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

by Brown, Nick

  Simo hesitated before answering. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘To you I am a sinner now, I suppose.’

  Simo stirred the wine.

  Cassius glanced down at the spearhead, which was lying on the satchel next to his pack. ‘I had no choice. Say it – I had no choice.’

  Simo looked up.

  ‘Say it or by Jupiter I swear I’ll hit you again.’

  Simo answered softly. ‘You had no choice.’

  Having got what he wanted, Cassius now found it made precious little difference.

  ‘I’ve never had a choice. Never. My bloody father, the army, Alauran, this. I didn’t want any of it!’ His shouts echoed around the hollow. ‘The fear, the killing. I hate what I have to see, what I have to do. I hate it!’

  Cassius snatched up the spearhead and threw it at the rock. It struck with a metallic clang then fell to the ground.

  Simo stood up. ‘Master Cassius—’

  ‘Do you think he survived? Really?’

  Again the Gaul did not answer.

  Cassius walked around the fire. ‘Come on, Simo, you know as much about these things as anyone. After the fit, might he have survived?’

  Simo seemed about to answer but he stopped himself and stared down at the fire. The wine was bubbling.

  ‘Just tell me the truth. Whatever it is.’

  ‘Master Cassius, when we left he was … he was not breathing.’

  ‘He may have died, then. But there’s a chance—’

  ‘Sir, I think – I think he was dead when we left.’

  Cassius nodded slowly and backed away.

  ‘Only to me would this happen. Only to me would the gods do this. Not some heroic bit of swordplay, not even a fight. But some horrible bloody accident in a shit-stinking hole. That is what they have given me.’

  Cassius had reached the side of the hollow. He leaned back against the rock and covered his face with his hands. ‘And poor Khalima. I can’t take it. I can’t.’

  Simo walked over to him and put a hand on his arm.

  Cassius threw it off. ‘You should have helped me. You did nothing. Nothing!’

  Simo retreated.

  ‘Damn you, you coward.’ Cassius nodded at the fire. ‘Take that wine off there and pour me a mug. But do not speak to me. Do not speak to me at all.’

  XXXVII

  Every sight of approaching riders worried them. Clear of the mountains and back on the Incense Road, they had nowhere to hide and could only watch and wait. But so far every party had turned out to be merchants heading south, who took little notice of the four men on horseback and the heavily loaded cart.

  Ulixes drove the vehicle. Unlike the auxiliaries, he wasn’t concerned about being close to the stone or the dead men. Poor Ingennus had no choice. The wound in his thigh was far too big to be stitched and though the bleeding had slowed, he was still in a lot of pain. But what he complained about most was the smell. They had wrapped up Andal and the others as best they could but they were already rotting in the heat. Mercator remained determined that his men be buried at Humeima.

  Five days after their flight from Galanaq, they still hadn’t reached the fortress. Indavara rode at the front, trying to keep them going, but he could tell the others were exhausted. Mercator barely spoke, and Indavara knew it wasn’t just because of his hand. When they stopped, the optio would look at the dead men or gaze up at the sky. The three auxiliaries were simply desperate to be rid of the stone and reach safety. Only Ulixes kept up his spirits – he just seemed happy to be alive.

  In the quiet moments, Indavara thanked Fortuna. He had fought many men and come out with little more than a few scratches. The only pain came from his left shin. Somehow he had scraped off the top layer of skin; it would have to heal all over again. He continued to pray for Corbulo and Simo. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they would be waiting at the fortress, though he knew it was impossible.

  As afternoon became evening on that fifth day, they still couldn’t see Humeima’s white walls. Nobus had already fallen from his horse twice and Ingennus was ailing. Mercator sat silently hunched over on his mount and even Ulixes was cursing, knowing they faced another cold night in the desert. Indavara was about to call a halt when the gambler gave a triumphant cry.

  ‘Look. Look there.’

  In their weary state, none of the others had noticed the column approaching the Incense Road from the east.

