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

by Brown, Nick

  The warrior looked at his face, then his hands. ‘Barely a mark on you. Never been caught with a blade?’

  ‘I thought that was the idea.’

  The Arabian considered this. When he started smiling, Cassius could see the dark leaf he was munching. The veteran chuckled, then returned to the tower.

  The line got under way and Cassius walked on, swallowing back the lump in his throat. He looked ahead and saw that a column of mules were now were filtering onto the main street and holding up the new arrivals. Several men – Urunike and Khalima included – were shouting at them to move.

  The line stopped again. Cursing under his breath, Cassius looked over his shoulder. The veteran had disappeared but two other guards were inspecting the strangers and seemed interested in Simo. Conscious of other eyes on him, Cassius turned back. Don’t smile. Just don’t smile.

  Indavara watched the guards circle Simo and his horse. They exchanged a few comments then stood in front of the big Gaul, glaring at him. Simo responded with a warm smile.

  The larger of the two men said something, his voice angry. Andal came forward to intervene but the guard waved him away with his spear. Indavara counted a dozen notches close to the iron head. From what he could see of the man, he suspected the Arabian had enjoyed carving every one.

  ‘Hired sword?’ asked the guard in Greek.

  Simo nodded.

  ‘Been with this lot long?’

  Simo nodded again.

  ‘Don’t say much, do you? You simple or something?’

  ‘He is actually,’ said Indavara, dropping his mount’s reins and walking forward.

  The large man inspected him, then jutted his jaw towards Simo. ‘What use is a cretin as a fighting man?’

  ‘You haven’t seen him in a fight. We’re brothers. Normally he’s as gentle as a lamb but in a scrap … well, you’d have to see it. Only fights when I tell him to. And who I tell him to.’

  The guard tapped his fingers against the spear. ‘That sounded a little like a threat.’

  Indavara shrugged. ‘Only a little.’

  The big man came up close; close enough for Indavara to smell him. ‘Best remember where you are, friend. This is Galanaq.’ He planted a big, dirty finger on the sun emblem on his tunic. ‘We’re Lord Ilaha’s guards and what we say goes. You got that?’

  Indavara forced himself to appear compliant. ‘Got it.’

  Once clear of the gate, Cassius hoped his nerves might recede, but what he saw of the rest of the town did little to ease his mind. Judging by the smell, whatever sewage system they had in place was failing to cope. All the houses and inns seemed full and dozens of warriors – bearing eight different colours at the last count – had spilled out onto the street. They leaned against walls and gathered around benches and tables, watched by scores of guards. Women and children were outnumbered ten to one and those few Cassius saw seemed as unsettled as he was by the oppressive, febrile atmosphere.

  One man lurched out of an inn, slurping from a flask and barely able to stand. A group of guards descended on him and in moments the wine had been knocked out of his hand and half a dozen kicks sent him sprawling to the ground. The guards left the drunk groaning with his face in a puddle, then barked at others from his tribe to deal with him.

  Cassius followed Adayyid as they approached the track that led left and up a slight slope to the encampment. He glanced to the right, over the low walls of the compound. In contrast to the rest of the town, this area seemed highly organised, with only local warriors visible inside. As well as the stables and the corral there was also a small archery range and some wooden posts for sword practice. Smiths could also be seen at work, one hammering something on an anvil, the other adding coal to a forge. Closer to the road, scores of warriors were stacking boxes and barrels under an awning. Also stored there were spears, shields and arrows.

  Cassius’s first few minutes in the town had already changed his view of this man Ilaha. Having previously thought of him as a more powerful version of Khalima – a tribal leader commanding desert warriors – he was now beginning to think of him as rather more like a general.

  The only available space in the encampment was close to the side of the canyon. The base of the wall was dotted with small, shadowy entrances to what Cassius guessed were tombs. The free area had been marked out with twine and sticks and was close to the rest of Uruwat’s tribe. The other Saracens looked on, each gathered with fellows bearing the same colour cloth upon their arms.

  The impression of order was reinforced by the arrival of a middle-aged man bearing the solar symbol. He welcomed Khalima then pointed along the track towards the middle of the encampment and two larger tents. Cassius understood via Mercator that these were a latrine and a food tent, both of which they were free to use.

