The Earthly Gods

by Nick Brown

  ‘I don’t blame him.’

  Idan had given his horse to Yablus while Kammath had given his to his father. The men at the front and rear of their little column would therefore be free to move unencumbered. As the temperature was dropping as quickly as the sun, Cassius put on a cloak. He then took a long drink from his flask, which was half water, half wine. He made sure that Simo had the fighting stave within reach and moved up so that he would be behind Kammath.

  ‘Ready?’ asked the stocky Syrian.

  Cassius gestured forward and they advanced into the valley.

  It was impossible to find anything like a direct route. The paths meandered around the rock towers, regularly crossed each other and occasionally petered out. The Syrians performed an abbreviated version of their ceremony and soon the sun had disappeared, leaving only a few coloured rays above. Every little noise seemed magnified by the huge slabs of rock. Cassius saw ashes where small fires had been lit and some painted markings – mostly crude pictures of animals and hunters. The party also startled carrion feeding on the remains of a pony. Cassius covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief and felt even worse when he saw the writhing maggots and insects feasting on the gore.

  He already felt exhausted. The nature of the landscape made it impossible to know what they might find around the next corner and he could not forget the looks on the faces of the harried legionaries who had passed this way. Kammath kept up a good pace, however, and seldom looked back. Occasionally one of the Syrians would say a word and they would halt and examine their surroundings before moving on. Cassius didn’t imagine they had ever been anywhere quite like this either.

  As the last traces of sunlight vanished, he considered halting the party to prepare torches. But the combination of a half-moon, the pale sand of the paths and the height of the mountains ahead left Kammath able to still navigate his way. Lighting torches would take time and might draw unnecessary attention.

  They had just passed between two of the wider towers when Kammath stopped once again.

  Cassius walked forward. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I heard something.’

  A whistle. Then another two notes from a different source. Someone was communicating.

  ‘Keep going,’ said Cassius.

  They rounded a bend but soon halted again. Ahead was a group of larger towers with doorways and windows hewn out of the rock. Within, fires were alight. More whistles pierced the darkness.

  ‘The village?’ said Kammath.

  ‘Not sure,’ replied Cassius. If it was, he had seldom seen a settlement more unusual.

  Kabir came forward. ‘We can’t stumble through here in the dark. They know we’re here – isn’t it best to show we’re just passing through? Light torches?’

  ‘You’re right. Tell Simo too.’

  While Kabir gave out the instructions, Cassius and Kammath watched the towers. Some of the doorways looked to be ten or twenty feet off the ground. More figures had appeared, several holding torches of their own and now moving down steps cut below the doorways. The whistles had been replaced by shouts.

  Cassius watched one torch – and one man – in particular. He was the closest to them, about thirty yards away, and had stopped halfway down the steps. He was now standing still, waiting.

  Cassius heard the familiar sound of a fire-striker hitting flint. If he was lucky, Simo could have a flame going within a couple of minutes. The Syrians were equally adept.

  Kammath turned suddenly to his right.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I think there are people out there. Not many. But they’re watching us too.’

  ‘Probably after the horses. Or food.’

  ‘Warning shot?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Hearing the crackle of oil and goatskin, Cassius turned to find Kabir approaching with a torch. Two more were alight behind him. Kammath took one.

  ‘Quickly,’ said Kabir. ‘Let’s show them our intent – that they’ve nothing to fear.’

  Kammath held his torch out in front of him and continued onwards.

  Soon they were approaching the tower where the man stood, still watching them. A boy was now beside him, holding the torch. The man didn’t appear to be carrying a weapon.

  As they passed beneath the tower, Kammath raised a hand in greeting.

  Cassius spoke in Greek, trying to sound friendly. ‘We mean no harm. We’re heading for the pass.’

  From inside the tower came a female voice. The man answered in what sounded like Aramaic.

  Kammath spoke to him in the language but the man simply turned away and pointed at the doorway. He and the boy made their way up the steps and inside without turning round.

  There were six more visibly occupied towers in front of them.

  Cassius said, ‘Keep moving.’

  As they did so, he avoided looking at Kammath’s torch, which would leave him almost blind. He spied glimpses of movement within the occupied towers and heard snatches of conversation.

  When they passed the last of them and Kammath stopped, Kabir said, ‘I’ve a feeling they have a very good reason for staying up high.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ replied Cassius. ‘The people Chariton described would not have had enough wood to keep fires burning and torches lit. At least we can still see the peaks. The pass can’t be more than two miles now.’

  He didn’t air the obvious thought that the worst was undoubtedly still ahead.

  ‘Strange smell,’ said Kabir.

  Cassius hadn’t noticed it but he pushed the flowers up towards his face and drew in a long breath through his nose.

  ‘All right at the back?’

  ‘They’re fine,’ replied Kabir, ‘though Simo says the donkey is shivering.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Kammath, lead on.’

  After another half an hour spent traversing the valley, aching eyes boring into the darkness, they reached what seemed to be the outskirts of Eskaril itself. The trail widened out. Walls and low dwellings appeared, built in the spaces between the rock formations.

  Cassius had seen no trace of a light nor any movement but there were definitely people watching them from the dwellings. He could feel it.

