The Lost Ten

by Harry Sidebottom

  Silently he cursed his foolishness and, after all she had endured at the hands of men, his insensitivity.

  ‘I came to thank you. Zabda told me that it was your decision to follow the tent-dwellers.’

  ‘I am sorry that we did not arrive sooner.’

  ‘That was fate, or the will of the gods.’ The depths of her pain showed in her eyes. But she was too strong to break down at the memory. ‘When I was in their camp, I wanted to die. Afterwards I thought I would be content to marry my husband’s brother. But suffering changes a person. He was a brute, and – Mazda forgive me – I am glad Iudex killed him.’

  The wine fumes were clearing in Valens’s mind. ‘You are going to stay here in Zadrakarta?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘There is a merchant in the town. He trades in silk and fine clothing. My husband had dealings with him and I saw him while you were drinking. I am a skilled seamstress. He will take me into his household.’

  ‘Will that be suitable?’

  ‘As I told you once, I am not without resource.’

  Valens moved to his baggage. From the saddlebags he took a pouch containing perhaps a dozen of the precious cameos.

  ‘Have these,’ he said, holding out the bag. ‘Life is not easy for a single woman without means.’

  ‘You make a very unconvincing merchant.’ She smiled, but took the proffered gift.

  ‘May your gods hold their hands over you.’

  ‘And yours. Even if you succeed, you know, you will not be able to return this way. The whole countryside will be raised against you.’ She looked away into the flame of the lamp. ‘I am a Persian, a loyal subject of the King of Kings.’

  ‘You will not betray us?’

  ‘The father of the one you go to rescue is a traitor. But the prisoner is just a child. I would not see the innocent punished.’ She looked back at Valens. ‘No, I will not betray you. But another might. Zabda was convinced the expedition was cursed, or that you rode with a traitor.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The deaths of Severus and Quintus.’

  ‘Quintus’s fall was an accident in the storm.’

  ‘There were no witnesses. Zabda said he was a fine horseman.’ Lucia shook her head. ‘First you lost your commander, then your navigator.’

  ‘And then no matter what we did, we could not shake the Arabs from our trail.’ That another had shared his suspicions unsettled Valens. ‘Did Zabda know who it was?’

  ‘If he did, he did not tell me.’

  CHAPTER 25

  The Elburz Mountains

  THEY WERE SURE NO ONE had seen them leave the road. Camped by the river, they had waited until there was a brief opportunity when there was not a soul in sight, no traveller on the road or labourer in the fields. To cover their tracks, for the first miles, they had ridden up the riverbed. By the time the story got about of a caravan that had left Zadrakarta but never reached the first of the Walls of Alexander, they should be long gone. Perhaps they would enter into local mythology. Village mothers would scare their children with stories of spectral horsemen still riding the plains on dark nights like these, when the moon was hidden.

  Valens rode now with Narses and Decimus at the front of the column. Narses knew these mountains. He had hunted across them when serving with the Satrap of Hyrkania. For these final approaches, the Persian would be the eyes of the expedition. Back at Zadrakarta, Valens had formally appointed Decimus second in command. The risks they had run so far would be as nothing compared with those to be faced at the Castle of Silence. If Valens himself was killed or captured, the rest would need undisputed leadership to have any hope of getting out alive.

  It had taken them two days to cross the foothills. Maple and ash and alder had given way to tall stands of beech and oak. The horses had gone hock deep through banks of fallen leaves. Yet under the wide spreading branches it was still warm, and some vestigial trace of summer still lingered. Twice they had had to pull off the path to avoid being seen by the last shepherds driving their flocks down to their winter pastures on the plain. When they had camped on the second night the air was drowsy with the hum of bumblebees. The trees were so full of their hives that honey dripped from the remaining leaves. Clemens had warned them not to take so much as a taste. They should remember the honey eaten by the men with Xenophon. Likewise, they should not eat any roots or vegetables, bearing in mind what happened to the troops under Mark Antony in these parts. Narses had laughed in his face. They had foraged, and everyone but Clemens had eaten what was gathered. Not one of them went mad. No one had become obsessed with turning over every stone as if they were accomplishing something of great importance. No one vomited bile and died. With the morning, the honey evaporated on the leaves.

