The Earthly Gods

by Nick Brown

  The two Syrians pushed Phaedrus into the nearest room. Kabir tripped him and the tribune came down hard on his back. Kabir put his knees down on one arm, his son the other.

  Phaedrus’s horrified gaze moved between them, then on to Cassius. ‘You. You must stop them.’

  ‘You killed my daughter,’ said Kabir.

  ‘No,’ said the tribune as if outraged by the accusation. ‘No.’

  ‘Nereus told them,’ said Cassius.

  Kabir held the Roman by the throat and ran his knife down his forehead, carving into the skin. He only stopped when he reached the right eye, holding the blade an inch above it.

  ‘I will have the truth.’

  Phaedrus’s cries soon gave way to tears.

  ‘Tell the truth or I will take out your eyes. This one first.’

  ‘I – I – was with her. She – she—’

  ‘She fought you.’

  ‘She did … I mean sh – sh – she had at first … but not that night. She was on a chain. I suppose I – I – pulled too hard. I … saw she wasn’t moving. I told the others.’

  Kammath covered his face with his hands.

  Kabir’s head dropped. ‘When?’

  ‘I – I don’t know. Four weeks. Maybe five.’

  ‘What did you do with her?’

  ‘We … N – N – Nereus and Octavius and I … we … Octavius decided we should wrap her up and put her in the sea. I’m sorry. Truly.’

  This time Kabir put the knife in between the eyes. He drove down with such force that the blade snapped, leaving half of the length of metal embedded in the tribune’s skull. Phaedrus’s head continued to tremble, one eye flickering open and shut before eventually becoming still.

  Kammath stood, then helped his father up.

  Despite all that was going on around him, Cassius felt as if he was looking on from above, separate somehow. But he was not. You are party to the murder of a magistrate and a tribune.

  Not only could he not stop them, he would not have. Kabir would never get his daughter back, but he did have vengeance.

  The Syrian pushed his son away and walked towards the nearest wall. Suddenly his hands flew up and he unleashed a bestial cry of pure agony. Then he drove his head into the wall. The crack dragged Cassius out of his stupor. By the time he and Kammath reached Kabir, he had already hit his head again.

  The chief’s blood splattered Cassius’s hands as he and Kammath turned him away from the wall. Kabir clutched Cassius’s collar. He pulled so tightly that the material cut into the skin. Spitting what sounded like curses in Aramaic, Kabir shook Cassius, who responded by gripping the nomad’s arms.

  ‘Kabir, I know. I know and the gods know. I’m sorry but we have to get ourselves and these girls out of here.’

  The Syrian froze and the mask of grief-stricken rage slipped. His face seemed to collapse as he let go of Cassius and turned to his son. Kammath wiped his eyes and spoke gently to his father.

  Leaving them there, Cassius spied the girl Marte still on the floor. He hurried over and grabbed her under the arms. ‘It’s all right. You’ll be all right.’

  She did not reply but at least let him take her out to the terrace. The men all looked up as he appeared. One of the female guests was sobbing.

  ‘We will lock them all in downstairs.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Idan.

  ‘She’s gone. They killed her. Dinora and another girl are still alive – in the cellar.’

  ‘Men first. All of you on your feet. Hands on your heads.’

  Once they were up, Cassius asked the two male slaves to watch the women while he took the men into the house with Yablus and Idan. Summoning Kammath, he sent him down into the cellar first to fetch Dinora and the other captive. While the Syrian brought them up, Cassius grabbed a lantern from the kitchen. He gave the light to one of the captured guards and sent him down the steps. Using shouts and prods with his sword, he then urged the rest of them into the cellar. As Idan and Yablus shepherded the last men down the steps, Cassius returned to the terrace. Kabir staggered out of the room in which Phaedrus had been killed. Cassius decided he would leave him be for the moment.

  ‘Sir, please,’ said one of the women when he got outside. ‘We are just servants. We are also slaves.’ She gestured to a woman beside her. Cassius hadn’t noted that their clothing was rather different to the other three females.

  ‘You want to be free?’

