The Earthly Gods

by Nick Brown

Still facing him but hunched over, Cassius backed away once more. As he neared the building, the man called another over to help him and they each advanced along one wall, unwittingly cornering their prey. Cassius retreated as far as the murky doorway of the building. He didn’t want to trap himself but there was nowhere else to go.

  He slid along the wall of uneven rock then ducked inside. The smell hit him immediately. And the air was very warm, as if –

  His foot landed on something soft. Whatever it was wriggled away and screamed.

  The man with the torch shouted and ran at him. Cassius tripped on a moving body and fell. In seconds, the dwelling was alive with fast-moving and hysterical children. Some ran for the doorway, where they met the warrior trying to come in. Others ran into Cassius or past him. They were screaming and yelling and sobbing.

  Spotting a pale square behind him, Cassius forced his way through, knocking small bodies aside. The window was at a good height and just about wide enough – but there was a wooden grille blocking his way.

  Trying to ignore the tumult behind him, Cassius drew his sword and drove the iron hilt into the grille. It buckled on the third blow and the fifth knocked it clean through.

  The warrior was bellowing at the children.

  With not even a glance backwards, Cassius chucked the sword out and clambered through the window until he was hanging from it. Levering his long frame out, he landed on his side. Just as he located and lifted his sword, he heard a panting pursuer come around the corner of the dwelling.

  ‘Stay there! Stay back!’

  The faceless figure did not.

  Driven by fear of the disease as much as fear of injury, Cassius set his footing and swung the sword at his assailant. He must have hit a hand or an arm because a shriek went up.

  Cassius climbed over the rear wall of the compound and sprinted away. To his right was the road but the slope was still too steep to climb. He could not risk trapping himself again.

  ‘Cassius!’

  ‘Master Cassius, where are you?’

  ‘Cassius!’

  They were close but he dared not shout out.

  Cassius used the wall to guide him until he reached a sloping path that ran up to the road. He spied Simo and the Syrians, all on horseback. Two of them were clutching torches as they galloped north. Behind them was a noisy mass of villagers.

  He had just opened his mouth to shout to his friends when he saw two men dead ahead, silhouetted against the sky. They were standing where the path met the road. They were holding narrow weapons, which they drew back as the interlopers came near. Spears.

  You or them. Us or them.

  Though his calves were burning, Cassius ran up the slope.

  They heard him at the last moment but by then the heavy sword was already arcing through the air. The blade sunk deep into the first man’s shoulder. Strangely, he did not make a sound and somehow stayed on his feet. While Cassius tried to pull the blade free, the second man twisted around and brought his spear to bear.

  Cassius threw himself backwards, hauling the blade free.

  Hearing the warrior’s grunt as he drove with the spear, Cassius crouched low and swept up as Indavara had taught him, knowing that gave him the best chance of hitting the shaft. The steel sliced through the wood with ease.

  Stunned that this had actually worked, he wasn’t ready for the swing of the broken shaft that caught his arm above the elbow. The armour absorbed the worst of the blow but he staggered down the slope.

  He glimpsed Simo and the others reining in.

  ‘I’m here!’

  Keeping his sword up in front of him, Cassius somehow parried the next sweep. ‘Here! Help!’

  He didn’t really follow exactly what happened next. One or more of the Syrians dismounted at speed. A blade flashed in the moonlight then the villager was on the ground, choking.

  ‘Quickly,’ ordered Kabir, who was still on his horse. Cassius realised it was Idan who had saved him. The veteran sprang back up on to his mount.

  ‘Here, sir.’ Simo was just behind them, towing Cassius’s horse.

  ‘Quick!’ yelled Kammath.

  As Cassius sheathed his sword – not easy with trembling fingers – Kammath twisted around and plucked his sling from his belt. A single whirl of the weapon sent a shot into the pursuing villagers.

  Cassius hauled himself up on to his saddle and grabbed the reins that Simo threw to him. ‘I’m on. Go!’

