The Earthly Gods

by Nick Brown

  ‘No.’ Cassius was already wearing an undershirt, a tunic and his warmest cloak, not to mention his thickest pair of socks.

  ‘It is very early, sir. And the air is damp.’

  ‘But my stomach.’

  ‘You ate hardly anything at breakfast, sir.’

  ‘And my back?’

  ‘There is bruising. Probably from when you fell down that slope.’

  ‘Possibly. As soon as we stop later, you will take out the box.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Within were Cassius’s twelve figurines of the great gods. He had never felt such a desperate urge to pray.

  By the middle of the morning they were in the middle of the marsh. Half the ground was made up of low, circular mounds of turf; the rest was bog. Though muddy and wet, the trail remained clear to see and had bent around to the east some time ago.

  Cassius would have continued along it but the Syrians had spotted very fresh tracks clearly belonging to a group of some size. No one had passed them so it seemed unlikely they were from the village. The swiftly reached consensus was that they didn’t wish to risk another fight, having been lucky to escape the last. There was no definitive evidence of danger but about a mile ahead the trail moved into a wooded area from which birds had suddenly flown up twice. The Syrians seemed sure there were people in there and had identified an alternative route; they could head straight for the salt flats.

  ‘I concur. The edge is only – what – three miles?’ Cassius still had a headache but felt a little better for some dried pork and a mug of wine. ‘No danger of ambush and the ground’s not too bad.’

  ‘It’s not too bad here,’ said Kammath. ‘Might get worse.’

  ‘Let’s try it,’ said Cassius after another wary glance at the woodland. ‘We can always turn back.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Kabir.

  Knowing his horse could do without the extra weight, Cassius dismounted and followed the nomads. Idan led the way and did a good job of using the grassy mounds where possible and avoiding the worst of the mud. On several occasions, large flocks of long, leggy birds flew overhead. No one was sure of the species.

  Moving directly north became more difficult as they encountered increasingly wide bogs. These were shallow but the mud was so clinging and thick that the horses’ hooves often got stuck. Idan continued to find ways round them but their path became so circuitous that after an hour they were perhaps only a third of the way to the flats.

  As they stopped yet again, Cassius slapped at an insect that had just landed on his arm. ‘A night in a village of the diseased and now stuck in a marsh – I’ll be lucky to survive the week.’

  Kammath turned round. ‘You’re lucky we’re letting you stay so close. If you are diseased, you might pass it on.’

  Cassius might have snapped back at him were it not for the fact that he was feeling better. Concentrating on negotiating the marsh had distracted him from his symptoms, which he had begun to suspect were at least partly imaginary.

  ‘If I do, I’ll make sure I give it to you first.’

  ‘Is that a house?’

  Cassius turned. Simo was staring at an angular shape about a half-mile to the east, close to one of the few trees.

  ‘I believe it is. Funny old place to live.’

  Ahead of him, the Syrians were on the move again.

  Cassius looked down at his boots and socks, every inch of which was now slick with grey mud.

  Soon the party were doing little other than taking increasingly slow steps and emitting a steady stream of curses in a variety of languages. Every man had fallen at least once, Patch had twice required rescuing, and they didn’t appear to be more than halfway towards their goal. The Syrians had been arguing in Aramaic but had now given up even that.

  They were so intent on finding the next half-solid piece of ground that they didn’t notice the interloper until she was close. Cassius first caught sight of her when Yablus suddenly stopped and looked towards the house. Walking in their direction at some speed was a girl of about ten. As she approached, Cassius realised she had devices strapped to her feet to help her traverse the marsh. The ‘shoes’ turned out to be flat rectangles of wicker about eight inches wide and twice as long.

  ‘Stay there,’ said Cassius, holding up a hand when she was twenty feet away.

  ‘She’s probably got more to fear from you,’ muttered Kammath.

  The girl was quite well dressed, wearing a clean tunic and wrappings to protect her legs. Her face was pretty and untouched by the pox. She said a few words in something that sounded like Aramaic.

  Yet Kabir and the others didn’t seem to understand.

  The girl pointed towards the salt flats.

  ‘Is she offering to help?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘I think so,’ said Kabir, before trying once again to communicate. It soon became clear that the girl’s help was not unconditional.

  Cassius had Simo take out a denarius and throw it to her. The girl could barely contain her glee. She walked past them, heading parallel to the edge of the flats and waved for them to follow.

  Cassius looked at Simo. ‘This is turning into a very strange day.’

  Their diminutive guide led them westward for some time before turning north. She clearly knew the area exceptionally well and, though it was impossible to avoid all the bogs, they reached the flats in under an hour. The girl promptly sat down, removed her strange footwear, then sprinted away barefoot across the flats towards her home.

  As the others began to remove their boots for cleaning, Cassius examined his new surroundings. The glazed surface of the flats was actually a very pale grey and striped by narrow channels. About a hundred yards away was another flock of the slender birds. They seemed pink in colour and had extremely long necks. Their legs were so thin that they appeared to be floating in the air.

