by Nick Brown
Regulus moved his finger north-east, to a point Cassius estimated to be about eighty miles away. ‘At Pessinus they are doing the same and at other points around the worst afflicted area. I was left in no doubt about the seriousness of my orders. Sorry.’
Regulus sat down and gestured for Cassius to do the same.
As he did so, Cassius looked at the satchel on his lap. He’d intended to show the centurion Marcellinus’s letter anyway, thinking that the sight of the marshal’s hand might sway him. That now seemed unlikely. Regulus also had the men to enforce his orders; there were quite a number housed at the station.
‘You have a half-century with you here?’
‘I did. Down to thirty-eight now.’
‘Plague?’
‘We think they caught it while on a provision run. Both handled it remarkably well, even though one had a wife up in Cyzicus. They took themselves off into the forest, stayed on the other side of a stream. I tried to go up every few days. Fullo didn’t last long. We’ve heard nothing from Macer. I imagine he’s gone too.’
‘Gods.’
‘Oh that’s nothing,’ said Regulus, pointing at a collection of scrolls on a table in the corner. ‘Logs of the last officer posted here. He lost a third of his men. We replaced them last autumn.’
‘Surely you must have problems with desertion?’
‘Any man who made that choice would forgo his bonuses.’
‘Ah.’
‘Double pay, men and officers. Pox money, the lads call it.’
‘So what about Chariton?’
‘He tried his luck but, as I told him, I follow the orders of the governor of Galatia, not Cilicia. He had to take the Eskaril road – the trail you passed just before reaching here. The salt carts don’t use it because it’s too narrow but it’s actually a quicker route to Draco’s mine.’
‘I sense a qualification.’
Regulus grimaced. ‘The trail takes you through the village of Eskaril itself. Many there died or abandoned the place. Most of those still present are diseased. Then there are those who have elected to stay with the afflicted: family members and so on. There’s no work, no trade, little food. We have to keep an eye out. Half a dozen times I’ve had to use my archers on them to send them back into the woods. It’s a shame – the settlements in the passes of the mountains are known for their beauty. It is a place unlike any other.’
‘You think Chariton would have got through?’
‘With that amount of men and armament, yes; and I know he wasn’t planning to hang around. But I would guess that will be the last prisoner column for a while. They’ll probably return today; then you’ll know more. Who’s in this column anyway?’
‘Bit of a long story.’
Regulus got to his feet. ‘Then I best pour us some wine.’
Despite the knowledge of what the next few days might hold, Cassius enjoyed a pleasant two hours with his fellow officer. The centurion requested some lunch and they ate on a bench next to the corral, looking on with the Syrians as the legionaries put their eight horses through their paces. Regulus confided that he needed treble that number of mounts to do his job properly.
It turned out that he had family in Ravenna and the pair exchanged a few observations about Cassius’s home city. At twenty-eight, Regulus was five years older and had been stationed in several different provinces. He had fought in engagements against the Persians, the Goths and numerous varieties of brigand. His only regret seemed to be missing the Battle of Emesa. Both officers chuckled when he revealed the cause of his absence: an ingrowing toenail that had left him unable to walk.
The conversation took on a more serious tone when Cassius questioned him about Draco’s mine. The centurion shared Tarchon’s view that he was very much his own man. Draco had fought hard to keep his profitable operation open and had employed blackmail and bribery to do so. To compensate for the upheaval and the new travel restrictions, he had forged relationships with buyers as far afield as Armenia and Mesopotamia.
‘He’s also made sure that no one asks too many questions about how he runs things up there,’ said Regulus. ‘As I understand it, the officials who should keep a check on things have been … persuaded not to bother.’
‘A bribe might work then?’
‘If you have enough.’
Cassius doubted he did. ‘I also have my letters – not everyone is as confident as you in ignoring the mark of the Emperor’s deputy.’
