‘No.’
‘Well then.’ Macro shook his head in exasperation. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘I tried to persuade him to hand over Yusef.’
‘He said no, I take it.’
‘He said that, and more.’ Cato’s eyes turned to Symeon. ‘Bannus told me I should ask you what happened to Jehoshua, at the end.’
Symeon breathed in deeply and looked down into the dark red liquid in his glass. There was a long silence, in which Macro attracted Cato’s attention and raised his eyebrows. Cato gestured to him to be patient. At length Symeon spoke.
‘I’ll tell you what happened, then you’ll understand why there is now only a deep hatred between Bannus and myself. You already know that we were both followers of Jehoshua, but in those days we were also friends. The best of friends, like brothers really. There was a third friend, but I’ll tell you about him in a minute. We joined the movement because Jehoshua held out the promise of freeing Judaea. As he drew more and more people to follow him some began to say he was the mashiah. He ignored them at first, but after a while he seemed to become attracted to the idea. I confess, I encouraged him in this. I am ashamed of it now, given what happened. Anyway, the prophecy of the mashiah is quite specific. He must liberate Jerusalem, assume the throne of David and lead Judaea to victory over the rest of the world.’
‘That’s a tall order,’ Macro said quietly.
‘Quite.’ Symeon smiled faintly, and continued. ‘So, with several thousand of our followers behind us, we set out for Jerusalem. It began well enough. The streets were lined with people who greeted us hysterically and showered blessings on Jehoshua. We managed to take over the precincts of the Great Temple. Jehoshua ordered that the moneylenders and the tax collectors be kicked out of the temple and their records destroyed. You can imagine how well that went down with the poor amongst his followers. Then we took over the armoury of the temple guards. At first we were carried away with the elation of it all. All that remained was to confront the Sanhedrin, persuade them to come over to our side and rise up against the Roman garrison.
‘What were they doing about it?’ Macro interrupted. ‘The garrison? Surely they would have intervened the moment you took over the temple?’
‘They shut themselves up in Herod’s palace. At the time the tensions between my people and the Roman officials were at breaking point. There had been riots a few years earlier, and the procurator did not want to risk inflaming the situation again. So they did nothing.’
Macro sat back with a look of disgust. ‘I’d have sorted you lot out in short order.’
‘I imagine you would. But you are not Pilate. Anyway, the Sanhedrin refused to come over to us. You have to understand that the high priests were drawn from the richest, most powerful families, and Jehoshua believed that Judaeans had to be freed from poverty and exploitation as much as from Roman tyranny. He had assumed that the Sanhedrin would place their nation before their purses, and was thrown aback by their refusal to cooperate. That’s when he lost it. Suddenly, he said that we could not win by force of arms. We must win the argument. We must win the battle for the hearts and minds of our enemies.’
‘Hearts and minds.’ Macro laughed. ‘Where have I heard that one before? Shit, when will people ever learn … Sorry, please go on.’
‘Thank you.’ Symeon frowned before he continued. ‘When we heard him utter this new line, we were horrified. Bannus and I met in secret, and decided he had to go. The movement needed a more resolute leader or there would be no revolt. No new kingdom of Judaea. So we decided to betray Jehoshua. Hand him over to the authorities. They would surely execute him and we would have a martyr, as well as a new leader.’
‘Who?’ Cato asked. ‘You or Bannus?’
‘Me. Bannus would be my lieutenant.’
‘Some friends you turned out to be,’ said Macro. ‘With friends like you and Bannus what need had Jehoshua of enemies?’
