The Black Stone: Agent of Rome 4 (The Agent of Rome)

by Brown, Nick

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Maps

  Prologue

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Chapter XXV

  Chapter XXVI

  Chapter XXVII

  Chapter XXVIII

  Chapter XXIX

  Chapter XXX

  Chapter XXXI

  Chapter XXXII

  Chapter XXXIII

  Chapter XXXIV

  Chapter XXXV

  Chapter XXXVI

  Chapter XXXVII

  Epilogue

  Historical Note

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Nick Brown grew up in Norfolk and later studied history at the University of Sussex. In 2000 he embarked on a PGCE course at the University of Exeter and began a career as a teacher of humanities and English. Having taught in England and Poland, he has recently returned to his home town, Norwich.

  The Agent of Rome series

  The Siege

  The Imperial Banner

  The Far Shore

  The Black Stone

  AGENT OF ROME: THE BLACK STONE

  Nick Brown

  www.hodder.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2014 by

  Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © Nick Brown 2014

  The right of Nick Brown to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978 1 444 77913 4

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.hodder.co.uk

  Dla mojej kochanej Mileny

  TIME

  The Romans divided day and night into twelve hours each, so the length of an hour varied according to the time of year.

  The seventh hour of the day always began at midday.

  MONEY

  Four sesterces (a coin made of brass) were worth one denarius.

  Twenty-five denarii (a coin made partially of silver) were worth one aureus (partially gold).

  March AD 273

  Ursus took his mug from the bedside table and turned back towards the girl. Like him she was naked, lying on her front, feet atop the bunched-up blankets. She was sleeping now, head resting on her crossed arms, sleek black hair splayed between her shoulder blades. Sipping the honey-sweetened wine, Ursus surveyed her body and allowed himself a triumphant grin: as shapely a back as he’d seen; narrow waist; pale, inviting buttocks; and legs slender and shapely enough to drive a sculptor to distraction.

  He’d spotted her a few days ago, several weeks into the posting at the temple and long after the more forward of the men had taken up with the more forward of the local girls. Such arrangements were as old as the hills; in return for a few coins every month, they would offer their favours plus the odd bit of sewing and the occasional home-cooked meal.

  Ursus was pretty sure none of the legionaries had been near this one, though. The younger men were too interested in powdered faces and low-cut tunics to bother with her. But he’d been around long enough to take his time, seek out a nice girl who hid her assets well and wouldn’t cause him any trouble.

  Even so, he’d taken the precaution of bringing her to his quarters only after dark (the men had been told to keep their dalliances completely away from the barracks). It was best all round if the priests didn’t find out. Holy men could be funny about that sort of thing and he didn’t want any trouble when the tribune next visited. In fact, he didn’t want any trouble full stop. Army postings didn’t come much better than this one.

  The candle on the other side of the bed flickered, casting watery light over the girl’s skin. Ursus commended himself once more; he really had outdone himself this time. Who else would have noted the statuesque curves beneath the dull, shapeless clothing? He moved down the bed and ran his tongue over her hip, then sucked at the soft, yielding flesh of her bottom.

  She gave a little moan then opened her eyes and turned over. ‘Is there more wine?’

  He passed her the mug and continued kissing: her side, her belly, then up between her breasts to her throat. Giggling, she stretched over him and put the mug down.

  Ursus lay back and let out a long breath. ‘So was I right? Did you enjoy yourself?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. Yes I did.’

  ‘Tertius, please.’

  ‘Tertius.’

  She hissed the second syllable and ran her fingers through the thick hair upon his chest. He hoped she wouldn’t notice the few grey ones that had appeared in recent years.

  ‘Tertius.’ She caressed the bunched muscles of his left shoulder.

  Staring up at the shadowy ceiling, Ursus reminded himself to give her some of that herb concoction he’d bought in Gerasa. The officers there had sworn by it, told him it never failed. The last thing he needed was a girl with child.

  She lay back and nestled against him. Ursus checked the hourglass by the candle but then remembered he hadn’t turned it since she’d arrived. Judging by the impenetrable dark beyond the window and the lack of noise coming from the barracks, it was late. Agorix would have come to tell him if any of the men were causing trouble but it was a relief to know they were asleep. Most would be drunk, of course – that was to be expected on the last night of the Festival of Mars – but they would still have to be up early, ready to take over from the unfortunates currently on duty.

  All Ursus could hear was the girl breathing. He thought about putting his hands on her again, getting her wet for a second bout, but he too had downed a jug or more and he couldn’t leave everything to Agorix the next day. Better to sleep and be up in time to get her safely away unseen. He’d make sure she didn’t leave without some of the concoction, of course. Couldn’t forget that.