  Three days ago they had come out onto the uplands. It was as if they had ridden into a different season. A cold wind blew down from the north. It fretted at their cloaks, and threw gusts of rain at their backs. The slopes were bare, except for a few stunted junipers, and there was snow on the peaks. It must be getting late in October. Soon winter would come to the mountains.

  As the third day in the high mountains drew to a close, Decimus, his handsome face pinched with the cold, turned to Valens. ‘Do not think me ungrateful of the honour,’ he said, ‘but you should not have made me your deputy.’

  Valens had noted his unenthusiastic response to the appointment back in the town, but had put it down as a becoming modesty. ‘You are not one of those soldiers who shuns responsibility. You have shown that as horse master. Anyway, frumentarii are selected for their independence.’

  Decimus smiled. ‘I trust my own right arm, and my judgement, and yes I am good with horses. But I have never served in the east. I do not know the country or the people. I speak no more of the languages than the smattering of words that I have picked up on the journey. You should have chosen Narses here, or one of the others.’

  ‘The men will follow you,’ Narses said. ‘We are happy enough. Certainly it was better than when we were landed with an untested young outsider.’

  Valens looked sharply at the Persian.

  Narses laughed, his teeth very white behind his black beard. ‘And even that has not turned out quite as badly as we feared.’

  ‘That fills my heart with unalloyed joy,’ Valens said.

  ‘You are not the boy you were three months ago,’ Narses said.

  ‘And I am also not dead yet. It was just a precaution. The men might never have to follow Decimus.’

  ‘If they do,’ Decimus said, ‘I will do my damnedest to get them home. I have no intention of leaving my aged bones whitening on these mountains.’

  Valens had never really thought about it, but, for all his good looks, Decimus was far from young. ‘How soon do you leave the standards?’

  ‘I prefer not to count the months. It tempts fate. But I am getting too long in the tooth for this life. Like old Aulus and Clemens, I should be sitting by the fire, my children gathered around, my wife tending to my needs. Not stuck on a mountain in the middle of nowhere.’

  They rode in silence for a time.

  ‘Are you married, sir?’ Decimus asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Any family at all?’

  ‘I have a cousin.’

  ‘The Tribune of the Horse Guards?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No one else?’

  ‘A few other distant relatives.’ It might have been the wind that made Valens’s eyes water. But there was a catch in his throat. ‘Five years ago, my parents were travelling through the Apennines. They were murdered. Interfectus a latronibus. Perhaps bandits, perhaps stragglers from the Alamanni who marched on Rome. There was no way of knowing.’

  Now he had started, the words came of their own volition. ‘It was that that made me join up. I wanted revenge. Against anyone, against the world, even against the gods. I had a childish fantasy that one day, in some remote glen, I would hunt down their killers. Ridiculous, n
o more than the dreams of a drunken youth, or a mere boy.’

  Somewhat ashamed of sharing such confidences, Valens asked Narses if he had a family.

  ‘Yes.’ The Persian answered curtly, then changed the subject. ‘We are getting close. The Castle of Silence lies on the far side of that ridge. We will turn off the track up ahead. There is a sheltered valley with a spring some way to the west. It is well hidden. I found it when I was after a leopard. Unless another hunter happens along, we should not be disturbed. From the heights above we can watch the road up to the fortress. Tonight there is no moon. We can move unobserved. I will take the two of you to reconnoitre the castle by first light.’

  *

  The Castle of Silence was set on a razor-backed ridge. A road ran up to its gatehouse from the west. It was steep and utterly exposed, but smooth and wide enough for a wagon. The outer wall of the fortress, roughly oval in shape, was built right on the edge of the two precipices. At the far end from the gatehouse, built into the circuit wall, was a tall round tower. From a postern hidden behind the tower, a narrow track snaked down the slope and vanished to the east.