Regulus took this in the spirit it had been intended. ‘You must understand I’ve never met Draco. All I know is his reputation. Perhaps when he hears of the girls’ plight he’ll hand this slave trader over for questioning.’
‘The gods rarely make my life that easy.’
‘Join the crowd.’ The centurion hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands together. He was watching the Syrians, who were cleaning their horses using pails of water and brushes.
‘Interesting travelling companions. I wouldn’t pick a fight with the scarred one.’
‘I first met them three years ago – a fort in the Syrian desert we had to hold against the Palmyrans. Without them, we would have lost. Idan – the disfigured fellow -shot a bird out of the sky. It was at least a hundred feet up, moving fast. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘And your man there?’
‘Simo? He’s been with me ever since I first travelled to the East.’
‘Your own attendant? Wish I could afford—’
‘Sir!’
They turned round. A man Cassius hadn’t previously noticed was sitting on the ridge of the way station’s roof, pointing east.
‘What is it?’ yelled Regulus.
‘Riders on the Eskaril road – looks like Chariton’s lot.’
They intercepted them where the two roads met, though the route to Eskaril barely deserved the name, being narrow and unpaved. The first thing Cassius noted was the state of the horses. Their heads were hanging low and the snouts were flecked with spittle. The legionaries didn’t look much better; they were all breathing hard, skin wet with sweat. Cassius couldn’t tell which one was Chariton until Regulus hailed him. The centurion had accompanied Cassius and the Syrians as they ran to meet the man whose column they had pursued for a hundred and fifty miles.
When he dismounted and dropped to the ground, Chariton almost overbalanced. Regulus put out a hand to help the optio: a squat, barrel-chested man with a dense, black beard.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Long ride.’
As the others slid off their horses, several muttered a prayer or raised their eyes to the sky.
‘Men, tether your horses and sit.’ Chariton pointed at a pile of timber lying in grass close to the road. Cassius and Kabir exchanged a glance as they followed them; they needed information urgently but it was clear the legionaries might take a while to recover.
They seemed low on water and drank greedily from the canteens and gourds offered to them by the centurion and the Syrians. Simo had remained at the way station, already preparing to leave.
Because of the long return journey they faced, the legionaries’ horses were well laden and unsuited to a fast ride. It became evident that several bags had been lost. One man had also sustained an injury to his arm.
‘Well?’ said Regulus when Chariton had composed himself. Cassius and the Syrians gathered closer to hear what he had to say. The optio frowned. ‘Who are these?’
‘We’ll get to that. What happened?’
‘Trip in wasn’t so bad. Saw a few with the pox lurking in the forest but there’s more than a few at Eskaril. The bows were enough to keep them at bay but they followed us through the pass. Then some bloody prisoner turned his ankle on the slopes. I was even considering unchaining them but the others helped the injured man – they wanted to get out of there as much as we did. On the way back, the scabby rats were waiting for us. Wasn’t until a couple caught arrows that we fought our way through. Even then they were trying to grab at us. Horrible – worst I’ve known it by
some distance.’ He took a gourd from one of his men and drank.
‘Women and children,’ added a legionary. ‘All with the pox. Every one. Skin like lizards.’
‘Like one of them crocodiles,’ said another man. ‘And all dark.’
‘Just had to keep moving,’ said Chariton. ‘In the forest they’re different. They’re not all diseased – just desperate.’
‘And they have spears,’ said the injured man. He was holding up his tunic sleeve while a compatriot sloshed water over the wound.
‘It’s getting worse,’ said Regulus.
‘You think?’ retorted Chariton.
Regulus let the comment go, instead gesturing to Cassius. ‘This is Officer Corbulo, Imperial Security. He’s been on your tail since Tarsus – needs to speak to you about a prisoner named—’
‘Meliton.’ Cassius and Kabir spoke simultaneously.
Chariton shrugged. ‘Can’t say I bothered to get to know all their names.’
‘He was there,’ said the man treating the wound. ‘With some others. Slavers.’
‘That’s him,’ said Cassius. ‘He’s at the mine now?’