  Ulixes stopped the cart and stood up. ‘I think it’s the camel-riders.’

  The column was heading almost directly for them and within a few minutes they could clearly see the well-organised ranks of cavalry.

  ‘Thank the gods,’ said Mercator.

  They rode on another quarter-mile; to make sure the cavalrymen would come right past them. There were fewer this time, perhaps only forty, but Viridio was there. Mercator slid off his saddle and waved both arms at him.

  Just as the column was about to turn onto the road, the decurion halted his riders. He didn’t bother to get down himself but sent another man to speak to the strangers. But when Mercator explained that they were on army business and in need of escort to Humeima, the cavalry commander dismounted. He removed the gloves he was wearing, brushed sand off his scarlet cape and strode over to Mercator.

  ‘What is so bloody important that you should halt a detachment of imperial cavalry?’

  The optio quietly told him what was in the cart.

  The decurion’s eyes widened. He looked at Ulixes and Indavara. ‘You don’t look much like soldiers to me.’

  Mercator glanced helplessly back at the others. Not one of them had any papers or anything else to identify them.

  ‘Trust me, sir,’ said Ulixes, jumping down from the cart. ‘They’re soldiers.’

  He walked up to the decurion and pushed up his tunic sleeve. Viridio looked at the four green letters etched on his arm. SPQR.

  Ulixes grinned. ‘Me too.’

  Cassius and Simo spent two more days and nights in the mountains. As ordered, the attendant did not speak to his master. Cassius half-expected himself to weaken but he did not.

  He hardly noticed the howls of wolves at night, nor worried about the dangers of the undulating trail. Even when they overtook two desperate-looking men armed with spears, he simply hurried his horse past and didn’t look back.

  When they stopped he drank wine and ignored the water Simo offered him.

  When he saw the young guard lying on the outhouse floor he looked up at the sun until it hurt – anything to burn the image away. He pushed the pace as hard as he dared so that he was exhausted at night – so he would sleep.

  Once the trail finally took them beyond the last of the high peaks, they descended through wide hillocks covered with thick, pale grass. Nestled between two of them was a hamlet where Simo bought food and Cassius bought more wine. They had to use gestures to communicate; not a single person spoke a word of Greek.

  Just after noon on the next day, the trail ran down to a sandy plain dotted with strange, bright orange shrubs. A haze hid the coast but a passing merchant (who did speak Greek) reckoned it was no more than twenty miles. Relieved he would reach Leuke Kome by sundown, Cassius continued on without waiting for Simo, who was having some problem with his horse.

  At what he guessed to be around the ninth hour, he stopped in a village to rest. He’d at last regained a little appetite and bought some cooked fish from a stall. Without any plates or cutlery, he sat on a barrel and ate it from the leaf it had been served on. It was a white fish, the flesh soft and sweet and flavoured with green herbs.

  He was about ready to set off again when Simo finally arrived towing his horse and Patch.

  ‘Sir, my mount cut its leg two days ago. I think the wound is going bad. I can’t ride it any farther.’

  ‘You can walk.’

  ‘And the horse, sir?’

  ‘Just leave it here.’

  Though the fish was delicious, Cassius couldn’t finish it all. He handed it to Simo.
r />   ‘Move those bags onto the mule. We’re leaving in a quarter-hour.’

  As they neared the coast, the smell of the sea grew stronger, as did the cool, fresh breeze. They reached Leuke Kome an hour before twilight. Cassius knew the port had once been a centre for the seaborne incense trade but it had evidently fallen on hard times. Beyond the unadorned arch that marked the town’s perimeter, the trail became a solid road but many of the hexagonal flagstones were missing.

  The streets were quiet, perhaps only a third of the dwellings occupied. The colonnades leading off the central square were still standing, but the only building of any quality was boarded up. Blocks of marble had been removed from the wall surrounding it and green water had stained the façade. A conversation with a local revealed that this was the old customs house but the last Roman administrator had left two years previously.

