Legionary: Land of the Sacred Fire

by Gordon Doherty

  ‘It seems we have a comrade in the chamber above. Pavo.’

  ‘Aye?’ Zosimus thoughts swirled.

  ‘Aye, and he and Sura have been passing messages up and down since yesterday. They’re planning how they could use the pulley to escape,’ he tapped a finger to the smaller scribblings and drawings around the base of the skin.

  Zosimus frowned. ‘But you’ve heard what happens to those who try to escape that way.’

  ‘Aye,’ Quadratus nodded over to the main shaft and the solitary figure of Sura, monitoring the baskets as usual. ‘And Sura reckons that they are more thorough than ever at it – they spear down through every basket, or so he has heard, and at the slightest abnormality they will stop the pulley and all the guards up there on the surface will cluster round it, eager to bloody their blades.’

  Felix frowned. ‘Sura’s always been something of a demented bastard, but this caps it all. How does that constitute a plan?’

  ‘Ah, that’s where it gets interesting, sir. You see, perhaps the guards are a bit too keen to keep an eye on the pulley.’ Quadratus’ face split into a broad grin. The sight after so long in this place brought matching grins from Zosimus and Felix. ‘But before I tell you the details,’ he thrust out the water skin, ‘drink this.’

  Khaled looked up through the main shaft, the tiny disc of daylight sparkling in his eyes. ‘Ahura Mazda wills that today will either be the finest of days, when I will be freed and reunited with my family . . . or the darkest hour, when Ahriman will cast my soul forever in the shade.’

  Pavo looked up with him, then glanced down to see the endless train of salt-filled baskets emerging from the darkness, rising past him and on up to the world of the living. He saw one with three notches hacked into the edge – the signal from Sura. ‘It’s time,’ he said.

  ‘This will work, aye?’ Bashu hissed beside them. The man was nervous, his eyes darting. ‘I must have my freedom from this place.’

  ‘Relax,’ Khaled rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘We must be at ease or our ploy will never work.’

  The three lifted empty baskets and turned from the main shaft. Nausea swam in Pavo’s gut; the consequences should they be caught did not bear thinking about. Then again, he mused, neither did the prospect of remaining down here forever. He steeled himself and looked up to the shadowy alcove halfway up the cavern wall. It was a few hours into Pavo’s shift and there, as always, Gorzam stood in the darkness, talking with another guard, supping at his drink. The pair were barely visible, and that was key.

  Pavo, Khaled and Bashu walked past guard after guard, their eyes trained on the ground before them as if heading back to the entrance to the cramped tunnel. But, at the last, they turned away from this, instead stepping onto the rising rocky path that clung to the cavern-side and led up to the alcove. The path was littered with slaves working at the sheer crystal face. They edged up this narrow walkway, pretending to discuss where to work. All the time, Pavo fired stealthy glances around the cavern floor. Not one guard was looking this way. They edged closer to the alcove until they could hear Gorzam’s conversation and see his outline, back turned, draining his cup. The giant’s words sounded slurred, as did those of his comrade. Then Gorzam rubbed at his temples and slumped back against the alcove wall, sliding down to sit. They watched as the pair muttered, then became monosyllabic. Finally, they fell silent, heads lolling.

  Pavo clenched a fist in victory. Thank you for the inspiration, Yabet, he thought, dryly.

  He turned to the two with him. ‘You did it!’ he whispered to Bashu.

  Bashu’s silver eyes glinted in the gloom. ‘Only just. They let down those water skins unattended for but moments. Then,’ he grinned, his handsome features creasing as he held up the empty poppy seed purse, ‘I saw to it that they’d have a healthier dose than usual.’

  Khaled fought to contain a chuckle. ‘They will be sleeping this off for some time.’

  ‘But we must move swiftly,’ Pavo added.

  He, Bashu and Khaled crawled into the alcove. They stripped Gorzam and the other guard of their baked leather helms, cuirasses, face-veils, spears and whips and dressed in the guard armour. Khaled took Gorzam’s things as they were a better fit for his broad shoulders while Pavo took the other guard’s armour. As the pair wrapped the veils across their faces, Pavo saw one thing remaining on Gorzam – the phalera. He knelt to snatch it away, feeling a pang of sadness as he did so. If they were to escape today then this suffocating hole in the ground was as close as he would come to Father’s memory – only nightmares and thoughts of what might have been would be his lot from now on.