‘We didn’t lose one of them,’ said Chariton. ‘Handed them over to the guards and went to see Draco for the money.’
‘He lives there?’ asked Cassius.
‘Comes and goes. He’s got a mansion looking out over the flats – from where he can survey his kingdom.’
‘Do you think he’ll let me speak to the prisoner?’
Chariton pointed along the trail. ‘You want to go in there?’
‘Just answer, would you?’
‘As long as you can pay him what he wants, probably. Bastard even made us cough up for sleeping in some bloody outhouse next to the guard barracks. Then again, I suppose you Service men have your ways and means.’
‘How long?’ asked Kabir. ‘To reach the mine?’
‘Depends. It’s about eight miles to Eskaril, then two miles through the pass. Maybe another six of marsh, then you reach the flats. The route’s clear enough.’
Cassius moved away and turned towards the trail, which was almost entirely shaded by the surrounding trees. A couple of the legionaries holding their horses were still looking that way. The state of the men told their own story but what concerned him as much was the possibility of infection. Passing through such an area, close to groups of diseased people, posed quite a risk.
‘What about bypassing the trail?’
Regulus said, ‘Through the forest? It would take twice as long and you need to go through Eskaril for the pass anyway.’
‘I mean right around.’ Cassius gestured at the mountains.
‘Three days.’
Kammath and Idan were already looking back towards the way station, ready to leave.
Kabir moved close to Cassius and spoke quietly. ‘Depending on what Meliton tells us, we may only have to go through once.’ He glanced back at the legionaries. ‘They made it.’
‘Some people believe the plague lives in the air. This place will be thick with it.
‘We will move quickly.’
Cassius could see no other choice. ‘Let’s go and fetch Simo and the horses. We will try to reach the pass before nightfall.’
XV
The forest seemed to consist exclusively of silver birch and the striated bark of the slender trees at least gave a little colour to the apparently endless depths on either side of the road. The rain had turned the ground to mud and created numerous brown puddles.
For the first mile or so, the six men repeatedly looked back. Cassius knew the dutiful Regulus would have provided more assistance if he could but he had his orders and the main road to guard. Cassius didn’t blame him at all; this was not a mission for the Empire.
The beleaguered Chariton had elected to remain at the way station overnight and set off for Tarsus in the morning. Several legionaries were heard to say they hoped this would be their last trip to Tuz and the optio did nothing to contradict them. Two of his men actually approached Cassius and the Syrians as they prepared to depart and warned them not to continue. Kabir thanked them for their concern but replied that they had no alternative.
Before leaving, Cassius had asked Simo to prepare some flowers to keep the air clean around their mouths and noses. Though it wasn’t the season, the resourceful Gaul did what he could, combining hardy and sweet-smelling blooms from a nearby meadow with some herbs from his collection. These were placed in small, open-topped bags that each man wore on a string around his neck. In truth, Cassius had no idea if it would make any difference. He was, however, certain that it would make him and the others feel better.
‘Caesar’s balls.’
For the tenth time since they’d set off, his mount lost its footing on the uneven ground. He tried to be patient and gave the beast only a nudge; it soon moved off again. Cassius had been riding alongside Simo and had to trot past Patch to catch up. As usual, the donkey seemed to have absorbed the prevailing mood and was trudging along with its head down, occasionally slipping and sliding. Even though Simo had tried once again to rationalise their luggage, there was a limit to what they could discard.
‘Why do you say that?’
Idan was bringing up the rear behind them, which at least gave Cassius a little reassurance.
He was surprised to hear the warrior initiate a conversation. ‘Sorry?’
‘“Caesar’s balls” – you use it is a curse. Don’t you Romans view him as a god? Isn’t it—’
‘Disrespectful? I suppose it is, a bit, yes. I learned it from the soldiers at Alauran and unfortunately now seem unable to “unlearn” it. I really should try harder.’