‘You don’t understand, Prefect,’ Symeon replied intensely. ‘We loved Jehoshua. We all did. But we loved Judaea more. We had to save our people. What is the life of one man, however much he is loved, when weighed against the fate of an entire nation?’ He paused and sipped from his glass. ‘So we prepared a message, telling the authorities where they could find Jehoshua. There was only one man close to us whom we could trust to deliver the message, the third friend in our circle that I told you of earlier. His name was Judas. Even so, we did not dare to tell him what was in the message. So Judas took the message to the Sanhedrin. Jehoshua was arrested, tried, tortured and executed. His followers were stunned. Too stunned to react to events. Before the day was out the Roman troops were on the streets arresting the ringleaders and disarming and dispersing their followers. I managed to escape, with Bannus, through the sewers. Once we got out of Jerusalem we split up. He went north to continue the struggle. I went south, to Petra. For a while I was desolated, too ashamed of what we did, to care about anything. But slowly, I built a new life for myself and began to travel, to rebuild my connections with the surviving members of the movement, like Miriam. I did not realise at first that I had changed. I had been young and inexperienced and had never seen a battle in those days. To think that I ever believed we could beat the legions!’ He shook his head. ‘The romance of great causes and the folly of youth just leads to death. Eventually I came to realise that Jehoshua had been right in the end; we could not defeat Rome with swords, only with words, with ideas. Bannus never accepted that.’
‘And Judas?’ Cato asked. ‘What became of him?’
Symeon bowed his head in shame. ‘As soon as he realised what had been contained in the message, he hanged himself.’ Symeon’s voice trembled. ‘I’ve never been able to forgive myself for that … So now you know my story.’ Abruptly, he rose from his couch, bowed his head and quickly walked back into his house.
Macro watched him go, then turned to Cato with a pitying expression. ‘This place is one endless bloody tragedy. The sooner we finish the job and get out of here the better. I’ve had enough of it. I’m sick of them. All of them.’
Cato did not reply. He was thinking of Yusef. Now he was more determined than ever that the boy must be rescued from Bannus and returned to Miriam. Only then could that small fragment of the cycle of destruction and despair be broken.
The messenger came early in the morning. Macro and Cato were eating a breakfast of figs and goats’ milk when Symeon emerged from the house with a smile. ‘The King has agreed to hand Bannus over to us. The Parthian prince will be returned to his kingdom. Soldiers are already on the way to the house where Bannus and his friends are staying, with orders to arrest them.’
Cato felt a lightness in his chest. ‘Then it’s over.’
‘Yes.’ Symeon smiled. ‘It’s over, and there will be some peace in Judaea, for now. The King has asked that we come to the palace to formally conclude matters, as soon as we receive the message.’
Macro jumped up, rubbing the sticky remains of his meal on the folds of his tunic. He beamed. ‘Well? What are we waiting for?’
They were shown into the chamberlain’s hall once again, and this time provided with chairs. A few clerks and officials sat with them, waiting for the chamberlain and the King to appear. For a while Macro sat contentedly, then he became slowly irritated by the growing delay and started tapping his foot, the sound echoing faintly off the walls, until Symeon reached over and held his knee still.
‘Where’s the bloody King, then?’ Macro grumbled. ‘We’ve been waiting ages.’
A side door opened and a clerk scuttled in and whispered something to one of the chamberlain’s advisers. The adviser glanced towards the Roman officers before he nodded to the clerk and crossed the hall towards Cato and Macro.
‘Something’s wrong,’ said Cato. ‘Something’s happened.’
‘What do you mean?’ Macro whispered irritably. ‘What could be wrong?’
‘Shhh.’
The adviser bowed his head to them and addressed Symeon
in the local tongue. Cato watched Symeon’s response and saw the look of shock.
‘What is it?’
Symeon held up his hand to silence Cato and let the adviser finish his message. Then he turned to Macro and Cato.
‘Bannus has gone. When the soldiers arrived at the house to arrest him this morning the Parthians were still there, but Bannus was not in his room. Two horses are missing from the stables of the owner of the house. The soldiers immediately sent word to the guards on the entrance to the siq to stop anyone leaving the city. They were too late. The siq guards reported that a man left Petra at first light. He claimed to be a merchant, and he had a boy with him.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Macro and Cato waited while Symeon rode into the wide mouth of the wadi and scanned the ground before him, looking for tracks. As the patch of stony ground gave way to the bright red sand he found what he was looking for and beckoned to the others. Macro and Cato urged their mounts forward, picking a route through the rocks until they reached their companion. Symeon had dismounted and pointed out the hoof imprints.