  Cassius continued to play his role, unloading his horse like the others and resisting the temptation to approach Khalima and Adayyid, even when Urunike and the local man left.

  ‘Nice welcome,’ said Mercator as they helped the auxiliaries put up one of the tents.

  ‘This Ilaha is clearly keen to keep the other ethnarchs onside.’

  ‘But also leave them in no doubt about who is in charge,’ added the optio, nodding at the distant compound.

  ‘He has a small army here. And perhaps the other tribes are to be his auxiliaries.’

  Adayyid was proving to be as competent a performer as his father. He yelled instructions at the men, then walked up to Cassius and spoke quietly. ‘Uruwat and the other ethnarchs have been given quarters in the caverns beyond the inner gate. My father will go there shortly to pay his respects and talk to you when he returns. Until then, he suggests we keep ourselves to ourselves.’

  ‘We’ll pass it on to the men,’ said Cassius. ‘By the way, where’s this Goat Trail?’

  ‘Above the compound – you can’t see it from here. What did you say to the old warrior?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘He is best avoided.’

  ‘Isn’t he a bit old for the rough stuff?’

  ‘I wouldn’t advise testing him out. His name’s Theomestor.’

  ‘The Theomestor?’ said Mercator.

  ‘You’ve heard of him?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He has fought for Ilaha’s tribe since the older Charaz was in charge,’ explained Adayyid. ‘In his prime, he was one of the most lethal swordsmen in all Arabia.’

  Cassius let out a breath. ‘Lucky for me he has a sense of humour.’

  XXIV

  Gutha had to admit the cavern looked impressive. He hadn’t actually been there before but knew it was the largest in Galanaq, larger even than the temple. On one side of the curved roof was a shaft that admitted a square beam of sunlight. In the middle of the chamber was a circular table around which were thirteen ornately carved chairs. Surrounding these were ten tall silver candelabra. None of the candles had been lit, nor was there any food or drink – that would come later.

  Ilaha strode in, cloak flowing gaudily behind him. He placed both hands on the back of a chair and smiled. ‘Suitably grand, don’t you think? There’ll be wine brought in from Gaza, a dozen different meats, fish fresh from the coast.’

  ‘I have no doubt the ethnarchs will enjoy their meal,’ replied Gutha. ‘I just hope no stomachs are turned by what they hear afterwards.’

  Ilaha tutted. ‘You worry unnecessarily. When I have spoken they will understand that my plan is both equitable and achievable. Mother read the shadows and the offerings this morning. All the signs favour us.’

  Gutha acceded with a nod.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Ilaha, ‘why are you up here?’

  ‘I saw Reyazz. He told me the stone is being moved outside later. Are you sure that’s wise?’

  ‘Not only wise but essential.’

  ‘You will reveal it to all?’

  ‘Of course. Tonight the chiefs will be persuaded, tomorrow the men.’ Ilaha walked over to Gutha and gripped his shoulder. �
��Have faith, my friend.’

  ‘There’s something else. Two new groups arrived today. One is of no concern – Yemanek’s uncle and his men. The others are with a chief named Khalima – part of Uruwat’s tribe.’

  ‘I don’t remember the name.’

  ‘Commander Oblachus just notified me. I’ve done a little asking around and there is a certain amount of surprise that he’s here. Apparently this Khalima is rather similar to our friend Mushannaf – his interest in coin usually outweighs other considerations.’

  ‘Except perhaps loyalty to his chief. Nobody expected Uruwat to attend either but he is here and he is ready to listen. Maybe this Khalima simply wishes to be part of our great endeavour.’

  ‘Possibly. But I have ordered an inspection all the same. Ilaha, you must appreciate the possibility that in amongst all these new arrivals there might be a Roman spy.’

  Ilaha waved the suggestion away. ‘Even if Calvinus were to hear of what is happening here he would be powerless to do anything about it. I told you – our time has come.’

  ‘I have asked Oblachus to pay them a visit.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  Ilaha turned to leave but then paused. ‘One more thing, Gutha. You should really address me as Lord Ilaha from now on.’