  ‘Come on,’ Khaled shook his shoulder.

  The pair turned to descend the rocky path onto the cavern floor. They marched Bashu at spearpoint, as if taking him to a new part of the mine. They went unchallenged for some time, but Pavo’s mouth dried and his gut churned, just like the pre-battle nerves. All that was visible was their eyes – but a man’s eyes could betray him even at the best of times. He resisted glancing at Khaled – any hint of nerves would be a dead giveaway. Then he noticed another pair of guards approaching. They appeared to be frowning, looking them over. Pavo tensed his grip on the spear and pretended to poke at Bashu’s back. They passed the two guards, then a jagged cry from the pair halted them.

  ‘Where are you going?’ the voice growled in Parsi, behind them.

  Pavo slowed and stopped, the blood pounding in his ears. This was it. The plan was surely ruined. He grappled his spear and readied to turn and face the pair. Now he had no option but to fight. He turned to see one of the guards scowling, whip raised. But the man’s eyes were trained over Pavo’s shoulder, to a clutch of slaves behind him. The guard lashed his whip down, then beckoned his comrade with him in stomping over to deal with the slaves.

  ‘Time to spill some blood, eh?’ the whip-wielder cackled to Pavo on the way past.

  Pavo struggled to disguise his relief.

  ‘I think it is prudent that the guard tunics are brown, do you not?’ Khaled remarked through his face veil, deadpan.

  They set off again and stopped by the main shaft near the pulley, looking around the cavern and snatching furtive glances to the rising salt baskets. Finally, one rose that seemed to sway on the ropes a little more than the others, as if it carried something other than salt. Pavo gripped Khaled’s shoulder in anticipation.

  They watched as the basket rose past them, the slumbering form of an unconscious guard curled up inside it, a bright red lump and a flowering bruise on the back of his head. He and Khaled shared an almost disbelieving glance. ‘Your Roman friends, they did it!’ Bashu whispered through taut lips.

  ‘Aye, now we must do our part,’ Pavo nodded to the ladders that led up through the main shaft. They hurried over and Pavo went first, hooking his hands and feet over rung after rung. When he reached the top, he gingerly poked his head up and glanced around. This third chamber was much taller than the fourth, and had been stripped of most of its salt crystal. The ladder leading up to the second chamber was a good fifty feet away, around the mouth of the main shaft and past a forest of dark rock pillars. He looked this way and that to see that only a few guards were nearby and none were looking at them. He climbed up and onto the floor of the third chamber, then flitted through the forest of stone columns to the next ladder. He scuttled up this ladder, all the time keeping his eye on the swinging basket, being sure not to ascend faster than it. When he reached the second chamber, he glanced down to see Khaled and, some thirty feet down and climbing, four more forms in guard armour. Sura, Quadratus, Zosimus, Felix!

  He looked up to see the disc of daylight. It was now so much bigger – almost blinding. His heart raced. The sweet prospect of freedom danced in his heart. Shielding his eyes, he saw the swinging basket ascend, nearly at the top of the pulley. He hurried to climb the ladder into the first chamber. Up here, he could feel a change in the air. It felt clean, it carried scents he had almost forgotten – just the faintest hint of shrub and
bloom. Freedom was only feet away. He eyed the last ladder, and saw the outline of four spear-wielding guards in the daylight, perched at its top. When the body was discovered on the pulley, they would rush to the scene. They had to. The plan hinged on this.

  The swinging basket disappeared into the disc of light and Pavo waited. Khaled arrived beside him, Bashu close behind. ‘God of the Light, let this happen!’ he panted, craning his neck to the light above.

  Then he heard the wheezing gasps of his comrades. He turned to them and longed to embrace each of them. The stolen guard armour they each wore disguised them well, betraying just their eyes. He noticed there were a few men missing. ‘Noster and Habitus?’

  ‘Still down there,’ Quadratus replied gravely. ‘Either they couldn’t take the guards or they were locked in their cells.’

  Zosimus was last up the ladder. He clasped a hand to Pavo’s shoulder with a glint in his weary eyes. ‘Good to see you, Optio. You haven’t found any scrolls lying around in this place, have you?’