‘Definitely horses.’ He stood up and followed the line of the tracks stretching out into the sand until they faded in the distance, in line with the edge of a large dune and one of the vast towers of rock beyond.
‘It has to be Bannus,’ Cato commented. ‘Who else would ride into a wilderness like this?’
Macro grunted. He had finally consented to wear a headdress like the local people and was now grateful that it was keeping the sun off his head. Even so, it was three days since they had galloped out of the siq, desperately trying to catch up with Bannus. Initially there had been no indication which direction he had taken, but then the pursuers had chanced on a shepherd boy in the hills half a day’s ride to the south of Petra who had seen a man and a boy ride past, heading south. Symeon and the two Romans had followed, moving from sighting to sighting and once finding the smouldering remains of a small fire. They were already far off the established caravan routes and heading towards the deep desert of Arabia. A chance sighting of a puff of dust in the distance had drawn them to this vast expanse of red sand that formed the bed of a giant maze of sheer rock formations, known to the nearest tribes as Rhum. No horseman had any reason to be in a place like this, unless he was on the run.
‘Bannus,’ Symeon agreed, and remounted. He drew in his reins and they continued riding into the vast mouth of the wadi, which stretched out for miles ahead of them. The tracks were easy enough to follow, and Cato wondered why Bannus had chosen to cross terrain that would leave proof of his passing in such an obvious manner. But then, Bannus would be desperate, especially if he knew that he was being followed. The Nabataeans had immediately sent messengers south with a description of the man and so there would be little chance of hiding in that direction. All that was left to Bannus now was Arabia, and the hope that he could cross it and then ride north to his friends in Parthia. He no longer cared about hiding his tracks, only about putting as much distance as possible between him and his pursuers.
They rode on, the soft impact of the horses’ hooves providing the only sound amid the desolate landscape surrounding them. At the end of the wadi the tracks bent to the left and headed across a wide open stretch of sand, broken up by a handful of dunes, towards another rock formation two or three miles away. It was late in the afternoon and already long dark shadows stretched across sections of the desert. Halfway across this expanse Symeon halted them at the base of a dune and dismounted.
‘I’m going to have a look from the top. See if I can see any sign of him.’
‘I’m coming too,’ Cato decided and jumped down.
‘There’s no need.’
‘I’m worried about Yusef. I have to see for myself.’
Symeon shrugged and started to climb the side of the dune.
Cato turned to Macro. ‘Won’t be long.’
Macro reached for his canteen and took a small swig. ‘If you see any sign of water, let me know.’
Cato smiled, then moved off, following Symeon’s tracks up the dune. As soon as the slope made itself apparent the going became difficult as the sand shifted downhill under his feet, to such an extent that it felt as if he was making no progress at all. But eventually, exhausted, he flopped down beside Symeon and scanned the way ahead. On the far side of the dune the sand continued for another mile before it reached the rock formation. Now Cato could see that there was a cleft in the rocks that ran from top to bottom. At the base of the cliffs was a small clump of shrubs and a handful of stunted trees.
‘There’s water there.’
‘That’s not all.’ Symeon strained his eyes. ‘Look again.’
This time Cato saw it, the tiny shapes of two horses, almost lost against the shrubs, and the figure of a man, or a boy, sitting in the shade of one of the trees.
‘I can only see one of them.’
‘Calm yourself, Cato. We’ve seen no sign of a body since we’ve been following him. No body, no blood. I’m sure Yusef is over there with him.’
Cato wanted to believe it. ‘All right then, what shall we do?’
‘We have to wait. If we approach him now he’ll be sure to see our dust the moment we emerge from behind this dune. So we wait until dark, and then ride in. We can stop some distance before the rocks and continue on foot. If we can surprise Bannus then we might be able to grab Yusef before he can do anything.’
‘Right.’ Cato nodded. ‘That’s the plan then.’
