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

by Brown, Nick

  ‘Fair enough.’

  The legionary turned and shouted at the men. ‘You lot, get the horses. We’re off.’

  ‘At last,’ muttered one of them.

  The clerk closed the book and tidied away some papers.

  ‘One other thing,’ said the legionary. ‘Those storm clouds. When they bubble up slowly like that you’re never sure when it’s coming. Be careful tomorrow. You don’t want to be stuck out on the road when it hits.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice,’ said Cassius before ushering Mercator away from the tower. ‘Not sure we should mention this Ruwaffa business to the men.’

  ‘We only left five days ago,’ said the optio thoughtfully. ‘Time enough for the news to reach Bostra.’

  Cassius could see where this was leading.

  ‘Did you know?’

  After their conversation of the previous evening, Cassius felt it inadvisable to keep anything more from him. ‘Yes.’

  ‘By Mars.’ Mercator looked south again.

  ‘I was told to keep it—’

  ‘From me?’

  ‘From everyone.’

  ‘Almost a whole century. I’ve not heard of such an attack in all Arabia.’

  ‘We’d have more to worry about if we were in uniform.’

  Mercator didn’t seem reassured. ‘Is it connected to our mission?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘Sir, with respect, I think it’s time you told me what we’re doing here.’

  Cassius knew he had to do something to retain the optio’s confidence, even though a full disclosure of the operation was unlikely to improve his spirits. Perhaps now was the time.

  ‘Very well. I’ll tell you everything once we’re at the tower.’

  Cassius reached the top rung of the ladder and opened the trapdoor. It clattered onto the roof and he pulled himself up. Staying clear of a large, ragged hole in the timbers, he walked up to the surround. In one corner was an abandoned bird’s nest containing two shattered eggs.

  Hearing noise from below, he looked down at the men. Andal and a few others were putting horses in the shelter while the remaining animals were being watered and fed. The mules had been unloaded and roped together. Indavara was squatting next to Patch, stroking the mule’s neck. His mouth was moving.

  ‘Gods, he’s talking to it now.’

  Cassius thought of one of his uncles: a tough, taciturn farmer who lavished more care on his hunting dogs than on his wife and children.

  ‘You all right up there, sir?’ said Simo. ‘Do watch out for that hole.’

  ‘I’m watching. Ask Mercator and Ulixes to come up.’

  Ulixes arrived first, looking no happier than he had for the rest of the day. Despite the increasingly strong breeze, Cassius could smell the man. In keeping with his wolf-like face, he gave off a rather bestial odour.

  Even so, Cassius forced himself to be pleasant. ‘Find a place to bed down?’

  ‘Oh yes. Your friends left me a lovely space – right next to the door. Except there is no door.’

  ‘A man of your means is used to the most luxurious inns, I suppose?’

  ‘I’ve had a bad run is all. Thought I’d be heading north with heavy pockets, not holed up in this shithole with a bunch of second-rate soldiers.’

  ‘Watch your mouth.’

  Mercator climbed up and did a circuit of the roof.

  Cassius walked over to the trapdoor. ‘Simo, anyone else on that floor with you?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Cassius retreated to a solid-looking section of wall and leaned back against it. ‘Have you heard of the Black Stone of Emesa?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the optio.

  ‘Several weeks ago it was stolen. The Emperor wants it back. We have good reason to believe it’s being kept at or near the town of Galanaq. Ulixes is going to guide us there.’

  ‘Who has it?’

  ‘We’re not sure.’

  ‘Any ideas why they took it?’

  ‘Presumably for worship. There is some talk of a religious sect in the town.’

  Mercator turned to the gambler. ‘You know the way?’

  Ulixes pointed south. ‘Tomorrow we cross the Wadi Rum, continue down the Incense Road then turn west into the mountains.’

  ‘I heard you’re an ex-legionary,’ said Mercator. ‘Why’d you leave the army?’

  ‘None of your business. And by the way, I’d rather be an ex-legionary than a serving auxiliary.’

  Cassius was about to intervene but Mercator didn’t rise to the bait. ‘How come you know this area?’