  ‘I – I belong to Centurion Octavius. He brought me here several months ago.’

  ‘Yes or no?’

  ‘I should stay. I want to stay.’

  ‘You?’

  The second woman held up her hands and got to her feet. ‘Please – let me come with you.’

  ‘Very well.’ He turned to the African. ‘Put these three … guests in the cellar with the others. Understand?’

  With a nod, the freed slave raised his blade and guided his charges inside.

  ‘What about me?’ asked the woman who had elected to stay.

  ‘We can’t leave you all locked up underground,’ said Cassius, who did not want another dozen deaths on his hands. ‘Once we leave, you can go for help.’

  Still holding his sword, Cassius looked over at Kammath, who was speaking to Dinora in Aramaic. The slave girls were standing huddled together, seemingly unable to believe what was happening.

  Realising that he now had some time for Kabir, Cassius hurried back inside once again. As he neared the room, he saw a light appear ahead, in the corridor that led to the centre of the villa.

  ‘What’s going on in—’

  ‘Cilo?’ The second guard was close behind.

  The men from the gate. He’d completely forgotten them.

  Seeing Cassius’s masked face, Cilo dropped the lantern, drew his sword and charged through the doorway.

  Cassius got both hands on his blade and swung. The sword struck only the door frame, slicing out a sliver of wood. Aware that the guard was already coming in low, Cassius threw himself backwards. A third blade appeared, slicing through the air and up into Cilo’s wrist. The shrieking guard dropped his sword as another swing cut across his stomach.

  As he fell, Cassius saw his saviour. The dwarf – a fair, curly haired fellow – watched his victim crash to the floor. As the second guard came out of the shadows, a dark shape launched itself along the adjacent corridor.

  The African’s shoulder-charge struck the guard in the shoulder, propelling him into the wall. As he bounced off it, the dwarf stabbed him in the side. The guard’s cry ended quickly as the African swung a sword-hilt into his face, catapulting him back from whence he came.

  The whole incident had lasted less than ten seconds but Cassius found himself breathless. ‘By the gods, thank you.’

  The African replied in as sonorous a voice as Cassius had heard. ‘I have been waiting a long time to do that.’

  ‘Best find some clothes. Some cloaks for you and the women. We are leaving.’

  Yablus and Idan came marching down the corridor, then looked down at the mortally wounded guards.

  ‘Got the cellar key?’ asked Cassius.

  Yablus held it up.

  ‘Search these two – we also need a key for the front gate. Kammath!’

  Once the youth came in with the women, Cassius told the loyal slave to go and stand beside the cellar door.

  ‘Idan, Yablus, get them all outside. I’ll meet you out front.’

  The African and the dwarf reappeared, now wearing cloaks and carrying others, which they handed out to the women as they departed, stepping over the dying guards.

  Cassius looked back at Kabir, who was once again staring down at Phaedrus, oblivious to what was going on.

  ‘Dinora, do you mind staying with me for a moment?’

  The girl seemed more in possession of herself than Marte, though she was holding tightly on to Kammath. She looked from him to Kabir, then nodded.

  ‘Go on,’ Cassius told Kammath.

  Supporting Marte
and the second girl from the cellar, the youth followed the others.

  ‘Thank you,’ Cassius said to Dinora. He led her to the doorway.

  ‘Kabir.’

  The nomad turned round. Some of his white hair had stuck to his forehead, which was covered with blood.

  ‘Dinora needs you. We have to get out. Can you help her?’

  The girl stepped forward and held out her hand and spoke to her chief in Aramaic. He came forward, took her hand and gently embraced her. His bloodied head at rest on her shoulder, he gazed blankly at the floor.

  Cassius had to turn away to compose himself. When he looked back, Dinora had coaxed Kabir into the corridor. Cassius followed, sword in hand, and was last to leave The House of Screams.

  With only two lanterns between them, they gathered just beyond the rusting iron gates, the trees swaying around them. Cassius had learned that the African slave was named Merbal, the dwarf was Ruga. The female slaves had at last quietened down, now realising that they had a genuine chance of freedom.