The sun had sunk far below the rims of the peaks of Rhum and cast the whole area into dark shadow as the three horsemen reined in a quarter of a mile from the cleft in the rocks ahead. A small dune, little more than a fold in the land, concealed them from Bannus and they left their horses hobbled to prevent them from wandering into sight before the trap could be sprung. Then, stripping down to their tunics and taking only their swords with them, the three men crept forward.
Bannus had succeeded in lighting a fire and the glow of the flames cast an orange bloom on to the lowest reaches of the cliffs. As they crept forward Cato saw Bannus take a chunk of bread out of the saddlebag resting on the ground by his side. He bent over a bundle of rags on the ground and dropped the bread beside it. The rags moved and Cato realised it was Yusef. Tied up, but alive. As they drew close to the fire Cato saw that there was no cover between them and Bannus. If he looked into the desert he would surely be able to see them before long.
They continued, with painstaking caution, until they were within fifty paces of the fire and could hear the crackle of the flames and the hiss of the burning wood. Bannus was sitting with his side to them. Opposite him Yusef had managed to wriggle up into a sitting position and was eating the bread, held between his bound hands.
Macro tapped Cato’s arm and indicated that he was going to circle round behind Bannus, and Cato nodded that he understood. Both he and Symeon silently drew their swords and lay still, pressing themselves into the fine sand as Macro slid slowly to the right in a wide arc round behind Bannus until he was in line with his back, the fire, and Yusef beyond. Then Macro began to creep forward, in slow, gradual movements, until he was within twenty feet of his target. With pounding heart, and hardly daring to breathe, he eased himself up from the sand, drawing his feet under him then rising up, sword in hand, bracing himself to spring towards Bannus’ back.
Over Bannus’ shoulder Macro saw the boy suddenly gasp and start up, wide-eyed.
‘What is it?’ Bannus snapped, then a sixth sense made him spin round and he saw Macro launch himself forward. At once Bannus leaped up and sprinted round the fire, snatching out his curved dagger as he went. Cato and Symeon ran in towards the fire. Before any of them could stop him, Bannus had hauled the boy from the ground and now had his forearm locked across Yusef ’s throat, pinning him to his chest. The other hand was extended, fist clenching a dagger whose blade gleamed in the firelight.
‘Stand back!’ Bannus screamed. ‘Stand back! One step closer and I swear I’ll gut the
boy!’
Macro stood only a spear’s length away, crouching low, sword point raised. The others were slightly further off, and spread out, so that Bannus had to keep twisting his neck to keep them all in sight.
‘Don’t move!’
Yusef raised his bound hands and started to claw at the hairy forearm across his throat.
‘He can’t breathe,’ Cato said calmly. ‘Bannus, you’re killing him.’
Bannus stared back suspiciously for an instant, and then relented, loosening his grip just enough to let Yusef gasp some air into his lungs.
‘That’s better,’ said Cato. ‘Now, we have to talk … again.’
‘We said all we had to say last time.’
‘There’s no escape now, Bannus. You must surrender. But you can do one good thing before it’s over. Spare the boy and return him to Miriam.’
‘No!’
‘What choice have you got?’ Cato pleaded. ‘We cannot let you escape again. Let him go.’
‘No. Symeon! Saddle my horse. You, Roman – the short one. Your mounts have to be nearby. Bring them here!’
‘Fetch them yourself, fuckwit,’ Macro growled.
Bannus raised his blade to Yusef ’s face and, with a deft flick, nicked his cheek. The boy yelped with pain as a thin trickle of blood coursed down his cheek and across Bannus’ forearm.
‘Next time, I’ll take one of his eyes out. Now get the horses, Roman.’
Symeon looked on in horror before he turned to Macro. ‘For pity’s sake do as he says.’
‘I am not going to let him escape,’ Macro said firmly. ‘Whatever he threatens to do to the boy. It ends here.’
‘Macro, I beg you.’ Symeon’s voice was broken with anxiety. ‘Not the boy. He’s all that Miriam has.’
Macro did not reply, and did not take his eyes off Bannus as he stood poised to strike. So it was Cato who first noticed the figures emerging from the darkness of the desert. A dozen camel riders in dark robes, quickly fanning out so that the five figures by the fire were surrounded.
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