  Khaled frowned at this and opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘Never mind that,’ Sura gasped, looking up. ‘Have they spotted the unconscious guard yet?’

  Pavo raised a finger to silence his friend. At that moment, the pulley slowed. A voice above cried out some jagged Persian curse. Other voices up there echoed the cry. ‘I’d say they have now,’ he replied, struggling to contain the tremor in his voice. Up above, the dull shapes of the guards around the ladder disappeared one by one, rushing over to the pulley system.

  ‘This is it,’ Pavo whispered, resting one hand on a rung of this final ladder, ‘when that last guard goes too . . . ’

  His words faded as a scraping of timber on rock sounded. The rung was pulled from his grasp as the last guard hoisted the ladder up and onto the ground above. Only then did the last guard leave his post to go to the pulley system. The forty feet from the floor of the first chamber to the surface above seemed like miles.

  ‘Mithras, no!’ Zosimus gasped.

  Pavo felt all the hope in his heart dissolve. But fear quickly replaced it as shouts of alarm rang out all around the chambers below. He turned to his comrades. ‘We’ve got to go back,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Quadratus gasped. ‘Are you bloody mad? Let’s wait for the ladder to come back down and we can rush them. Freedom is right there!’

  ‘Pavo’s right,’ Felix gasped. ‘They won’t drop that ladder back down anytime soon and there’s nowhere for us to hide in this chamber. They’ll search this place high and low until they find out who knocked out that guard,’ he jabbed a finger up to the basket at the top of the pulley, then nodded downwards, ‘and the others.’

  ‘Then we must be quick about it,’ Khaled said. Already, the guards in this first chamber were whipping at the slaves, driving them back from the salt face and into clusters where they could be counted.

  Pavo was last to descend the ladders back through the levels. They hurried down until they reached the third level, then flitted through the forest of stone pillars to the next ladder. They halted only when a guard leading eight colleagues barked to them. ‘Where are you taking this one?’ he flicked his head at Bashu, who was acting the cowering prisoner well.

  The guard stared at Pavo in search of an answer. Pavo mustered the few words of Parsi Khaled had taught him. ‘Down, to the next chamber.’

  The guard cocked his head to one side. ‘Did you not hear the order? No movement between chambers until further notice.’

  Pavo hesitated. The guard snatched on his indecision, his gaze narrowing on seeing the dark rings they all wore around their eyes, then noticing that some of them wore no boots. ‘Who are you?’ he said, levelling his spear and motioning for those with him to do likewise. Nestled amongst these stone pillars they were obscured from the rest of the cavern, and the guard seemed nervous. ‘Remove your veils!’

  ‘What is this, comrade?’ Khaled said in a light-hearted tone, his hands extended by his sides.

  The guard’s shoulders dropped a fraction, as if he was ready to back down, then his scowl snagged on Pavo’s chest, where the edge of the phalera glinted. ‘Hold on, that’s Gorzam’s . . . ’

  His words ended with a punch of iron into flesh and a stunned croak. Zosimus’ spear quivered in the man’s breastbone and the other seven with the guard gawped. ‘At them!’ Felix rasped. As one, they fell upon the guards like lions, driving their spears into guts, swinging their fists and smashing out teeth. Pavo leapt for the nearest man, they clashed their spears together like swords until the guard batted Pavo’s weapon away. The guard grinned and readied to thrust forward with his own lance. Pavo jinked clear of the blow, grabbed the spear shaft and pulled the guard towards him, then thrust his forehead into the guard’s nose. With a crunch of bone, the man’s nose flattened and he flailed backwards, stumbling past the rockfall and then swaying at the edge of the main shaft, arms swinging for balance. His eyes widened in terror as he lost the battle and toppled into the darkness, his cry long and desperate before a meaty crunch ended it. Pavo looked around to see that the rest of the guards had been dealt with. The scuffing of boots and babble of more approaching voices started all of them into action once more. They scrabbled down the ladder into the fourth chamber.

  ‘Be swift, be safe,’ Pavo called after Sura, Zosimus, Felix and Quadratus as they carried on back to the fifth chamber, below.