  Settling into his pillow, he flicked the blanket up over his feet and closed his eyes. He knew he’d sleep well anyway but routines were routines and this one rarely failed him.

  Ten squads to a century, six centuries to a cohort, ten cohorts to a legion, ten squads to a century, six centuries to a cohort, ten …

  He awoke, shivering.

  ‘A call to the temple?’ the girl mumbled. ‘Now?’

  The ringing of the bell was frantic and at a higher pitch than the one used by the priests. Ursus ha
zily remembered it had been his idea – to be used only in an emergency. And now someone was ringing it in the dead of night.

  ‘Blood of the gods.’

  He half-clambered, half-fell out of the bed. Finding himself sitting naked on the chilly floor, he grabbed one of his boots and pulled it on. ‘There’s a lantern below the window. Light it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Light it! Use the candle.’

  Ursus put the second boot on and made sure he tied the laces well. The girl was up but stumbling around.

  ‘Use the candle,’ he repeated. ‘Lantern’s on the floor below the window.’

  He snatched his tunic from the hook closest to his bed and pulled it on over his head. The bell was still ringing. And was that shouting in the distance? On the second hook was his belt. Once he’d buckled it, he turned; the girl had the lantern’s shutter open and was now lighting it. On the third hook was his sword belt. He grabbed it and threw it over his shoulder. He hurried around the bed and the girl handed him the lantern. ‘What is it? What’s going on?’

  He ran back across the room and wrenched the door open. ‘Stay here.’

  He stepped outside and pulled the door shut. Despite the clanging of the bell, the parade ground was empty, the only light provided by the torches mounted at each corner. He turned to his left and gazed past the barracks. The army post was separated from the temple by two hundred yards of path surrounded by woodland. He saw dots of light – torches on the move. He heard more shouts, then a man scream.

  Lantern held out in front of him, Ursus ran into the barracks and along the central corridor. ‘Get up! Boots and swords!’

  There was no time for anything else; he just had to get to the temple with as many legionaries as he could muster. ‘Get up! Boots and swords! Every last man. Up!’

  He darted into the closest room, which stank of bodies and wine. All eight beds were occupied but only one soldier had made it onto his feet. Naked but for a loincloth, he winced at the light.

  ‘Get your weapon, man!’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied the legionary, staggering towards the equipment rack by the door.

  Ursus reached for the closest man still in his bed and bodily dragged him out onto the floor. ‘Get dressed. Get your weapon!’

  The still-drunk legionary grunted something but Ursus was already back outside and pounding along the corridor again. ‘Get up! Every man! Up!’

  A few of the soldiers were out of their rooms and awaiting orders. A slight figure pushed between two of them and approached Ursus. ‘Centurion.’

  The soft Gaulish accent of Agorix, the younger and more able of the two guard officers.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Sounds of battle from the temple, sir. We’re under attack.’

  ‘Get them up, get them outside.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Ursus ran on, bellowing as he passed the remaining rooms, half a dozen men now behind him. In the last doorway on the right, one soldier was struggling with the straps of his segmented armour.

  ‘Forget that.’ Ursus pulled him into the corridor.

  Just as he exited the barracks, a figure came bolting along the path. Ursus was about to draw his sword when the man tripped and fell in front of him. He was clad in long robes, his hair cut in a childish fringe. The young priest cried out as Ursus grabbed him.

  ‘You – what’s going on?’

  The priest shook under the centurion’s grip.

  ‘Speak!’

  The youth uttered a garbled stream of Aramaic. Ursus didn’t understand a word. He let go and moved away from the barracks door to let the others out.

  ‘Sir, what’s happening?’ someone asked. Ursus ignored him; he was counting the men as they filed out. Eight were armed and ready to move and a couple had even found time to strap on their helmets. A ninth came through the door and instantly dropped down to tie his boots. Ursus slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Wait here. Tell Agorix to bring the rest and meet me at the temple end of the path.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You others, follow me.’

  Ursus tightened his belt two notches and set off, the men behind him. At his insistence, torches had been put in at sixty-foot intervals: each stuffed with branches and covered in enough goatskin and oil to keep them burning for hours.

  The bell had stopped and there were no more shouts. Cencius (his second guard officer) was on duty with twenty men. Could they really have been taken out so quickly? Were the raiders already inside? Had to be a large, well-organised force.

  As Ursus passed the fifth torch, one of the legionaries cried out.

  ‘Sir, look there!’

  A man – a man running towards them – flashed past the next torch and was then swallowed up by the dark once more. Ursus slowed. He could hear quick steps, panting breaths.

  ‘Draw!’

  He gripped his sword hilt tight and eased it out of the scabbard. The legionaries came up on either side of him, blocking the path.