  Cassius and Simo continued through the town until they reached the port itself. Leuke Kome was protected by a headland, the harbour enclosed by two curved moles. There were a number of craft tied up or at anchor, rocking gently on a slight swell. Cassius observed three high-masted vessels of fifty feet or more. He wearily dismounted and led the way across the main quay, past wooden stalls containing fishing nets strewn with weed and dead crabs.

  There were several inns with lanterns alight. Outside the largest of them was a woman putting worn, flaking benches on equally worn, flaking tables. She spoke Greek and told Cassius there was a room free for the night. She called out to a boy who helped Simo take the mounts around to the stables.

  Once inside, Cassius removed his cape and ordered a mug of wine. There were a handful of men – fishermen by the looks of them – eating in the parlour. Cassius questioned the woman about the owners of the three large ships and she in turn asked the men. One vessel was known to be awaiting repairs. The other two were coasters that made regular trips up to Aila. Cassius gave another boy a sesterce to find the captains and ask if their boats were available for hire.

  Once the mug was finished he ordered a large flask. The woman’s husband – also the inn’s proprietor – showed him up to the room. Cassius took his boots off and lay on the bed closest to the window. There was no dagger sheath or sword belt to remove; he had discarded them days earlier and Simo had packed them away. Sipping from the flask, he watched the sky darken.

  He was still awake when Simo came up but he pretended to be asleep. The attendant moved remarkably quietly as he unpacked the saddlebags. After a while, Cassius couldn’t be bothered to pretend any more.

  ‘Sorry, sir. I did try not to wake you.’

  Cassius sat up. ‘Pass me my satchel.’

  From it he took the map, checking the distances up the coast and from there along the Via Traiana. He thought it unlikely he’d be back in Bostra in under two weeks, though he would at least be able to use the imperial post once at Aila.

  Cassius knew he would have to reconcile himself to yet more uncertainty; he just had to stop himself thinking about Indavara and the others and the black stone. There were two ways to achieve that; drinking and sleeping.

  ‘Your horse went down almost straight away, sir. It didn’t even want any food.’

  ‘Tomorrow you will sell it. The mule too.’

  ‘Patch?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Simo thought about this, then reached for another of the saddlebags and took out the spearhead. ‘Sir, I don’t think I can repair the damage. It may need to go to a metalsmith.’

  Cassius lay back again. ‘You do understand what this is about, don’t you?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I came back for you. And how did you repay me? By doing nothing to protect us, then condemning me.’

  ‘Sir, please. I did not condemn you.’

  ‘Of course you did. Through your silence. I thought better of you, Simo.’

  Already on his knees, the Gaul clasped his hands. ‘Master Cassius, I cannot wilfully cause suffering to another. Our Lord tells us—’

  ‘I don’t care about your Lord. You know that. You belong to me and you should think of me first but I see now that’s impossible. Abascantius told me I shouldn’t keep you on while working for the Service. He was right.’

  ‘Master Cassius, please. Think of all we have been through these last few years. I have known only two masters in my whole life.’

  ‘How much money do you have – your savings?’

  ‘Not enough, sir. Nothing like enough.’

  ‘Then we both know what must happen. Get up off your knees.’

  ‘Please do not sell me, sir. I beg you.’

  ‘I will do what I can to find you a reasonable new owner. I promise you that much at least.’

  Simo sat down on the other bed.

  Cassius drank again and turned away from him. ‘I’m sorry to say it but I should not have gone back for you. If I had not, you would be in your precious Kingdom and I would have escaped with the others. That poor bastard in the outhouse would still be alive and I would not have to live with what I did to him.’

  An hour later came a knock on the door. It was the proprietor’s wife, announcing that one of the captains was downstairs. Cassius took his money bag with the twenty aurei he had left. The skipper was sitting at the bar. He was surprisingly young but – judging by his clothing – a man of reasonable means.

  ‘Good evening.’

  ‘Good evening,’ said the captain in Latin. ‘I am Endymion, captain and owner of the Tyrus.’