  ‘I know every mile of this province.’

  ‘Our horses are going to get through a lot of water out here. We’ve no more than three or four days’ worth.’

  ‘There’s enough water in those mountains for a legion. You’ve just got to know where to look. Any half-decent soldier should know that – especially an Arabian.’

  Mercator took a step towards him.

  ‘Perhaps you would excuse us, Ulixes,’ said Cassius, gesturing towards the ladder.

  With a sly grin for Mercator, the gambler climbed down. Cassius shut the trapdoor behind him.

  ‘You sure you want to put our lives in his hands?’ asked the optio.

  ‘Once we locate the stone I’ll cut him loose.’

  ‘Isn’t it quite large?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘How are we going to move it?’

  ‘We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it. We’ve got to find the bloody thing first. Listen, you can tell Yorvah and Andal where we’re going if you wish, but nothing about the stone. There’s no need yet.’

  ‘Understood.’

  Mercator looked over the surround. ‘Indavara really likes that mule.’

  ‘What can I tell you? Similar level of intellect.’

  Cassius sat on a blanket in one corner, his thickest cloak wrapped around him. Judging by the way the wind seemed to blow straight through the tower, he doubted there was much cement left in the walls. On the floor next to him, a little clay oil lamp flickered. He had been checking the map but it was now virtually useless. Only two towns in the area were marked – Hegra and Ruwaffa.

  Planks squeaked above as the rooftop sentry paced around, presumably trying to keep himself warm. Cassius had considered attempting to sleep but the auxiliaries on the ground floor were making too much noise. Several were to bed down on the first floor with him, Mercator, Indavara and Simo but for now they were all gathered below playing dice. From the sounds of it, Ulixes was teaching them some new game.

  Cassius might have used the spare time to offer a prayer to Jupiter but Simo and Indavara were sitting only a few yards away, on either side of another lamp. The Gaul had a needle and thread out and was attending to a split hem on Cassius’s sleeping tunic. Indavara was cleaning out the interior of his scabbard. The pair were sharing almonds from a bowl and discussing Patch; they were worried how he would fare during the cold night.

  Sometimes Cassius envied them their easy way with each other. They were usually both involved in some sort of practical labour and since Simo had largely given up trying to indoctrinate Indavara with his Christian teachings, they always seemed happy in each other’s company.

  ‘Almond, sir?’ asked Simo.

  ‘No, no. I’m fine.’

  ‘A snack before bed, perhaps?’

  ‘I said I’m fine, Simo.’

  As the attendant went back to his sewing, someone gave a great shout from below. The other men laughed.

  ‘How’s Indavara’s riding?’ asked Cassius. ‘I don’t see much with you two behind me all day.’

  ‘Better, sir, I think.’

  ‘Good.’ Cassius looked at Indavara. ‘Though your galloping still leaves a lot to be desired. You were lucky not to come off when you went to help Usrana.’

  ‘Still waiting for more lessons.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Well, could be worse – at least you don’t have to learn on a camel.’


  ‘Strange creatures,’ said Indavara. ‘Very strange.’

  ‘But useful at times, eh, Simo?’

  ‘Oh. Yes, sir.’

  ‘What?’ said Indavara.

  ‘Long story.’

  More shouts and laughter from below.

  ‘I think I’ll go and see what all the excitement’s about.’ Cassius took off the cloak and started down the steep wooden staircase, mug of wine in hand.

  Mercator was sitting at the bottom. He was about to make way but Cassius motioned for him to stay put and sat a few steps above him. Most of the men were sitting in a loose circle on the floor. In one corner was the only item of furniture: an old bed, which the veteran Andal had commandeered.

  Ulixes seemed to be enjoying himself. Cassius knew he wouldn’t have had much change left over from what he’d been allocated in Petra but he seemed to have turned it into quite a pile of sesterces.

  One of the other gamblers shook his head. ‘I don’t like this game.’

  ‘I think it’s good,’ said another.