  Cassius sat on his saddle just inside the tent, looking out at the track. Dusk was near but there was still enough light for him to see when Khalima returned from the meeting with Uruwat.

  While Simo continued to unpack around him, he switched his gaze to the formidable inner wall. When he also considered the overwhelming number of guards and other warriors present, the whole concept of retaking the black stone now seemed almost laughable. How easy it must have been for Abascantius to concoct this scheme with no concept of the realities on the ground.

  No, best to find out what they could, then slip away and make for Humeima. Galanaq’s defences were impressive, but nothing compared to the colossal walls of the Roman fortress. Cassius wished he were already behind them.

  ‘Starting to think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew?’

  Cassius had almost forgotten Ulixes was in the tent. He turned. The gambler was lying on his side, a lamp flickering in front of him, that wolfish face grinning.

  ‘Well, you’re young,’ he continued. ‘Naive. Just another puppet for old Pitface. He must have been through dozens like you over the years.’

  ‘I daresay,’ replied Cassius, doing his best to affect nonchalance.

  ‘I don’t rate normal soldiering much,’ said Ulixes. ‘But at least you know where you are. A spy never knows who he can trust, how to tell friend from foe. And the bastards in charge are just as likely to get you killed as the enemy. After a while I couldn’t take it any more.’

  ‘So you chose to become a gambler and mix with upstanding citizens such as Zaara-Kitar. Spare me the lecture, Ulixes, you are most unconvincing.’

  ‘I didn’t choose the dice. The dice chose me. And like I said before, I know how to read the odds. Aren’t looking too favourable now, are they?’

  Determined to ignore him, Cassius looked out again and saw a dozen guards marching up the track. The large, limping figure at the front seemed to be staring right at him.

  Mercator suddenly appeared outside. ‘You see them? Adayyid says that’s one of Ilaha’s commanders. Looks like he’s coming our way.’

  ‘All right, calm down.’

  ‘I’ll warn the men.’

  Cassius got up, and in his haste knocked over an unlit lantern. As Simo righted it, Ulixes chuckled.

  ‘Perhaps it’s you who needs to calm down.’

  Cassius glanced towards the wine barrel and the grain sack, which had been purposefully buried under some other baggage.

  ‘Outside,’ he said. ‘Let’s not look like we’re hiding.’

  Ulixes got up and came forward.

  ‘Sir.’ Simo nodded at the gambler.

  He was wearing a sleeveless tunic. Visible upon his upper right arm was a tattoo detailed in green ink. SPQR.

  ‘Oh, sorry. I forgot.’

  Cassius grabbed him by the collar. ‘You stupid prick. You dare betray us and I’ll—’

  Ulixes swatted his hand away. ‘You’ll what? Don’t forget I saw your performance at the spice market. Your bodyguard’s not here now. Do you really think I’m scared of you?’

  Cassius could hear the guards speaking as they approached. ‘They see that tattoo, you won’t see another sunrise.’

  ‘Possibly. Unless I have something to offer them.’

  Indavara ducked into the tent. ‘You should come outside.’

  Cassius was still looking at Ulixes. ‘Cover it.’

  The gambler picked up a sleeved tunic.

  ‘Problem?’ said Indavara.

  ‘Not any more. Everyone outside.’

  As they joined Mercator, Adayyid and the men by their newly lit fire, the commander led his men off the track. He was an imposing figure, his broad frame heavy with muscle and fat. Like the others, his tunic bore the solar symbol, yet it was of notably higher quality. The commander was bald and clean shaven but this was a face crying out for hair and a beard: not a single feature was unmarked, symmetrical or in any way appealing. He carried a gnarled stick in one hand to help him walk. Cassius reminded himself to fade into the background as the commander spoke to Adayyid in Nabatean.

  Mercator whispered a translation. ‘His name’s Oblachus, chief of guards. Wants to look around, check our gear. Adayyid told him we have nothing to hide but he’s insisting. We must stay here while they carry out the search.’