  Cassius opened the bag of gold coins Nereus had given him and handed two each to the slaves, of which there were twelve. He gave three each to Merbal and Ruga.

  ‘It is best for us all that we separate, especially as these men’s allies will be looking for us. The going will not be easy but I suggest you head north through the forest. Keep the lantern shuttered when you can. You must get rid of those fine cloaks as soon as possible – do not sell them openly because you might be reported for theft. At first light, buy some ordinary clothes, then get out of Byzantium as quickly as you can.’

  Some of the sobbing renewed, but many of the women came forward to thank him and the Syrians. One actually kissed him on the cheek above the handkerchief, whispering that she had expected to die in The House of Screams.

  Merbal – who now looked quite regal in a thick, patterned cloak – took the time to shake the hand of all of his rescuers, Cassius last of all. ‘I know there’s no point asking again for your name but I thank you once more.’

  ‘You will see them all to safety?’

  ‘On my oath.’

  Cassius also shook hands with Ruga, who was already telling the women to form a line to negotiate the forest. He looked on as Merbal led the way, following a route at forty-five degrees to the wall and road. Ruga waited for all the women to pass him then gave a final wave. In moments, his small figure was lost to the darkness.

  XXX

  Though aware that such a thing might be frowned upon by some of his fellow believers, Simo thanked the Almighty that he had happened upon the Jewish brothers. Bion the Elder and Bion the Younger were clearly exceptionally capable mariners. They had not spoken for at least twenty minutes and – while rowing, at least – seemed not to need verbal communication.

  The blustery wind was blowing the boat onshore and the waves seem to grow larger with every minute. Every now and again, one of the brothers would turn round to check their position and make some compensatory movement with his oar, which the other matched. They had managed to consistently stay at a distance of about a hundred feet from the rocky shoreline. Once beyond the moles of the Great Harbour, they had passed many villas with dim lights within.

  Sitting on the deck close to the stern, water lapping around his backside, Simo now saw the value of the lashings the sailors had insisted on before leaving. They had divided up the gear and stowed it evenly across the boat, which Simo estimated to be around eight foot wide and twenty long. The burly brothers used oars that looked extraordinarily large to Simo’s untrained eye but they wielded them with ease.

  As they cleared a headland, the siblings stopped rowing for a moment and drew in long breaths.

  ‘That’s Philo’s Point,’ said Bion the Younger. ‘A quarter-hour and we’ll be in.’

  ‘Very good,’ replied Simo. He failed to close his mouth in time and was struck by spray. Spitting out the salty water, he wiped his chin and looked on as the younger brother turned the boat with two sharp movements. The pair made the next stroke together and launched the vessel forward once more.

  Cassius sat in the ditch beside Kammath, hand covering his eyes. It was Idan who had heard the riders and sent the party scurrying off the road.

  They came around the bend at a trot, half of them bearing lanterns. Though there was not a patch of red upon them, Cassius knew them for soldiers from their riding style and their arrangement in pairs. There were ten, including a tall man at the front. All Cassius saw of him was that his hair was cropped short and that he had a patch covering one eye. Beside him – just identifiable in the glow of the tall man’s lantern – was Barba.

  The riders were quickly past and nearing The House of Screams, less than half a mile away.

  ‘What?’ said Cassius, who hadn’t heard what Kammath had passed on from the girls.

  ‘That’s Octavius with the patch.’

  ‘Yes. Evidently our friend Barba did change his mind.’

  The nomads were already clambering out of the ditch and helping Marte and Dinora up on to the road. Cassius followed them and looked to his left. Though he could no longer see the riders, he could still hear their horses. He guessed it would take them no more than ten minutes to reach the villa, discover what had happened and catch up.

  As he jogged after the others, Cassius appraised the situation. With the girls slowing them down, he and the Syrians had no chance of reaching the turn down to the coastal path in time. Even if they did, the soldiers could dismount and follow them.