  With Yablus and Kammath covering them, Cassius and Simo urged their horses away. Ahead, Kabir and Idan rode side by side, keeping the mounts at a canter even though they could see little ahead. Normally tetchy when riding into darkness, the horses were in fact more concerned about the mob chasing them and Cassius had to stop his breaking into a gallop. Kabir gave a cry and pointed to the side of the road. Riding without his hands, Idan whipped another shot away, sending pale figures diving for cover. Kabir continued his shouts and Cassius and the others joined in, hoping that the loud charge would dissuade anyone else from blocking their path.

  The road began to steepen as it left the valley and neared the pass. It also narrowed, twisting and turning around outcrops of rock. The glimpses of buildings and villagers lessened and by the time Kabir halted, Cassius guessed they were at least a mile from where he had rejoined the others, several hundred feet above Eskaril.

  As the riders slumped upon their mounts, the horses snorted and whinnied. Cassius looked down at the valley. He could just make out the line of the road and some of the rock towers to the south.

  ‘Sir, are you all right?’

  In normal circumstances, Cassius would have been thinking about one of his few forays into combat. It had been more successful than most.

  ‘All right? I got stuck in the middle of that cesspit – almost trapped in some hovel. Gods, I was amongst them. I can feel the plague upon me.’

  ‘Are you injured?’ asked Kabir.

  ‘No,’ said Cassius. ‘Not by a weapon at least. What happened? You were supposed to be with me, Simo!’

  ‘My apologies, sir,’ replied the Gaul breathlessly. ‘My path was blocked.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought there could be so many,’ said Kabir. ‘We almost didn’t get through.’

  ‘By the gods, I feel as if I have seen Hades. Those creatures down there are like something from a nightmare.’

  ‘Yablus?’ Kammath dismounted and walked over to his cousin, who gave up his torch and seemed barely able to stay in the saddle. Kammath moved the light so that he could he see Yablus’s arm. Just below the elbow was a bloody cut.

  ‘It’s not bad,’ said the youth. ‘At least we got all the horses out.’

  ‘And Patch,’ breathed Simo.

  Kabir spoke to his son and Kammath hurried over to him. When the chief bent over, they could all see he’d been injured too – struck in the side of the head. Idan went to inspect the wound.

  ‘I can stitch that,’ said Simo.

  ‘I think it was the back end of a spear,’ said Kabir. ‘We were lucky.’

  ‘Speak for yourself.’

  Cassius slid to the ground and gave his reins to Simo. As he passed Patch, he put a hand on the donkey’s neck. The beast shied away at first but, as usual, relented when his ears were stroked. Cassius continued a few yards down the slope but could neither see nor hear any sign they were being pursued.

  He closed his eyes, clasped his hands together and looked to the skies.

  To all the great and honoured gods, protect me from this pestilence. In return I offer a life of devotion and worship. Please protect me. I beg you, please protect me.

  They continued on foot. After about a mile the path levelled out and entered the pass, which was at no point wider than a hundred feet. There was little vegetation here and the only trace of any wildlife was the occasional distant howl of a wolf. This did little for the state of the unsettled horses, who were already struggling on the uneven, unforgiving ground. With Kabir and Yablus’s wounds still bleeding, they stop
ped at what Cassius estimated to be the fifth hour of night. According to what they had been told by Regulus and Chariton, they would still have enough time to reach the salt mine the following day.

  Gathered in a hollow that would provide some protection should it rain, each of the four Syrians did their bit. Once the horses were unloaded, Kammath and Yablus tethered them and took out water and feed. Idan began work on a fire while Kabir – though clearly exhausted – retrieved blankets and food from their packs.

  Simo was instantly commandeered by his master. Despite the cold, Cassius stripped off completely and told the Gaul to wash him. Cassius did not consider it a waste of water and he instructed the Gaul to use plenty of soap and scrub his skin and hair well. At the same time, he drank as much strong wine as he could stomach. He paid little attention to the cut on his hand nor the bruising and laceration where the blade’s blow had sunk the mail into his skin.

  While Simo dried him off, Kammath returned from dealing with the horses. ‘None of that will make any difference. Your god will spare you the pestilence if you have led a pious life.’