  Oblachus directed one man towards the horses, another to the supplies piled up close to the fire. The rest – some of whom were carrying lanterns – went into the tents. Oblachus limped over to the watching auxiliaries and tribesmen. He spoke to one of Khalima’s men briefly, then moved on to Mercator.

  With the chief guard occupied, Cassius looked at the tent. He could see the lanterns moving within and the guards’ backs pressing against the covers. He doubted the barrel would arouse any suspicion, and even if it did the money could be explained away. The contents of the grain sack were another matter.

  Please, Jupiter. Please.

  Oblachus continued to examine the new arrivals. He switched to Greek. ‘So where are these Syrians?’

  Cassius stepped forward, along with Indavara, Simo and Ulixes.

  ‘My grandfather was Syrian,’ said Oblachus. ‘He was a miserly prick but I’ll try not to hold it against you.’

  Like the others, Cassius manafactured a grin.

  ‘Where are you from?’ asked Oblachus, resting both hands on the top of his stick.

  Cassius continued to affect a rough Syrian accent based on one of his father’s gardeners. ‘Antioch.’

  ‘Who’d you fight for in the Palmyran war?’

  ‘Wasn’t here. We were in Thrace. We go where the work is.’

  ‘Ever fight for the Romans?’

  ‘Nah.’

  Oblachus turned his gaze upon Ulixes. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Same.’

  Oblachus nodded at Adayyid. ‘How long you been with this lot?’

  ‘Must be about a year now.’

  Cassius tried not to show his relief. Ulixes had been listening.

  Oblachus waved Indavara forward. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Imbrasus.’ Indavara didn’t have to try to affect a rough accent; Cassius imagined he’d picked it up from his fellow gladiators.

  ‘Why you carrying a Roman sword, Imbrasus?’

  ‘I could ask you the same,’ said Indavara.

  ‘Just testing. Can’t say a lot else for the arseholes but they know how to make a blade. So if you’ve been with Khalima’s lot all these months, you must have been down the Incense Road?’

  Cassius cringed. They had been over all this but Indavara wasn’t the best when it came to remembering details.

  ‘We have,’ said the bodyguard. ‘Twice.’

  ‘Tell m
e – heading south from Sa’ada, what’s the next stop?’

  ‘Er, Yathul, is it?’

  ‘It is.’ Oblachus moved on. ‘Now here’s the fat lad. My friends down at the gate told me you’re quite the swordsman. That true?’

  Cassius didn’t dare look.

  Simo was staying quiet.

  ‘You don’t look like much of a fighter to me,’ added Oblachus. ‘Draw your blade.’

  Adayyid walked over. ‘Commander, I must protest. If my father were here—’

  ‘If your father were here, he would be sensible enough to hold his tongue.’

  ‘We were invited to Galanaq by Lord Ilaha,’ continued Adayyid. ‘This interrogation is—’

  Oblachus aimed his stick at him. ‘Shut your mouth, pup, or I will shove this so far up your arse you’ll think you’re a tree.’

  Adayyid retreated. Simo was frozen to the spot, eyes wide, sweat glistening on his face.

  ‘Draw your blade,’ repeated Oblachus.

  One of the guards called out. For a horrifying moment, Cassius thought they’d emptied the grain sack, but the man came out of one of the auxiliaries’ tents. He hurried over to Oblachus and gave him a small object.

  The commander limped over to the fire and held it up. ‘Well, well. An interesting find.’

  It was a small wooden figurine; a god holding a spear.

  ‘Mars,’ said Oblachus distastefully. ‘Tell me, who has dared to enter Galanaq as a devotee of the Roman god of war?’

  Mercator had reddened with rage. Andal looked almost as angry as the optio. Yorvah was chewing the inside of his mouth.

  ‘It is mine.’

  One of the younger auxiliaries stepped forward. Khiran – an excellent rider who often volunteered to do the cooking and had struck up a friendship with Simo.

  Oblachus gave Adayyid a triumphant smirk. ‘I knew something didn’t smell right about you lot.’

  The rest of the guards had finished their search. At Oblachus’s order, they readied their weapons and gathered behind him.

  Cassius could feel Mercator’s eyes on him but he was still looking at the figurine. He decided to act quickly.

  ‘Ha.’