  Cassius watched the game progress and saw that the men were playing not with six-sided dice but ‘knucklebones’ – oblongs with rounded ends and four sides showing one, three, four and six. The players first took turns to throw three knucklebones. Whoever rolled the lowest total had to put two sesterces in the middle. The players then completed a second round of rolls. Whoever got the highest took the money.

  As the game continued, so did Ulixes’s good luck. Many of his morose competitors were obviously running out of funds. After only three more rounds, he scooped up his coins.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked one of the men. Cassius knew every name now: this was Apollinaris, a tall, long-limbed fellow who’d seen a lot of action in the Palmyran war.

  ‘Going to bed.’

  Apollinaris had only a few coins left. ‘You’ve got to give us a chance to win some back.’

  ‘Who says? We did rules at the start – no one mentioned time or number of rounds.’

  ‘The luck’s all gone with you, it’ll swing back later.’

  ‘Probably. Which is why I’m finishing now.’

  As Ulixes stood up, Mercator weighed in. ‘The men usually play for longer. You’ve taken quite a bit off them – perhaps you can put in for the next round.’

  ‘Perhaps you should mind your own business.’

  The usually cheerful Yorvah eyeballed the ex-legionary. ‘And you should mind your manners.’

  ‘Enjoy the rest of the game.’ Carrying the coins in two hands, Ulixes picked his way through the men towards his bed. Apollinaris was about to follow but Yorvah put a hand on the taller man’s arm. Apollinaris reluctantly stayed where he was but he and the other auxiliaries turned towards Mercator.

  The stocky optio stood. ‘Ulixes. How much have you got there?’

  The ex-legionary rolled his eyes, then looked at the coins. ‘I don’t know – forty-five, fifty.’

  ‘Put ten in for the next round.’

  ‘Ten?’

  ‘Or I can come over and take them.’

  Cassius felt eyes on him but he kept his expression neutral. He’d seen enough to know Mercator was a capable leader and he wasn’t about to intervene and undermine him now. The gambler was probably entitled to his winnings but he’d been stupid to annoy the men and Cassius certainly wasn’t going to stand up for him.

  Ulixes glared at the optio. ‘You think because I don’t have a sword I won’t defend myself?’ He pulled a money bag from his pack and dropped the coins into it.

  ‘I don’t need a sword to deal with you,’ said Mercator calmly.

  Ulixes glanced up at Cassius. ‘You should tell your auxiliary friend to calm down. Fair’s fair.’

  Cassius sipped at his wine.

  Mercator hadn’t taken his eyes off Ulixes. ‘Ten for the next round. Or you and I can settle it outside.’

  Grinning, Ulixes looked around the room. ‘You know, the truth is I just wanted to get out while I was ahead. It’s a weakness of mine – staying in too long.’

  He reached into the bag, counted out some coins, then offered them to Yorvah.

  ‘There’s fifteen there – in the interests of maintaining good relations with you noble auxiliaries.’

  Mercator sat back down on the step.

  Once the game was under way again, Cassius returned upstairs.

  XVII

  Gutha was concerned. When Ilaha had summoned him the previous night he had been dressed in his priestly robes, having just concluded some ceremony involving the stone. He seemed troubled and distracted. The old crone had been there too, of course, lurking in the shadows, listening in.

  But she was now absent and Ilaha looked his old, commanding self as he swept into the cavern. Gutha was relieved to see he had followed his advice – he was wearing a plain tunic and was armed with his sword.

  ‘Mushannaf. It has been too long.’

  The older man and his two sons stood and the chiefs exchanged a slight bow. In contrast to his host, Mushannaf was wearing a rich blue cloak striped with green thread. The fingers of his left hand were weighed down with several bulky gold rings. His right hand was bare, the arm thin; he had suffered a stroke years earlier and was weak on that side. He kept his hair dyed black, as if to compensate by suggesting a youthful vigour.

  ‘Ilaha. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to call you these days?’

  ‘If you don’t mind. Please, sit, we have much to discuss. Can I offer you anything more?’

  The table was covered with a remarkable array of food and drink, none of which had been touched.

  ‘No, but we thank you for your hospitality.’