  ‘My name’s Crispian. I need passage to Aila. Immediately.’

  ‘Unfortunately I am heading south tomorrow. I could take you north next week.’

  ‘That’s not good enough.’ Cassius waved at the proprietor. ‘What about the other ship?’

  ‘No reply yet. But the captain’s been laid up with fever for the past few weeks. Half his crew too. I wouldn’t expect much help from that quarter, sir.’

  Cassius turned back to Endymion. ‘What if you were to delay your trip south? Add compensation to your price if you must.’

  ‘My hold is already half full. Some of it is perishable and will have to be unloaded if I head north.’

  ‘Just give me the price.’

  ‘How many of you?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Two hundred and fifty denarii.’

  Cassius didn’t have the energy to negotiate. ‘Fine.’

  He counted out five gold coins and handed them over.

  ‘You’ll get the other half when we arrive.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘The weather is set fair. Depending on the winds, between four and six days.’

  ‘When will you be ready to depart?’

  ‘Let us say the fifth hour.’

  Endymion was true to his word and the Tyrus left Leuke Kome on time under clear blue skies, the sun sparkling on the water. There were just six crew; apparently all either brothers or cousins of the captain. There was only one piece of cargo for the newly emptied hold – Patch. Cassius hadn’t the energy to argue about this either; he half-expected the captain to refuse but Endymion had transported livestock before and was convinced the weather would be kind.

  The Tyrus had only a single sail but with a twenty-knot south-westerly to help them up the coast, they covered the miles swiftly. Cassius spent most of his time sitting at the mast, sipping from his flask. He had bought an entire barrel of the inn’s finest wine and doubted there would be much left by the time they reached Aila. The ankle still hurt but the swelling had lessened and he could negotiate the deck unaided.

  The water that streamed past was the clearest he had ever seen. He spied schools of orange and yellow fish and so many dolphins that after a while he didn’t even bother to get up and watch them. The Tyrus passed sandbanks and small islands, all uninhabited. They encountered only a handful of other ships, some larger and farther out to sea, most much smaller – fishermen not venturing far from the coast.

  When the morning mists cleared
, Cassius sometimes caught sight of the Hejaz mountains. He looked away and kept drinking, as he did every time his thoughts turned to Galanaq. He grew to appreciate the beautiful blankness of the ocean and he used it to drive away what dwelt within him. It worked for a while, especially when he drank. At night he slept on deck, except when the ship was rolling and he had to wedge himself somewhere safer.

  Strangely, he hardly dreamt. But when he awoke, the thoughts were there. The dead auxiliaries lying by the gate. Adayyid in that tomb. Khalima. And that poor bastard lying on the ground, shaking until he died because Cassius had struck him. Someone’s brother, someone’s son.

  Simo spent much of his time checking on Patch and they barely spoke until the third day at sea. When the Gaul came to up collect Cassius’s breakfast plate he squatted next to him and asked whether he had reconsidered. Unusually, Cassius hadn’t yet started on his wine. He looked at Simo, at the round, kind face that had greeted him every morning for almost three years.

  ‘Sit.’

  Simo did so.

  ‘How’s the mule?’

  ‘Off his food, sir, but he’s drinking well. Sleeping most of the time.’

  Cassius looked out at the sea. ‘You must understand. This is not something I want to do. But you belong to me and a slave must do as his master bids. You have another master.’

  ‘Sir, I believe I have served you well.’

  ‘Indeed you have. In many ways, most ways, I could not have asked for more.’

  ‘Sir, I know that my beliefs seem strange to you. But I have committed myself to the faith. That means helping others, easing suffering. Not causing it.’

  ‘Unfortunately, those beliefs are based on a false assumption: that others share the same attitude to life. If your time with me has taught you anything, surely it must be that they do not. Sometimes we have to kill or be killed. Without Indavara, I expected you to stand by me. You have done so before, but not this time.’

  ‘It is true I have protected you before, sir. But a man lost his life. I cannot – I must not – kill.’