  Pavo, Bashu and Khaled saw that the guards here in their chamber were almost done rounding up the slaves. He glanced up to the shadowy alcove to see Gorzam, sitting up, rubbing at his temples, shaking his head as other guards questioned him. The slighter guard by his side seemed equally confused.

  Khaled waved Bashu off back to the cells, then pulled at Pavo’s arm; ‘Come on.’ The Persian led him to the edge of the cavern and into the accursed tunnel, right to the end where the water spring trickled. There, the pair hurriedly stripped off their guard armour, burying it under a pile of salt rocks. Wasting no time, they scuttled back through the tunnel then stood tall again when they came back to the cavern. No sooner had they emerged than a whip cracked by their ankles.

  ‘Into line!’ a prune-faced guard snarled.

  Pavo backed away from the lash, bunching up with Khaled into the mass of sweating, terrified slaves.

  ‘We have achieved nothing today,’ Pavo whispered bitterly.

  ‘But we live on for tomorrow,’ Khaled replied.

  Both men’s gazes were upon Gorzam as he stood tall and shook his head, blinking and steadying himself.

  Sat alone by the main shaft, Gorzam’s breath came and went in fiery grunts and his head throbbed. Never had he been so humiliated, he thought, sucking hungrily on a fresh water skin and eyeing the polluted one with a low growl. The slaves were back at work and no culprit had been identified. But those responsible would be found, for he was the shahanshah of the mines. He ruled this dominion like a god. His lot on the world above was too meagre to bear – a filthy home, no woman to cook for him since his wife had vanished. ‘I should have beat her even harder,’ his shoulders jostled in a gruff, dry chuckle. He made to take another swig of water when a voice hissed by his side.

  ‘I know who did this to you,’ it said.

  He turned to behold the shadowy figure stacking cane baskets by the pulleys. It was the cretin who had long informed him of the other slaves’ misdemeanours. The man dropped his gaze as soon as Gorzam met it.

  ‘Tell me,’ Gorzam demanded.

  ‘You will give me freedom, as we have discussed before.’

  Gorzam bristled at this. He stood, towering over this figure, his shoulders broadening. ‘I have never promised you freedom. I might see to it that you are raised to the first chamber – the air is breathable there. But if you do not tell me who did this to me, I will throw you into the shaft without hesitation. Or worse, I will tell the other slaves that the traitor is still amongst them, Bashu.’

  Pavo and Khaled hobbled into their cell and the bars clanked shut behind them.
The shift that immediately followed their foiled escape plan had seemed to last for days. Now they would be afforded just a few hours of rest before the next shift began.

  Pavo winced as he lay back on the stone shelf and tried to let his muscles relax. But his thoughts quickly jabbered with all that had gone wrong. He clasped his hands over his face and fought to clear his mind. They did not speak for some time, neither man sleeping, nor able to summon any words. What was there to say?

  Eventually, Khaled slid from his cot and began scraping the bristles of his beard from his jaw with a sharpened slat of rock and a sprinkle of water from his cup. ‘Tell me, Roman; what did your friend – the big one with the squashed nose – mean when he spoke of a scroll?’

  Pavo frowned. He had barely noticed Zosimus referring to it in jest up in the first chamber. Instinctively, his lips tightened and he thought carefully about his answer. Then his shoulders slumped and he shook his head. ‘It matters little now, for we are all going to live out our days in this place. My comrades and I were sent here, all the way from Roman Syria, to seek out a scroll. It is thought to contain some agreement between your empire and mine – one that might stave off war between our armies.’

  Khaled said nothing, but his grin spoke a thousand words.

  Pavo sat up. ‘Khaled?’

  ‘You speak of Jovian’s lost scroll. There were a few in here in years past who spoke of such a thing.’ He looked up, bemused. ‘The scroll is real?’

  Pavo leant forward. ‘It is, or it was . . . it may no longer exist, but the mere possibility that it does brought us across the desert. Khaled, please, tell me what you know.’

  Khaled shrugged, smoothing at his roughly shaven jaw with one hand, then twirling the ends of his moustache. ‘I know very little, only what you have already told me. There was a slave, long ago, who claimed to have held it in his hands.’

  Pavo latched onto this, remembering Gallus’ description of the man who had hidden in the mountains with the scroll. ‘Where is he?’