Silus looked down and wondered whether he could try jumping off the camel. But he risked injuring himself and endangering the mission needlessly. And he could imagine Oclatinius’ reaction as he explained his reason for failure. ‘I was jumping off a camel, sir.’
The driver said something in the native Egyptian language. Silus looked helplessly at Menkheperresenb, who translated for him.
‘He says the price has gone up. It is double now.’
Silus pulled his knife from his belt – he had recovered it from where he had hidden it before visiting Jabari. He reached forward and touched it lightly against the side of his camel’s neck.
‘Tell him that if he doesn’t make this beast kneel down right now, I will cut its throat and it will fall down.’
Menkheperresenb translated and the driver’s face filled with alarm. He spoke a command word to the camel, and held its reins as it sank down, forelegs first, nearly pitching Silus over its head, before its back legs went down and Silus was able to dismount with relief. The camel driver grabbed Silus’ mount around the neck and showered it with kisses, whispering affectionate words in its ear. The camel ruminated impassively.
Silus looked away in disgust.
‘Sir,’ said Menkheperresenb earnestly. ‘Were you successful? Is he dead?’
Silus tossed him the severed finger with the signet ring. Menkheperresenb caught it and looked at it in shock that turned to delight.
‘Thank you, sir, thank you.’
‘Your debt is cleared. Now it’s your turn to hold up your end of the bargain.’
‘I will, sir. And then I am free to go?’
Silus hesitated. It rankled to give him a pardon after what he had done. On the other hand, it was not his job to police this country or administer justice. He had one mission, and everything else was just a means to completing it.
‘Yes, you are free to go, as long as you stay out of Alexandria. If I hear you have returned there, for any reason at all, I will kill you. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir.’
‘Fine, make sure you are prepared. The man who hired you arrives tomorrow?’
Menkheperresenb nodded.
‘And he will have ten men accompanying him?’
‘Last time he did.’
‘How were they armed?’
‘Four with clubs, four with swords.’
This would be a problem, Silus thought. This would take a little planning.
‘Get someone to fetch us some food and drink. We are thirsty and hungry. I need to talk to my men.’
* * *
Silus watched from a ground floor window in a house that faced the main street through the village. Menkheperresenb stood in the middle of the thoroughfare, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He held the gold statue in both hands. Silus had had his doubts about entrusting the murderer and thief with the valuable item, but decided that he was well enough guarded and well enough frightened that the risk of him trying to abscond was low.
The group of men walked slowly and confidently into the village. The sun was behind them, and although Silus squinted, it was hard to make out their features. The leader looked vaguely familiar, although Silus couldn’t quite place him. He looked over to the roof of the house opposite, where Atius waited. Atius was watching him, waiting for his signal, unable to see the intruders from his position. Silus held a hand up. Not yet.
The men came closer. Silus ground his teeth, hoping that Menkheperresenb’s nerve would hold. He needed him to draw the men in further.
They lacked all caution. After all, what did ten armed men have to fear from a small Egyptian village? The leader stopped in front of Menkheperresenb and said something. Menkheperresenb looked around him nervously.
Silus slammed his fists together, the sign for Atius to attack. Atius repeated the motion to the legionaries who had been watching him. There was a whistling noise, and three stones flew down from the roofs into the men, who had been packed together. One who had been holding a club loosely in his hand crumpled instantly, forehead caved in. Another dropped his sword, yelling loudly, as the impact broke the upper bone of his right arm. The other stone did not find its mark, but it was a good start.
The legionaries had not come in full battle array. They wore breastplates and had gladii, but no spears and no shields. But an ambush worked best when it started with a missile attack. So Silus had had to improvise. Using strips of cloth provided, with some grumbling, by the villagers, Silus had fashioned three slings. Atius was familiar with their use, having had training in a large variety of weapons, and one of the legionaries had also learned to use a sling as a child before joining up. Silus had demonstrated the technique to two other legionaries, but he had little confidence they would make a significant impact. He of course was skilled in the sling, having been taught by his father, but he had another role for himself.
Next, the other two legionaries stood and hurled spears. Wood was scarce in Egypt, and Silus had had to break down a door and fashion a pilum from the planks with his knife. They were poor weapons, unbalanced, not really heavy enough. But with gravity assisting, they flew down from the rooftops with some force. One took one of the men in the chest and he flew backwards, arms spread, to lie flat on his back in the dirt. The second looked like it would find its mark, but the target ducked when the stones flew past him, and the spear went over his head.
All this had happened in just a few heartbeats. And in that space of time, three of the ten guards who had accompanied the man behind the attack on the Temple of Isis were dead or disabled. It still wasn’t an even fight, but the numbers were closer than they had been.
The intruders in the village were in complete disarray now. Having been assaulted by missiles from roofs on both sides of the street, they didn’t know whether to take shelter, charge the roof, or run, and if so in which direction. Three more slingshots whistled down, but this time with the men more alert, only one hit home, and that a glancing blow to the left shoulder of one of the guards.