  Kammath suddenly moved to the right side of the path and approached a wall. He lifted the torch.

  A lone man was standing on the other side, hand raised against the light. Slowly, he lowered it. Every inch of skin on his face was covered with blister-like pustules. They hung from his eyelids, nose and lips, as if part of his body. His ragged tunic hung from a skeletal frame. He opened his hand and muttered something.

  ‘Keep going,’ hissed Cassius.

  He dragged Kammath away. Checking that the others were close behind, the two of them marched on through the village.

  The sounds of movement increased. Shuffling feet. Whispers.

  They stayed in the middle of the trail, unable to see more than five or six feet into the darkness. Cassius kept his hand on his sword hilt. As the route began to slope upwards, they passed another group of dwellings. He heard a woman wailing.

  Idan shouted something from the back.

  ‘Some are following,’ said Kabir. ‘He’s asking whether to shoot at them or not.’

  ‘Just at the ground,’ said Cassius, ‘just a warning.’

  Ten paces later, he and Kammath had to stop.

  A group of five or six villagers were on the road. Cassius was glad to see they were all women and all unarmed. Only one was not covered with the pox. She opened her hand and spoke in Greek.

  ‘Food. Please. Food.’

  The others repeated it; almost like a chant.

  ‘Food. Please. Food.’ They moved forward.

  Cassius and Kammath retreated until they reached Kabir and the others. Covering his mouth with his hand, Cassius spoke over his shoulder. ‘Simo, bring me something to give them.’

  He had seen poor people before but the villagers were clearly starving. The women’s breasts had withered along with their fa
ces. They were hunched, bony, wretched creatures.

  Simo had retrieved a loaf of bread and some cuts of meat. The eyes of the women widened.

  ‘Put it there,’ said Cassius, pointing to a wall.

  Once the Gaul had done so, the women moved with remarkable speed. In moments they were fighting over the food.

  ‘Quickly,’ said Cassius.

  They continued on, hearing cries and shouts from the darkness behind them. Cassius kept close to Kammath. The torchlight illuminated the beads of sweat upon the youth’s face.

  Jupiter, god of gods, I am a noble son of Rome. Please protect me.

  Cassius could not help thinking of the starving women and the man’s pox-ridden face. What of the little plague creatures Simo had spoken of? Surely the valley was alive with them? Surely they were besieging his body at this very moment?

  But the next danger they faced was far more tangible. Faces and figures emerged out of the gloom ahead. The men were no less malnourished than the women but they spread out to blockade the road with purpose and organisation. Most were barefoot and clad in filthy tunics and robes. But each man had a long spear with an iron head. Cassius counted eight. Not one was covered with the pox.

  A broad-shouldered man with a lank head of hair aimed the point of his spear at the interlopers. ‘Food – what you have?’

  Cassius glanced back; the others had arrived with the horses. All except Idan.

  ‘You want to give them something?’ asked Kabir quietly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You think they’ll leave it at that?’

  ‘What do you suggest? There are eight of them.’

  ‘More, actually.’

  A second group of warriors had appeared behind the first, two holding torches. The leader was tapping the base of his spear upon the road.

  Kabir relented and took a sack from one of the horse’s saddles. He threw it at the feet of the leader, who picked it up and looked inside.

  Now Cassius was even more concerned. It was clear there would be no in-fighting here. Though some of the others looked longingly at the bag, not one of them moved. This man was clearly in charge. He took out a handful of raisins and stuffed them in his mouth, then handed the bag to the man beside him.

  ‘You look rich,’ he said, pointing at Cassius. ‘Pay silver. Tax here now.’

  ‘No. This is a public road.’

  ‘Was. Things different now.’

  The horses were puffing and snorting.

  ‘I can give you—’

  ‘No.’ Kabir put his hand on Cassius’s arm. ‘We need the money. I’m not giving it away for nothing.’

  ‘Just tell me who you want me to drop,’ said Kammath, hand hovering near his sling.

  ‘This won’t end well,’ said Cassius.

  ‘Not for them.’ Kabir turned and spoke in some language Cassius had not heard; it certainly wasn’t Aramaic. Idan’s reply was brief. Kammath exchanged nods with his father.

  ‘Kabir, what are you doing?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘Take the horses and run – to the right, there’ll be a path.’

  The leader jutted his spear at Kabir. ‘You – what you say? Where silver?’

  Just after he heard a familiar whirring sound from behind him, Cassius saw one of the warriors topple, his spear clattering to the ground beside him. Idan’s sling whirred again. Another man staggered backwards, put a hand to his head then collapsed to his knees.

  The locals descended into panic; some scattering, some shouting.

  ‘Go now!’ yelled Kabir. He and Kammath drew their long knives and charged at the remaining warriors.

  ‘Simo, with me!’

  Cassius snatched up the reins of one of the horses and made for the right side of the road, his path clear. He grabbed a torch dropped by one of the warriors and charged away up the slope.