Ahead of him and Simo was Kabir. Kammath and Yablus rode together at the front, a position they seemed to relish. Like the other two, they had their knives and slings at the ready. Cassius did not enjoy riding with his heavy blade hanging from his shoulder but he wanted to keep it within reach. He was also wearing his expensive copper-alloy mail shirt. Simo had been told that he was to use Indavara’s fighting stave if necessary. For Cassius, this was a satisfactory compromise; the attendant could protect both himself and his master without causing another serious harm (which would be considered ‘a sin’).
He glanced up at the sky. The cloud was at least light grey instead of dark but he could see nothing of the sun. His hourglass was packed somewhere but was close to useless when on the move.
‘Eighth, Simo?’
‘About that, I should say, sir.’
After years of such journeys, he made a point of regular consultations. Simo was as able a judge as he and they were seldom out by much more than half an hour. It was a skill Indavara was yet to master. Cassius wondered if – wherever he was – the bodyguard could see the sky.
Kabir held out a hand and pointed down at the ground. Cassius saw the tracks instantly; a group on foot had crossed the trail at right angles, fairly recently.
A half-mile further on they reached a stream. The timber bridge was about ten feet long and roughly made, with almost as many holes as solid sections. The wood was slick with moisture and weed and – though the water below was not deep – they passed across carefully, one at a time. On the other side was a small inlet, ideal for the horses to drink from. As Simo and Yablus led them over, the others gathered beside the trail.
Kabir and Kammath were already engaged in an urgent conversation in Aramaic.
‘What is it?’ asked Cassius.
‘He thinks he saw something in the forest,’ answered the chief. ‘Possibly men on the move.’
‘Where?’
‘To the right. Some distance away,’ said Kammath.
‘Did you see anything?’
Kabir shook his head.
‘You?’
‘No,’ said Idan. ‘But Kammath has the best eyes.’
‘If we could trot they wouldn’t be able to keep up and stay hidden,’ said Kabir, ‘but there’s not a chance in this mud.’
‘Higher ground wil
l be better,’ said Cassius.
‘We must reach it before night,’ said Kabir. ‘We cannot defend ourselves here.’
‘Agreed. Simo, Yablus – hurry up.’
At what he estimated to be the tenth hour, the trees began to thin out. Then the trail dropped steeply downward, taking them into a bowl-like valley unlike anything Cassius had ever seen. The sight of it was enough to halt them all.
Ahead, the trail divided into a number of narrow, criss-crossing paths that traversed dusty ground broken up by patches of grass and the odd spindly tree. But what drew the eye of every man was the bizarre rock towers that dominated the valley, some hundred feet high. They resembled a variety of candles, some narrow and tall, others short and fat, all composed of the same pale rock that became almost black at the angular peaks.
‘Like spears,’ said Simo.
Kabir said something in Aramaic, then turned to Cassius. ‘A god must have placed these here. As a warning?’
From what Cassius had gathered, the Syrians accepted the existence of other gods in foreign parts of the world but contended that the God of the Glorious Fire pre-dated them all and would always remain the most powerful. Cassius wasn’t particularly concerned with which gods were watching over them, as long as they got through unharmed. Chariton had disclosed that these towers occupied about a mile of the approach before the village of Eskaril itself. Beyond that lay the pass. There were at least three choices of path ahead, all with space only for a single horse.
‘We may as well continue on foot.’ As they dismounted, Cassius decided to take advantage of the remaining daylight to ensure everyone knew where they were headed. He pointed at the two highest peaks. ‘It will be dark soon but we should be able to see those even then. The pass runs between. I suggest you all mark them.’
Kammath asked, ‘What if we do see these diseased people?’
‘As long as they stay at a distance – nothing. Any suggestion that they’re getting too close – perhaps a shot or two to dissuade them.’
‘Sir, allow me.’ Simo came forward to take Cassius’s reins. After so many months, the horses were happy to be roped together. ‘Poor old Patch, I don’t think he likes being at the back.’