  ‘Are those flamingos?’

  ‘Perhaps, sir,’ replied Simo, who had located a brush and was now removing mud from the horses’ legs and hooves.

  ‘We call them something else,’ said Kabir as he took off his sandals. ‘But yes.’

  ‘They are considered a delicacy,’ said Cassius. ‘Especially the tongues.’

  ‘Want one for lunch? Yablus tapped his sling.

  Cassius smiled and realised he really was feeling better. Doubt swiftly followed and he warned himself against over-confidence. He helped Simo by cleaning the worst of the mud off Patch with a stick.

  ‘Your boots, sir?’

  ‘Don’t worry – most of it will fall off when it’s dry. Kabir, how far would you say?’

  The buildings were not difficult to see; they were dark against the flats and the green of the marsh.

  ‘Five or six miles.’ Having watered their horses, the indefatigable nomads set off.

  Though he would have preferred to ride, Cassius could see his horse was exhausted. He waited for Simo to hang the water bowl from his saddle and give a carrot to each mount. Master and servant walked along side by side.

  Before reaching the buildings, they passed three men armed with bows; each on his own and facing south. Cassius addressed them, identifying himself as an army officer in his most distinguished tones. The sentries cast some suspicious looks at the Syrians but one disclosed that their task was solely to deter the diseased villagers.

  The salt miners at work on the flats appeared almost as wretched as the inhabitants of Eskaril. Some were clad only in loincloths, others in thin, filthy tunics. All were barefoot, their skin leathery and parched from exposure. Many had sores upon their flesh and most looked only a meal or two from starvation.

  Watched by overseers armed with whips, the first group they encountered were labouring inside a large rectangle marked out with twine. Many were simply walking across the brittle surface of the flats, apparently to break it up. The next step seemed to be the collection of the salt using chisels and elongated rakes. It was then collated in piles that were scooped into wooden pans and loaded on to carts. The only ti
me one of the overseers spoke to them was when they passed close to the third gang of workers. He felt they were causing a distraction and told them in no uncertain terms to move along.

  By the time they approached the largest of the buildings – an immense timber warehouse – they had seen no less than five gangs, each with at least a hundred labourers. There were more groups at work in the distance too, leading Cassius to estimate that Draco had acquired at least one thousand prisoners. There were at least a hundred guards.

  An older man watched the strangers from the warehouse for a time then strode towards them. He had the look of an ex-soldier: sturdy legs and a broad body running to fat. Like his compatriots, he was armed with a dagger and a whip.

  ‘Good day,’ said Cassius cordially.

  ‘Do you have permission to be on this property?’

  ‘Who would I obtain that from?’

  ‘Me. Or Master Draco.’

  ‘Well then, I request permission. My name is Corbulo; I am an officer of the Imperial Army.’

  ‘You’ve come from the south? Through the pass?’

  ‘Yes but we moved quickly. We are all in good health.’

  ‘You’d better be.’

  Cassius showed the man the Marcellinus letter, though he wasn’t entirely sure the thug could read. This suspicion was confirmed by the change in the guard’s expression when Cassius added, ‘Protector of the East. The Emperor’s deputy. I’m here on a matter of the utmost importance. There is a prisoner I need to speak to.’

  The man looked past him at the Syrians.

  ‘Might I ask your name?’ said Cassius.

  ‘Caepio. Chief of Guards.’

  ‘You served in the army?’

  ‘I did. What’s a grain man doing with this lot for company?’

  ‘They are why I’m here. The Service – and the Empire – owe them a debt. I’m here to ensure it’s fulfilled.’

  ‘You’ll have to see Master Draco. Can’t do nothing without his say so.’

  Cassius looked to his left. Beyond two smaller warehouses and a stable was a wide trail that ran up a slope to a house overlooking the flats. The villa was the most expensive-looking building he had seen for weeks.

  ‘I take it that’s his residence?’

  ‘It is. But he’s not in. Went out hunting a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘Any idea when he’ll be back?’

  ‘Depends if he bags anything. It’ll be before dark.’

  Cassius guessed it was at least the eighth hour.

  Kabir came forward. ‘We can talk to the prisoner now. His name’s Meliton—’

  Caepio kept his gaze on Cassius. ‘Who am I talking to – you or him?’

  ‘Me. We’ll wait. But I have two requests. Firstly, will you tell Master Draco we’re here as soon as he returns? Secondly, can you at least check if the man in question is present? Meliton arrived with the last column from Tarsus a couple of days ago.’

  Caepio nodded and looked past him again. ‘You can water your horses at the stable. Stay there – Master Draco don’t like people going where they’re not supposed to.’ With that, the chief guard sniffed noisily and stalked away.

  Cassius was not surprised by the expressions that greeted him when he turned round. Even Kabir and Yablus looked annoyed.

  ‘So – what?’ demanded Kammath. ‘We just sit around?’ He pointed at a gang transporting full pans of salt from a cart into the warehouse. ‘He could be one of them. We could get what we need and be gone.’