The leader of the group was turning this way and that frantically, completely at a loss what to do. He gave no clear instructions to his guards, just yelled at them incoherently. They did nothing to protect him either, not gathering around him to shield him with their bodies, or hustling him away to shelter. They were clearly just mercenaries doing a simple bodyguarding job for the lowest rate of pay and had no loyalty to the man who led them.
Silus gave another signal, and Atius and the legionaries charged down from the rooftops, down the external staircases, swords drawn, roaring a savage battle cry. Now the intruders clustered together, backs against each other, as if they faced superior numbers. In fact, there were still seven of the armed men against Atius and the four legionaries.
It was not standard military doctrine for legionaries to rush singly into attack. They were trained to fight behind shields, protected by their neighbours to the left and right, and if they charged, they charged in line. But these legionaries did not have shields, and Silus had gambled that the men they faced were not trained soldiers. Their response proved him right. Two men peeled away from the back of the group, throwing their weapons away and running at full tilt away from the fight, out of the village and into the desert. The remaining five lifted their swords and clubs to meet the attack.
They traded blows and it was immediately clear that the paid mercenaries were inferior to the highly trained legionaries in every way – strength, stamina, weapon skill, tactical cohesion. The legionaries protected each other, turned aside blows meant for their comrades, while the mercenaries fought as individuals. Some of them had ferocity, some had street cunning, but it counted for little against the united professionals. The mercenaries began to give ground.
It was time for Silus to strike. He slipped out of the window of the house he was still concealed in and walked slowly up behind the leader. The red-haired man was facing away from Silus, one hand on his mouth, staring in horror at the battle in front of h
im. He remained completely unaware of Silus until he grabbed his arm and forced it up behind him, while simultaneously putting his arm around his neck. The man who was supposed to be leading the guards let out a cry, which was choked off by pressure from Silus’ forearm.
‘Drop your weapons,’ yelled Silus in loud, clear Greek. ‘I have your master.’
Atius and the legionaries took a step back, to allow their opponents the time and space to assess their situation and surrender. The men looked around at their captured leader, then exchanged disgusted glances and tossed their weapons onto the ground. One of them spoke up. ‘He is nothing to us. He just hired us to escort him on this journey. Let us go, and we will leave here straight away.’
Silus nodded to the legionaries. There was no point spilling the blood of these men, and they didn’t deserve it – they had done nothing wrong that he knew of. The legionaries stood back, making a corridor, swords still drawn. The mercenaries hesitated, fearing a trick.
‘Go. You have my word you will not be harmed if you leave now and don’t come back.’
The mercenaries shuffled away, the legionaries laughing and hurling insults at them as they went.
‘Leave fighting to the real soldiers.’
‘Run home to mummy, little girls.’
Atius watched them go, then turned to where Silus was holding the men’s leader. He stared, frowned, then gasped.
‘Brother John?’
* * *
Brother John stared up into the bright sunlight. He was seated on a stool, a legionary sword prodding him painfully in the back. Silus stood before him, the sun behind him, looking down at the priest. Atius stood to Silus’ right, hands clasped together, face taut with distress.
‘I will ask you again. Tell me what you are doing here.’
‘My answer is the same. I was visiting this village to bring the word of the true God to the pagans.’
‘Why this village? Why so far from Alexandria? Haven’t you got enough holy work to do in the city?’
‘The Lord commands us to take his word to the whole world. Not just the Jews, not just the Romans, not just the Greeks, but everyone.’
‘So it is a coincidence that you are here, in the place where the men who attacked the Temple of Isis Lochias come from. Where the statue of Isis has ended up?’ He gestured to the gold statue, guarded by one of the legionaries.
‘I know nothing about any of that. I am here doing God’s work.’
Silus hit him hard across the jaw with a closed fist that rocked the priest backwards and forced the sword tip deeper into his back. He cried out, then released a low groan. From the corner of his eye, Silus noticed Atius was tight-lipped. This clearly wasn’t easy for him.
‘Tell me, Brother John. Was it about the money? The gold statue? Even melted down, it would be worth a fortune.’
Brother John glared at him.
‘Talk to me. You must understand how much trouble you are in. Not only for yourself, but for your cult.’ He glanced across at Atius. ‘Your faith, I mean. When word of this gets out, there will be riots in Alexandria. And your fellow Christians will be targets. They will be slaughtered.’
The priest looked troubled but said defiantly, ‘I am doing God’s work.’
Atius suddenly grabbed the priest by the collar, heaved him off the stool and threw him to the ground. Sand and dust flew up in a puff around him as he landed on his back. Instantly, Atius was on top of him, hands at his throat. He squeezed, choking the priest, who grabbed Atius’ wrists and tried in vain to prise them apart.
‘This is not God’s work!’ cried Atius. ‘Killing. Raping. Stealing. This is the work of the devil. I should know!’
Brother John’s eyes rolled up into his head, his hands went slack and fell away.
‘Enough, Atius,’ said Silus. Atius continued to strangle the unconscious priest until Silus gave him a hard shove, sending him toppling sideways. Atius rolled over onto his back and thumped the ground with both fists, letting out a roar of frustration. He pushed himself upright, got to his feet, then walked over to the nearest house and kicked the wall hard.
