a great deal of danger – Kalderon’s men, Ilaha’s guards. Leave as soon as you can.’

  Khalima spoke to Zebib in Nabatean.

  Yemanek’s man was growing impatient. He tugged on Khalima’s tunic.

  Cassius could find nothing to say.

  ‘I must go.’ Khalima straightened his back and walked into the tent.

  Wherever Cassius looked he saw dark faces staring at him.

  ‘What now, sir?’ asked Simo.

  ‘We need mounts. Were there any left?’

  ‘I believe so, sir. And the mules.’

  With Simo aiding him once more – and Zebib following two paces behind – they walked towards the track. The warriors moved slowly out of their way but Cassius kept his eyes on the ground. Only when they were through and approaching their tent did he turn and see the size of the crowd. There were easily a thousand of them, including hundreds of Ilaha’s guards.

  ‘Damn it.’ Cassius had turned his attention to the corral. Someone had taken the horses.

  ‘Zebib, we need two mounts.’

  The big warrior looked confused.

  ‘I don’t think he speaks Greek, sir.’

  Cassius had picked up the Nabatean word for horse and most of the numbers.

  After the third repetition, the Arabian understood.

  ‘Urunike.’

  ‘Yes, ask Urunike.’

  Zebib loped back towards Yemanek’s camp.

  With Simo’s help, Cassius sat down outside the tent.

  ‘Sir, there was some water and food left inside. I’ll take what extra I can.’

  Trying to ignore his aching ankle, Cassius looked across the canyon, beyond the still-smouldering compound. Somewhere over there was the Goat Trail. He could see nothing but an impenetrable wall of rock.

  Indavara could hear the enemy but he couldn’t see them.

  He looked up at Nobus, who was perched inches from the edge, peering downward. Andal and Pelagius were sitting against a boulder, swords lying in the sand beside them. Itys had positioned himself behind an outcrop at an ideal height; he could fire from a kneeling position with good cover. Indavara wiped sweat off his fingers – he didn’t want them sliding on the bowstring. Mercator and Bucoli were beside him, also staring at the pass. Thankfully, Ulixes had gone quiet.

  The sound of the horses stopped.

  Nobus was still watching. Indavara still couldn’t see them.

  Gutha looked for any sign of an ambush but all he saw was the drawings; the open-mouthed, wide-eyed faces. In the middle of the pass was a slight rise so he couldn’t see the other side. But he remembered the ground – there was enough cover to conceal any number of men. Once in the narrowest section, they would have little room for manoeuvre.

  ‘Commander?’

  The warriors in front of and behind him had also stopped. They looked afraid, thoughts of the javelin attack clearly still fresh in their minds.

  ‘We’ll go through on foot.’

  Once they’d all dismounted and removed their packs, Gutha assigned two men to gather and rope the horses, then picked out six others.

  ‘You’re going first. Spread out and keep your eyes open.’

  The men armed themselves and pulled down their hoods, then started up the slope.

  Gutha had stopped to remove his armour before dawn; his plates, greaves and arm-guards were now packed on his saddle. He hoped he wouldn’t need them.

  Nobus was signalling again.

  ‘Six,’ said Mercator. ‘Walking.’

  The optio responded with a flat hand, indicating to Nobus and the other three that no action should be taken.

  Indavara picked the bow up off the hot sand and plucked an arrow from the quiver.

  First he saw the heads, then the pale tunics, then the swords by their sides – except for one man, who was carrying a spear. The Arabians were well spread, moving slowly. They reached the top of the rise then stopped.

  The six warriors turned around.

  Gutha took the axe from his shoulder and waved them onward. Once they moved off again, he led the other fourteen after them.

  Indavara was hunched over, peering between two boulders.

  One of the warriors suddenly looked up.

  Nobus pulled his head back just in time.

  The first six were now thirty feet beyond the rise, almost at the point where the pass widened out.

  Then came the huge German with his battered face and the tangle of blond hair. Behind him were more men. When he was close to the first six he gave an order and they all halted. Idly swinging the axe with one hand, he inspected the road
ahead.

  ‘Wait until they’re closer?’ said Indavara.

  ‘What if we can take out Gutha?’ replied Mercator. ‘Knock the heart out of them.’

  ‘You’re right. But let’s keep Nobus in reserve.’

  Mercator moved back a little so Nobus could see him and gave the signal. The optio then looked across at Itys. He mimicked drawing the bow and raised his hand high to indicate the target. He then picked up the javelin.

  Still hunched over, Indavara nocked an arrow and pulled back the string, ready to straighten up and fire.

  Gutha shielded his eyes from the sun. The sandy ground ahead was heavily disturbed but then a lot of traffic had come this way. He could hear nothing but the men breathing. And yet he was sure.

  He spoke to the warriors quietly. ‘I think they’re there. We shall withdraw. Do not turn.’

  He took a single step backwards.

  Itys got his shot away first. It missed Gutha and thumped into the chest of a man to his left. As the warrior shrieked and fell, the others fled back through the pass.

  Indavara let fly. He’d had to adjust his aim at the last moment and cursed as he saw the bolt scratch Gutha’s shoulder. The German was moving quickly but another of the warriors collided with him and they both tumbled to the ground.

  Mercator did better. He had aimed at the front rank and struck a retreating warrior between the shoulder blades. The man was now on his belly, crawling towards the rise, the javelin still in his back.

  Itys’s second arrow caught another man, who managed three steps before hitting the ground hard then rolling back down the slope.

  Indavara’s second arrow was already drawn but he couldn’t get a clear shot. When he spotted the German again, the crafty bastard was holding the man with the arrow in his chest in front of him – using him as a shield. As the others ran past him, he retreated calmly.

  Itys hit another man in the thigh.

  Gutha was almost at the top of the slope.

  Indavara steadied himself and drew the string right back. He aimed at the injured man’s throat, hoping the bolt might go all the way through. He breathed out, then let go.