  ‘Then I should be fine,’ replied Cassius, sloshing down more wine.

  ‘Sir, are you sure you should be drinking all that?’ said Simo as he rubbed his master’s hair.

  ‘I intend to make myself sick – so I can purge myself of the corruption. Good idea, isn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps, sir. Though you might also make yourself weak.’

  ‘I was amongst them, Simo. In a dwelling. Gods, I’ve got no chance.’

  ‘But some of them didn’t have it,’ said Kabir as he settled down in front of the fire. ‘You’ll be all right.’

  ‘Three days,’ said Cassius. ‘If I’m still healthy after three days, I’m clear.’

  ‘I shall pray for you, sir.’

  ‘Simo, for once I shall accept your offer.’

  With not a single care for what any of the others thought, Cassius continued to drink – the strongest wine they had, which Simo kept for medicinal purposes. He kept up the rate with such commitment that within half an hour he was standing alone in the dark, spewing into the rock face. He was not unused to throwing up after drinking and he found the empty feeling almost reassuring. He felt he had done what he could to save himself, though there was one more measure to employ.

  With Idan standing guard (a hundred yards away to give them adequate warning), Simo was now stitching Kabir’s head. Kammath was holding a lantern close by.

  ‘Where are those flowers?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘In my medical box, sir.’

  Cassius found the box but not the flowers. ‘Where?’

  ‘In the little leather bag, sir.’

  ‘There are several little leather bags.’

  ‘He’s busy,’ snapped Kammath.

  ‘Calm yourself, young man,’ replied Cassius. ‘He can stitch with his eyes closed. Simo, you can find the flowers for me later.’

  ‘Is there any of that wine left?’ asked Kammath. ‘These two need some.’

  ‘Of course. I saved a bit.’ Having located the right bag, Cassius passed the skin to Yablus, who thanked him. He then pulled a cloak over his shoulders and moved himself and his blankets closer to the fire.

  Kammath pointed at Cassius’s sword, which was lying next to the sheath and belt. ‘You actually bloodied it.’

  In any other circumstance, Cassius would have been thinking of little else. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘I struck down three of the enemy,’ added the youth.

  His father said something stern in Aramaic.

  ‘If you wish for a contest it will be very short-lived,’ said Cassius. ‘You are without doubt the superior warrior. Congratulations on your victory.’

  ‘I meant no offence,’ said Kammath. ‘But I am curious about how a man can become a centurion without being … a warrior.’

  Kabir barked a reprimand at his son.

  Simo tutted. ‘Excuse me, I am trying to stitch your head back together.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Kabir,’ said Cassius, ‘I like to see curiosity in the young. As it happens, I was directly commissioned as an officer, which is unusual other than in times of great need – such as in the first year of the Emperor’s reign. As to how I’ve retained my rank, I suppose it’s because I have been able to solve certain problems.’

  Kammath nodded.

  Cassius looked down at the sword: the blood had dried in black trickles. He shivered as he thought of those moments facing the villagers. He was glad he’d at least remembered some of what Indavara had taught him. He was also relieved that the guilt was yet to strike; perhaps because the men had been about to attack his friends.

  Suddenly hungry, he turned and rummaged through a saddlebag until he found a hunk of bread.

  Once finished with his stitching, Simo cleaned up Kabir’s head, though much of the silvery hair remained discoloured. The Syrian refused the offer of a bandage and held the lantern while Simo cleaned his needle and threaded a new length of catgut.

  Cassius washed down his bread with more wine (watered this time). ‘Tell me, Kammath, how is your problem-solving?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, what about mathematics – eleven times twelve?’

  Kammath paused.

  Cassius said, ‘I’d offer you an abacus but we don’t appear to have one handy.’ He noted Kabir’s grin.

  ‘One hundred and thirty two.’

  ‘Well done. You got there in the end.’

  ‘All my children know their numbers,’ said Kabir.

  ‘And eight multiplied by six multiplied by six?’

  Kammath shut his eyes to concentrate.