  XVI

  With the noise of the horses pounding along, Cassius had no idea what was going on behind him. The road curved round a wall of rock and then began to descend. After about fifty paces he stopped, narrowly avoiding being knocked over by the first mount. There were four of them roped together and – unsurprisingly – they wanted to run on. Cassius tugged hard twice on the reins and brought the first one under control but the other three continued to range around, one whinnying as if in pain. While trying to calm them, he dropped the torch.

  ‘Shit. Simo? Simo, are you there?’

  He recovered the torch just before it went out. A few well-placed breaths rejuvenated the flames. Relieved, he gazed back along the road.

  ‘Simo? Kabir? Stop pulling, damn you.’

  He heard muttering close by then realised someone else had hold of the horses. He walked around the first mount and spied two youthful-looking figures hauling on the reins of the second. With both hands full, all he could do was wave the torch at them. Two more boys clambered over the wall and began to strip bags from the Syrians’ saddles. Suddenly the second mount began to buck. The first animal veered away, ripping the reins out of Cassius’s hands. Leaving the youths burrowing into the saddlebags, he walked back along the road.

  ‘Simo? Simo?’

  ‘Sir?’

  The attendant sounded some distance away.

  Cassius was about to break into a run when something hit his legs from the side. He fell, dropping the torch as he threw his arms out to protect himself.

  Scrabbling fingers clawed at his left leg. He tried to crawl away but then a blow struck his flank. Judging by the chink of metal on metal it had been a blade; and his armour had saved him. Trying to ignore the jabbing pain caused by the blow, he kicked out with his left boot and connected, hearing his unseen foe grunt.

  Cassius scrambled to his feet, backed across the road and drew his sword. The torch was picked up by a startlingly thin figure. The man wore only a loincloth. His skin was riddled with the pox.

  By the gods. Jupiter, please spare me this fate.

  In the man’s other hand was a roughly made knife of wood and iron. As he advanced, similar figures appeared behind him. Two, four, five of them. One was holding a rock in his hand.

  Cassius touched the low wall at the edge of the road. As they came closer, the diseased men caught sight of his sword. Without his money bag, it was the most valuable thing he had – enough to buy food for a year. Aside from the armour, it was the last thing he would give up.

  Keeping the sword pointed at them, Cassius got his backside on to the wall, then twisted over it. His feet came down on a slope. As the ground gave way beneath him, he threw the sword down first for fear of cutting himself. He slid seven or eight yards on his rear before toppling forward and rolling to a halt at the bottom.

  Other than the continuing ache from the first attack, he was not hurt. Still on his hands and knees, he looked up. Lit orange by the torchlight, the cadaverous faces peered over the wall then disappeared. Knowing he didn’t have long, Cassius scrabbled around, fingers searching for the blade. They ran across dust, shale and pebbles; but not metal.

  Until – ‘Uh! Shit, just what I need.’

  He’d cut his finger on the blade. Wiping it on the back of his tunic, he realised he could hear the men on the move. It seemed they had followed the road down to an easier descent and were closing in. Not far away was a very large shape, a boulder or some other formation. Cassius hurried towards it, hoping to hide.

  The villagers appeared from his left, the skinny bastard holding the torch and jabbering to the others. Cassius halted and remained absolutely still. They passed within ten feet of him, not stopping until they reached the foot of the slope where he’d landed.

  As they continued the search, Cassius retreated until he could feel the cold rock at his back. Still facing the men, he put one hand out behind him and felt his way into a fissure.

  The villagers had gathered in one place and several were now examining the ground. They had found his tracks. The man with the torch led the way.

  The fissure narrowed to a dead end after ten feet. C
assius put himself flat against the rock and held the blade behind him to obscure the reflective surface.

  Gods, help me. They’re coming.

  This is exactly what he had feared: finding himself alone. Indavara would have seen these bloody peasants off with a single punch or sweep of his blade.

  They reached the fissure. Cassius was grateful that they would at least only be able to attack one at a time. Perhaps if he took out the first man and extinguished the light, they might give up? He was better armed.

  I can do this. Me or them. Me or them.

  When he moved his feet back, Cassius realised the fissure did not end but continued low down. He turned and knelt and saw the lighter shade of open ground beyond. With the torchlight almost upon him, he set off. The gap was about a foot and a half high but with a leopard crawl he could move quickly enough.

  Hearing shouting from behind him, he increased the pace, which was not easy with the heavy sword. The space lessened but just as he feared he would be trapped, he reached the other side of the formation and pulled himself clear.

  Sheathing the sword, he looked up and to his right. The road seemed some distance above, the slope still too steep to climb. As the shouts of the villagers got closer, the light reappeared from around the giant rock. He ran, desperate to get away and rejoin the others.

  The moonlight allowed him to see only dim silhouettes and shapes. He met another low wall built at right angles to the road. Keeping a hand on it, he followed the structure to his left until he reached a path leading northwards, parallel to the road. He’d just started along it when he heard a cry from behind him.

  Spinning round, he saw the torch on the move, no more than thirty feet away. He quickened his pace and came to a gap in the wall to the right. He entered what seemed to be a small compound with a building to the rear. He ducked down low behind the wall.

  The villagers approached; their voices low and urgent, the torch crackling. Cassius watched and listened as some of them moved into the compound opposite. The man with a torch came towards him.