  The man spoke. ‘The Pillars—’

  Ursus completed the password: ‘—of Hercules. Who’s there?’

  The soldier ran up to him, sword in hand, face wet with sweat beneath his helmet. Ursus knew him well: Bradua, a decorated veteran of the Palmyran campaign – not a man to run from a fight without good reason. ‘Sir, they’re in the temple. By the time I got there, they’d already surrounded the place. There are scores of them.’

  ‘Cencius?’

  Bradua rubbed his eyes. ‘Didn’t see him. Lot of men down, sir.’

  Agorix had caught up; accompanied by another small group.

  ‘Everyone follow me.’

  Ursus ran on once more. Past the seventh torch, then the eighth. As the trees thinned out, he could see the vast, angular bulk of the temple over to the left. Torches flickered close to the great columns, sparking off armour and blades. More lights were scattered across the courtyard and by the main gate. Ursus could hear whinnying horses and hooves on stone.

  He shuttered the lantern and slowed to a walk. ‘Quiet.’

  Approaching the tenth and last torch he moved to the left side of the path, well away from the light. All he heard from his legionaries was their boots scuffing the ground as they narrowed into a line behind him. Just as he reached the low wall that surrounded the temple complex, a shout rang out and the torches closest to the building began to move away. Ursus crouched behind the wall, Agorix beside him. They were close enough to hear voices now.

  ‘What language is that?’asked the guard officer.

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Palmyrans?’

  ‘No idea. But the bastards know what they’re doing. Covert approach, quick … and attacking during the festival – they knew we’d be a mess.’

  ‘I count thirty torches, sir. Even if only every other man has one, that’s sixty.’

  Bradua dropped down close to them. ‘Sir, I saw a cart. Big, reinforced thing – like we’d carry artillery loads in.’

  ‘Just one?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Having gathered in the middle of the courtyard, the raiders now began to move right, towards the gate.

  ‘How?’ said Agorix. ‘How could they have got in and out already?’

  ‘Because they knew what they wanted and they left the rest,’ said Ursus. ‘They’ve got the rock.’

  Hearing a sudden rush of movement, he and the others shot to their feet as a figure burst out of the darkness. The man ran straight into the wall and fell over it, landing in the midst of the legionaries.

  ‘Is that Bolanus?’ someone asked.

  The soldier was writhing around on the ground, clawing at his face. The side of his helmet had been split by a blade and the same blow had carved a line across his face. Blood welled between his fingers and his mouth puckered like a landed fish.

  ‘Jupiter save him,’ said one of the men as two others knelt down and tried to hold the stricken soldier still.

  Agorix was gazing at the courty
ard. ‘They’re on horseback, sir. ‘We’ve only half a dozen mounts, none of them ready.’

  ‘They’ll stay with the cart,’ reasoned Ursus. ‘The cart will be slow.’

  The other men closed in around him, listening in.

  ‘The road curves around that old guard tower at the edge of the wood. We can cut through the trees and get ahead of them.’

  From the temple came a long, piercing wail, then another and another. It was the priests, mourning the loss of the sacred object they had pledged their lives to.

  Ursus watched the last of the torches pass beneath the arch of the gate.

  ‘Sir, we’re badly outnumbered,’ said one of the soldiers. ‘Is it really worth it for some lump of—’

  Though he saw the punch coming, the legionary was unable to avoid it and Ursus’s fist struck his jaw with a dull crack. Fortunately, the centurion had no intention of doing any real damage. ‘You can lead the way, Maro.’

  Maro pressed his hand against his jaw but took the lantern offered to him.

  ‘Turn left after the closest light, then head south-east towards the road. Go!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Maro ran back down the track.

  ‘Agorix, you go last. Put the torch out and take it with you.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Ursus did a quick head count as the men departed. Eighteen, including the two trying to help Bolanus.

  ‘Leave him.’

  Unlike Maro, the legionaries knew better than to argue.

  Ursus knelt beside Bolanus, who was lying on his side, head at rest in an ever-expanding puddle of blood. He was still now, and with each breath came an agonised whimper. Ursus put a hand on his shoulder. Bolanus was a local lad; he’d put in a leave request a few days ago – asking for two weeks off to help his mother on the family farm. Ursus turned him onto his back and stood. He took a moment to aim, then slashed downward with his sword, cutting the young legionary’s throat.

  ‘Gods forgive me.’

  It didn’t take him long to catch up with the men but once in the trees, the going became difficult. Low, dense bushes carpeted the ground and – with the canopy blocking out most of the moonlight – they had only the lantern to guide them. Keeping his steps high, Ursus powered past Agorix and the others, urging them on. ‘Stay close together. Pick up your feet.’