  Now that he knew the full extent of Octavius’s ruthlessness, Cassius had no doubt that the man would settle for nothing less than killing every one of them. Apart from the fact that The Earthly Gods’ nightmarish creation had been dismantled and his co-conspirators executed, Octavius was now exposed to scandal and disgrace. He also had the support of a vengeful optio and eight men whose loyalty was clearly not in question.

  The Syrians just kept going. Cassius wasn’t sure if his companions understood their predicament and chose forge ahead regardless or were simply too upset to think clearly. He didn’t expect much from Kabir: the chief had not said a word and was alone at the back of the group, leaving Kammath and Yablus to help the girls. Though Marte was just about keeping pace, Dinora was struggling to put one foot in front of the other.

  They ran on. When not looking back over his shoulder, Cassius was considering alternatives. He had neither seen nor heard any trace of them but could not help imagining Octavius and his men charging straight back down the drive and through the gate to give chase.

  Idan dropped back. ‘Should we get off the road? Split up?’

  ‘Maybe. But they have plenty of torches and they know this area. If we try and get down to the coast by blundering south, we’ll be lucky not to get trapped somewhere or fall to our deaths. We have to reach that trail.’

  ‘It’s still more than a mile away.’

  Cassius said nothing more. As they came over a slight crest, he saw the glow of the Temple of Apollo up ahead. They still had one advantage; and they needed light to use it.

  ‘Look,’ said Idan.

  ‘I see it.’

  ‘No. There.’ The Syrian had stopped.

  Behind and below them, the road was a pale line between the mass of trees. The high wall was also visible too. The torches were moving quickly away from it.

  Simo was rather perturbed to find that he had been recruited as a mariner. While the elder twin stayed at the oars, the younger had moved to the bow. Simo held the rear line in his hand and was focusing on the quay. The oarsman had turned the boat into the wind to help him control the vessel; there was only a narrow section to aim for, between two larger ships already tied up.

  ‘You’ll have to stand,’ said Old Bion as he manoeuvred them closer. ‘The post is high up.’

  Simo hesitantly lifted his rear off the floor, got to his knees, then stood. With one hand holding the rope, it was difficult to keep his balance. He was so concerned with staying upright that he was s
urprised when the contours of the quay loomed out of the darkness.

  ‘We’re close,’ said Old Bion as he shipped his oars. ‘Reach up. The post’s there.’

  Simo got his hand over the edge then spied the post to his right. Steadying himself, he threw the line and looped it over the post. Once it was tight, he held the boat against the quay.

  ‘Nicely done,’ said Old Bion. He took the line and clambered up a ladder Simo hadn’t even seen.

  Once both lines were secure, Young Bion told Simo he could go up. Careful with both hands and feet, the attendant soon found himself on a bleak, empty platform of stone that ran out thirty feet from the shore in the shadow of the headland. There was no sign of life from either the big ships or the cluster of buildings at the other end of the quay.

  ‘This is definitely it?’ he asked Old Bion. ‘There are no other quays close to the point?’

  ‘This is it,’ said the sailor, still breathing hard. ‘What now?’

  ‘We wait,’ said Simo, who had been in such situations more times than he cared to remember.

  And pray.

  The priests came out of the temple together, robes flowing as they descended the steps. The men responsible for the torches fell in with them as they strode across the rectangular, low-walled courtyard at the front of the great structure. Like the rest of the temple, it was very well lit.

  When Kabir drew his sword, Cassius rushed in front of him, meeting the priests at the courtyard entrance. ‘Go inside. There will be fighting here.’

  The priests were of varying ages. The oldest of them possessed a snowy white beard that reached down to his chest. ‘You cannot violate the sanctity of this place.’

  ‘We shall not enter,’ said Cassius. ‘But you must remain inside.’

  ‘What is going on?’ asked another man.

  ‘I don’t have time to explain.’

  ‘What of the girls?’ asked the elderly priest.

  ‘They stay with us.’ Cassius would have preferred to get them to safety but he needed them for what he intended. ‘Go inside. Now.’

  The holy men turned round and hurried back towards the steps. The two attendants gazed curiously at the strangers then followed.