  Every detail was clear in the early morning sun. From the cliff to the north they had a good view across the ravine. And everything they saw was depressing. The gates were kept closed. The battlements above them were patrolled. While the sides of the ravine did not look unclimbable, and a few shrubs would provide a modicum of cover, even at this distance it was clear that the wall, constructed of well-jointed masonry, could not be scaled without a ladder or grappling hooks.

  ‘You once served here, Narses, tell us about the routine.’ Valens kept his voice down, even though, with the wind keening over the rocks, there was no way anything but a shout could possibly be heard across the void.

  ‘The guards are replaced every two months,’ Narses said. ‘Any longer up among these crags, and they would go off their heads. Only the gaolers who do the torturing stay all the time, and they are demented anyway.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Twenty guards come up from Hyrkania. There are about half a dozen who wield the hot knives and turn the rack.’

  ‘Domestic staff?’

  ‘A dozen or so stable boys and cooks and the like. They never leave.’

  There were far too many either to storm the place or ambush the relief. Access would have to be by some more clandestine method.

  ‘Who else comes and goes?’ Valens asked.

  ‘Occasionally the zendanig is summoned to court.’

  ‘The zendanig?’

  ‘The warden of the prison. Cruel bastard with a big red beard, always wears black. Even inanimate objects seem to fear Naduk the zendanig.’

  Decimus thought of something. ‘You said you caught a leopard when you were here.’

  ‘Once in a while the zendanig will give a couple of the men leave to go hunting. The gates are bolted behind them, and they are not let back in until they have been recognised. No one dares open the gates without Naduk’s order.’

  ‘What do the soldiers do for women?’ Decimus asked.

  ‘Usually four or five whores in the place.’ Narses shook his head sadly. ‘Poor bitches get melancholy, and their looks start to go. While I was here, one threw herself off the wall.’

  ‘Too much used?’ Decimus said sympathetically.

  ‘No, oddly not that. After a month stuck here most of the men lose interest. Actually they lose interest in anything. Nothing to see but the cliffs, nothing to listen to but the mewing of those fucking buzzards, never anything new to do or think about. Confined in those walls, the wind always howling in your ears, nowhere to go. That was why I kept badgering the zendanig to go hunting. Not that I liked having to talk to him.’

  ‘Are the girls replaced?’ Valens asked.

  ‘Two times in my tour.’

  ‘Are they escorted?’

  ‘A couple of soldiers.’

  Decimus smiled, the white scar by his right eye disappearing in the laughter lines. ‘There is a story in Thucydides, or maybe Xenophon. A revolution in Thebes, I think it was. The conspirators invited the rulers to dinner, promised them some women, gave them plenty to drink. The women come in all veiled . . .’

  ‘It will never work,’ Valens said.

  ‘The numbers are right,’ Decimus said.

  ‘Narses and Hairan would have to be the escort. They are the only two that can pass as Persians.’ Valens paused. ‘But of the rest of us, Aulus would make a very unappealing girl, what with his receding hair, and cadaverous face.’

  ‘We would wear veils.’

  ‘Iudex is damn near seven foot tall.’

  ‘Bald as a coot, and with the biggest hands I have ever seen.’ Narses added.

  ‘Do either of you have a better idea?’ Decimus demanded.

  ‘Actually, I do.’ Narses looked very pleased with himself. ‘I have been saving it for last.’ The other two said nothing. ‘I am surprised that neither of you has asked yet.’

  Narses was beginning to remind Valens of his old philosophy tutor, which was not endearing.

  ‘The castle is on top of a mountain,’ the Persian said.

  ‘Where does the garrison gets its water?’ Decimus asked.

  ‘Not that. There is a well in the courtyard.’

  ‘Food!’ Valens said. ‘Where do they get their supplies?’

  Narses beamed. ‘A wagon comes up the road once a month. There is the driver, and there are six outriders. Sometimes in the winter, when the snows are deep, they send a mule train. But the supplies always arrive.’

  ‘When do they come?’ Valens felt a surge of excitement.

  ‘About the time of the new moon.’

  They grinned at each other.

  *

  ‘Where in Hades are Aulus and Clemens?’