Silus bent over Brother John. His breathing was raspy but regular. As he watched, his eyelids fluttered, then opened. He took some deep breaths, tried to sit up, then flopped back. Silus indicated to two of the legionaries to help him up, and they lifted him under the arms and put him back on his stool.
Silus slapped him lightly around the face. ‘Are you with us, Brother John?’
The priest groaned, but he was able to give Silus an ice-cold glare.
‘You pagans will all be sent to hell when the Lord returns on the day of judgement.’ His voice was hoarse but chilling. ‘And you, Atius, professing the faith and assisting these worshippers of devils and false gods. These are the same people who murdered Origen’s father. Who murdered my mother and sister for the simple crime of worshipping the true God. I curse you all.’ He spat on the ground, a gob of saliva quickly absorbed into the parched earth.
‘Sir,’ said one of the legionaries nervously. ‘These Christians know powerful magic. They sacrifice babies and drink their blood so their god gives them power over other men.’
‘That’s not fucking true!’ yelled Atius, striding over to the legionary and pushing him in the chest. The legionary took a step backwards, then squared up to him.
‘Stand down, both of you.’ Silus’ voice brooked no dissension. He wondered for a moment when command had become second nature to him. It had certainly seemed an alien thing when he had first found himself in charge of other men in Britannia. Now, with all he had done and seen, he had the confidence to feel that he knew best. Not necessarily that he was right, just that he was more likely to be right than those who surrounded him.
Atius growled at the legionary, then turned away.
‘You really won’t tell us anything?’ Silus asked. ‘Tell us who ordered you to do this?’
‘I take orders only from my God.’
‘Fine. We will take you back to Alexandria. We can hand you over to the authorities there for torture, to find out everything you know. Origen too.’
‘Silus…’ Atius began.
‘Silence!’ Silus snapped at his friend. ‘This has gone far enough. Christians, Jews, followers of Isis and Serapis and whoever else. Fuck the lot of them. We need to find a lost boy, and we are going back to Alexandria to do just that.’
Chapter Eleven
Varius Avitus Bassianus sat cross-legged on the floor before the conical black stone, but his mind and soul were somewhere else. The scent of incense filled the room. His eyes were closed, and he whispered words in a foreign, exotic tongue, musical and fast, one word running into the next. Behind his closed lids, he could see himself soaring over Emesa like an eagle, a place his mother had described to him in detail, with its eastern style of temples, its thronged markets, the mausoleum in honour of Soaemias – the former King of Emesa and high priest of Elagabal, after whom his mother had been named. And in the centre of all, the vast Temple of Elagabal, ornamented with gold and silver and precious jewels, marble steps leading to its six-columned façade, beyond which the huge black conical stone was visible. His spirit circled the city, his soul filled with joy at visiting the home of his ancestors, even while his body mourned its separation from that holy place, and the great stone of Elagabal, where he longed to worship.
Aziz watched in fascination and reverence, on his knees and prostrated with arms before him stretched towards the boy priest.
Avitus’ body jerked, his breathing came faster, he tilted his head back and with eyes tight shut, let out a cry of ecstasy and release. Then he opened his eyes, took six deep breaths, and sang a prayer.
‘Lord of the mountain, lord of the sun. Bring your light to shine upon us. Beseech the great mother Atargatis to bestow on us her protection and warmth, and beseech Astarte to give us her love, and the water of life.’ The complex words and phrases sounded strange coming from the mouth of such a young boy, but his m
other and his tutor Gannys had taught him from a very early age the rituals and prayers of their god.
‘Lord Elagabal, let it be as your priest prays,’ said Aziz fervently.
Avitus opened his eyes and looked around him. The room was dimly lit with flickering candlelight, which illuminated basic but comfortable furniture. There was a bed against one wall with a feather mattress, a table with a jug of water and a plate of fruits, and in the corner a chamber pot, freshly emptied and cleaned. Was it a bedroom, a temple, or a goal cell? Avitus wondered. He felt a sense of disappointment at not finding himself in Emesa, but was otherwise unperturbed.
He rose and poured himself some water, and drank deeply, then ate some figs. The ritual ecstasies always made him hungry and thirsty. He turned to Aziz.
‘I have been here some time, Aziz. You kidnapped me, and now keep me in comfort and worship with me. You honour me, but you will not let me leave. You say all is as the Lord Elagabal wills it, but I still don’t really understand.’
‘I know, Your Blessedness. But today someone who has come to see you will explain it all.’
‘Who?’
‘He should have arrived by now. I will bring him to you.’
Aziz left the room and closed the door behind him. Avitus heard the door locking, and then a bar falling into place. He sighed, sat on the bed, and picked up his favourite doll. It was wooden, with a long wool dress, and its painted face had black outlined eyes and full red lips. He hugged it, then lay down on the bed and closed his eyes.
A few moments later, the door opened, and Aziz came in again. This time he had someone with him. Avitus sat up.
‘Gannys!’
Avitus jumped out of bed and ran to him to give him a big hug around the chest.
‘It’s good to see you, Avitus.’
The big Syrian tousled Avitus’ hair affectionately.
‘What’s happening, Gannys? Are you here to rescue me?’
Gannys exchanged a look with Aziz that Avitus couldn’t read.
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