  The sons sat down on either side of their father.

  Gutha – standing a few yards away by the wall – had let them keep their swords. He didn’t want to cause offence and knew it wouldn’t make much difference if things turned nasty. Both sons were known for an indulgent lifestyle funded by their father’s wealth. Neither was a swordsman of renown.

  Ilaha sat at the other end of the table. ‘How was your journey?’

  ‘Annoying,’ said Mushannaf as he dragged his weak arm onto his lap. ‘I intended to continue south and check my caravans coming up from Thoma. I have lost three days coming here.’

  ‘The gesture is appreciated.’

  ‘I came out of respect for your past achievements. We fought together and we fought well. As equals. The Tanukh has always been a loose alliance – we chiefs work together when it suits us. It was never intended to provide an army for one man.’

  ‘Mushannaf, let me be clear: however the situation develops, you will retain complete control of your trade interests and tactical command of your warriors.’

  ‘“However the situation develops”. That sounds disturbingly vague. Do you expect me to blindly pledge myself to your cause? Risk my treasure, my blood?’

  Ilaha held up both hands. ‘You need wait only a matter of days to hear my proposal. I simply need to know that you will be here with the others – that the Confederation will meet as one.’

  ‘Your request seems reasonable but your actions do not. This senseless attack on Ruwaffa – your work, I presume? Or more likely his?’

  With his good hand Mushannaf gestured towards Gutha, who did not react. It would be better for all concerned if Ilaha could win the obstinate chief round, though that was looking increasingly unlikely.

  ‘You mentioned your treasure,’ said Ilaha. ‘Is it right that a quarter of all your profits should go to Bostra, and from there to Rome?’

  ‘It has always been this way.’

  ‘Not always. They exploit us and our trade only because we haven’t the backbone to stand up to them. And what do we get in return? Our lands pillaged by the Palmyrans, occupied for almost two years. And now they’ve allowed them to rebel again.’

  ‘If you expect me to defend Roman policy, you are talking to the wrong man. But I am a realist. This Aurelian is a soldier. He will deal with the Palmyrans and
the Egyptians and if we take up arms against him he will deal with us.’

  ‘You fought with me, Mushannaf. You know that I would never be stupid enough to be drawn into an engagement with the legions. But now is the time to push for a stronger position. I have a way for us to secure our own lands in perpetuity and exist as equals, not lackeys.’

  Gutha was beginning to think Ilaha might be making progress. It was a while since he’d heard him speak with such clarity and force.

  ‘You are talking about betraying Calvinus,’ replied Mushannaf. ‘I have no great affinity for the man but at least he respects us and our ways.’

  ‘So your loyalty lies with him, not your own people?’

  Mushannaf raised his voice. ‘My loyalty is to my own people. My own tribe. And I will act – as I have always acted – in their best interest.’

  Ilaha was silent for a moment.

  ‘There cannot be one leader,’ added the older man. ‘Or one god.’

  ‘Choose your next words wisely, Mushannaf.’

  ‘It appears we will have to agree to disagree. Pursue this course if you will, but you will do so without me and without my men.’

  Mushannaf had his good hand on the side of his chair, ready to get up.

  ‘A final offer,’ said Ilaha.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘A thousand golds.’

  ‘A considerable sum. But I am not for sale.’

  Gutha strode over to their end of the table. Mushannaf and his sons looked at him, then at the huge axe hanging from his shoulder. Gutha tapped the handle as he spoke for the first time. ‘With respect, I suggest you reconsider.’

  ‘I suggest you stay out of it, northerner.’

  Mushannaf stood. The sons were already on their way up when Gutha reached inside his tunic and threw a little leather bag onto the table.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked the chief.

  ‘Open it and find out,’ said Gutha.

  Ilaha watched dispassionately as Mushannaf untied the top of the bag and turned it over. A lock of dark brown hair fell onto the table. He picked it up and examined it.

  ‘Father?’ said one of the sons.

  ‘Ellari,’ breathed Mushannaf.

  Gutha took another step towards him. ‘I hear she’s quite a beauty, your new wife.’