  The camp was tucked into a depression in the shoulder of a slope. There was a spring of drinkable water, and around it some undergrowth for cover. It was not overlooked by any obvious tracks. The animals were tethered, the kit squared away. Hairan was on watch. Everything was as it should be, except for the missing men.

  ‘They went hunting after some goats we saw,’ Hairan said.

  ‘I gave instructions that no one was to leave the camp!’ Valens was furious. ‘Wandering around the hillsides, they could be seen by anyone. They are endangering us all.’

  ‘That is what I told them.’ Hairan shrugged. ‘They told me to go and fuck myself; they wanted some fresh meat.’

  ‘Animals are the miscarriage of evil daemons. It is very dangerous to eat them.’ Iudex was sitting cross-legged, drawing in his notebook. The object of his study was something shiny on the ground in front of him.

  There was nothing Valens could do but wait. Searching for them doubled the risk of being spotted.

  ‘Vegetables are much better,’ Iudex continued. ‘Aroused by the beauty of the sun, the daemons ejaculated on the ground. From their seed grew all plants. Violets and roses are particularly rich in light.’

  ‘What is that you are drawing?’

  Clemens picked up the small sheet of bronze, which was shaped like part of a man’s calf muscle.

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘By the spring. I have cleaned and polished it.’

  It was from a greave: a piece of armour designed to snap over the lower leg, and be held in place by its own elasticity. It was broken, and time had thinned it and made it brittle.

  ‘Greek, by the look of it,’ Iudex said. ‘Very ancient.’

  ‘He was a long way from home.’

  ‘Or it came here by trade, or as plunder.’

  Iudex went back to his drawing. Valens looked over his shoulder. The picture was perfect, capturing every detail of the griffins exquisitely chased into the rim of the metal.

  Holding up the notebook, Iudex grunted with satisfaction. Then he tore out the page, and ripped it into tiny pieces. With his huge, powerful hands he snapped the artefact into small fragments and carefully ground it to pow
der under his boot. Finally he scooped a hole in the thin topsoil, and buried the detritus.

  ‘Why?’

  Iudex looked up contentedly. ‘Once it is known to me, it is known to the Demiurge. And once the Demiurge has taken cognisance of a thing, its corporal existence is no longer necessary. It is the same with some men.’

  CHAPTER 26

  Rome

  IT WAS A COLD, MOONLESS NIGHT. Volusianus was huddled in a thick, hooded cloak, but he felt the cold. A chill breeze moved through the trees and shrubs of the Gardens of Lucullus. It was past midnight, and ahead the villa of Acilius Glabrio was silent.

  Volusianus shifted in the darkness under the boughs of the ornamental cypress tree. Murena was next to him, but the rest of his men were hidden in the gloom. Volusianus did not need to see the soldiers, he knew they were there. There was nothing to do but wait for the signal.

  The villa had been in the family of Acilius Glabrio for generations. Palatial, and surrounded by the wide gardens that still bore the name of their original designer, it was one of the most splendid houses in Rome – a statement of wealth and status. Yet its history was tragic. Messallina, the wife of the Emperor Claudius, had coveted the gardens, and forced their owner to suicide. Later, her infidelities exposed, it was here she had taken her own life. The property, Volusianus thought, would bring Acilius Glabrio no better fortune.

  The growth of a conspiracy was much like that of a plant. At first there was little to be done but carefully observe the tendrils it put out. But there came a time when it must be cut down, its roots grubbed out. Inside the shuttered residence Acilius Glabrio was in treasonous conclave with another disaffected senator and two junior officers, one a Praetorian, the other serving with the Horse Guards. Volusianus was not overly concerned by the disloyal senators. Their kind talked and talked. Even when they finally acted, it was seldom with proficiency. But the involvement of the military demanded decisive measures.

  After a month of prevarication, Acilius Glabrio had heeded the poetic advice of the usurper over the Alps. When he tampered with the loyalty of the troops, he had drawn the sword. It was typical patrician arrogance, Volusianus thought, that Acilius Glabrio had not been deterred by the disappearance of the man who had brought the message from Postumus.