  ‘It was never his strength, however,’ added Kabir.

  ‘Two hundred and eighty-eight,’ replied Yablus, happily looking on as Simo put the first stitch into his arm.

  ‘Correct.’

  Kammath shot his cousin a glare then turned back to Cassius. ‘And what about you? What’s six times three times seven times … nine?’

  ‘Er … one thousand, one hundred and thirty-four.’

  The youth snorted. ‘That can’t be … how can you …’

  Cassius feigned a yawn. ‘I think I might retire to bed – hopefully you’ll have worked out if it’s correct by morning.’

  ‘Is it right?’ asked Yablus.

  ‘Inevitably,’ said Simo. ‘There’s no point trying to confound Master Cassius with matters mathematical. I’ve tried enough times, believe me.’

  In fact, it was usually Cassius that pressed Simo to present him with a challenging calculation.

  Kabir was the first to break the silence that ensued. ‘It is right. Very impressive, Cassius.’

  ‘If you wish, we could move on to rhetoric, or history, or geography. Tell me, Kammath – do you know the five biggest cities in the world?’

  ‘Do you know how to find water in the desert?’ countered Kammath. ‘How to string a bow? How to pull a newborn out of a mare?’

  ‘The bow – yes. The others – I must confess I do not. It would probably be best if we consider the contest a draw. Agreed?’

  Kammath’s stony expression finally softened. ‘Agreed.’

  Cassius put down the wine and moved his hands closer to the fire; he’d got cold while being washed and still hadn’t warmed up. No one spoke for some time and it seemed to him that thoughts of what they’d been through and what they might yet face occupied every man. The previous exchange already seemed ridiculous.

  ‘I feel sorry for them,’ said Yablus.

  ‘I too,’ said Simo, without taking his eyes off his work.

  ‘You said there were children?’ asked Yablus.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cassius. ‘Well, at least we gave them food – that’s more than most would have done. Not that it did us any good.’

  ‘They are desperate,’ said Simo.

  ‘You did well.’ Kabir had spoken to the Gaul but then turned to Cassius. ‘Gave a few of them
a crack with that stave. Helped us get through.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Just enough to … dissuade them,’ said the attendant quietly. ‘I don’t think I really hurt anyone.’

  ‘Simo’s people believe that violence is a sin,’ explained Cassius, knowing the young Syrians had only a passing knowledge of Christianity. ‘He will pray for forgiveness now.’

  ‘Your Christ always advocated peace,’ said Kabir.

  Simo had paused his work, the needle still in his hand. ‘Yes.’

  ‘A noble idea,’ said Kabir, ‘and a lofty goal. But man will always do harm to man. Man will always fight.’

  Yablus and Kammath clearly agreed.

  ‘We can strive to lead a good life,’ said Simo. ‘But we are all imperfect. Sometimes we will fail.’

  ‘You did not fail,’ said Kabir. ‘You did what you had to. We wish to help our girls, you wish to help your friend. Our god knows that. And so must yours.’

  XVII

  It was a different kind of fear. Cassius knew the symptoms of the plague well: vomiting, headache, chills, pain in the stomach and back. Though the first one was self-inflicted, he reckoned he had them all. And having hardly slept, he did nothing to help as they packed up and got under way.

  Once upon the flank of the mountain, the northerly trail twisted down through barren slopes of boulders and scree. Below they could see the area of marshland, beyond that a remarkable sight: the Tuz salt flats stretched away into the distance, an expanse of white nothingness resembling a vast field covered by snow. The Syrians stopped when they reached a convenient viewpoint.

  ‘See there, sir?’ said Simo, who was facing west.

  Cassius – the only one on his horse – followed the line of the attendant’s arm and spied a cluster of buildings close to the edge of the flats. At that range, it was difficult to estimate their size.

  ‘That must be Draco’s mine,’ he said. ‘Regalus said the others are much further north.’

  ‘Strange to think of a mine that doesn’t go underground,’ remarked Simo.

  The Syrians continued down the trail.

  ‘I’m very cold. Unusually cold.’

  ‘Another layer, sir?’