  ‘To where?’ said Cassius. ‘We don’t even know the best route out of this place and the horses are exhausted.’ He lowered his voice. ‘This is Draco’s domain and we are entirely dependent on his cooperation. So we will do it his way. Now, let’s get a couple of hours’ rest so that if we do get under way again we’re not all dead on our feet.’

  Not waiting for their assent, Cassius grabbed his horse’s reins and led it towards the stable.

  Once he and Simo had unburdened the horses, the attendant took them for watering. Cassius found a bit of shade below an overhanging roof and sat on a barrel close to the stable entrance. The setting was as bleak as his thoughts. There were operations such as this across the Empire (in fact the Service ran some of them) but it seemed to him a place of utter misery.

  Though he knew that most of the men he could see would be murderers, rapists and thieves, it was never anything less than pitiful to see people without hope. And – just like the villagers on the other side of the mountains – these men surely didn’t have much. From the looks of it, they were given barely enough sustenance to survive and the overseers were as relentless as they were cruel. In the time he sat there, Cassius saw several men stumble or drop their load, only to be struck with a whip. The prisoners didn’t seem to even raise their heads or communicate. Every one of them seemed broken by the grinding effort.

  Cassius did not want to endure the wait with the Syrians. Their sense of anticipation and frustration had reached its peak; they were desperate to discover the fate of Aikaterine and – assuming they had the right man – that moment was close. But what if he didn’t know where the buyer had taken her? What if this was the end?’

  The thought of it sent a chill down Cassius’s spine. He reassured himself with the same notion he’d explained to Kabir: the girls were valuable only if they were kept in good condition. And surely the gods – any gods – could not leave three such innocents to this fate?

  Drawing lines with his fingers in the pale dust, Cassius scoffed at his own naive optimism.

  The good and the worthy suffered and died every day. He had seen it more times than he could count.

  XVIII

  When Caepio came to confirm that Meliton was indeed present and that his employer had returned, Cassius had a difficult job of convincing Kabir that he should speak to Draco alone. The Syrian eventually relented but – as he walked up the trail to the villa with the chief guard – Cassius knew it would be even harder to keep Kabir and the others away from Meliton.

  Caepio was quite full of himself. He seemed proud of his position and – judging by the way he avoided further mention of his army career – Cassius guessed he might have been prematurely dismissed. The chief guard also seemed to like numbers. He merrily informed Cassius that the area of the salt pans owned by Draco ran to a hundred square miles and produced at least four thousand carts’ worth a year. Despite the difficulties caused by the plague outbreak, profits were only down ten per cent. They currently had nine hundred and thirty labourers employed on the site, each of whom worked solidly for eleven hours a day. With the autumn now upon them, the race was on to extract as much salt as possible before heavy rain ruined the yield. Apparently, Draco planned to divert much of the labour to improving his villa during the quieter winter months.

  When Cassius asked him about the villagers and the brigands, Caepio boasted about an attack he had led after raids upon their food store and the valuable salt. They had captured three local men and chopped their heads off, leaving them nailed to trees to deter any further attacks. The measure had worked well.

  As they neared the villa, Cassius saw more evidence of such methods. Upon a plateau of rock, which would be visible to the workers, was a cross. Nailed to it were the decaying remains of a man. Two crows where nipping what they could from the many hollows in the ruined body.

  ‘Can’t remember the name,’ said Caepio. ‘He tried running off across the flats one night. Ignorant bastard thought he was going to reach the other side. We found him about six miles away – feet cut to ribbons.’

  ‘Presumably that wasn’t punishment enough?’

  ‘We haven’t had any runaways since.’

  Though indeed very large, the villa was rather less impressive up close. Despite the colossal columns, bronze door and marble flooring, much of the building seemed unfinished. As he and Caepio waited in the atrium, Cassius observed four artisans: two were plotting out a mosaic on one wall, two on high ladders were making adjustments to
a glassed skylight. On the way in, Cassius had passed what was obviously supposed to be a garden, but the plants seemed neglected and even the turf was patchy. Caepio explained that it was due to the dusty soil; his master was planning to bring in some experts the following year.

  ‘There she is,’ said Caepio seedily as a tall woman entered the atrium. She was wearing a flowing, pink stola and a fine pair of velvet shoes. Her hair was decorated with a headdress of pearls, which Cassius adjudged excessive for a woman in middle age but he had to concede that the overall effect was pleasing. She, however, seemed displeased by the presence of Caepio, and perplexed by the presence of a guest.

  ‘Korinna,’ said the chief guard. ‘She runs Master Draco’s household.’

  ‘And who is this?’ Korinna countered sharply.

  ‘Officer Cassius Corbulo, Imperial Army. I need to see your master as soon as possible.’

  ‘Master Draco is bathing. I shall, however, tell him you are here.’ She clapped her hands together twice.

  After a few moments, a woman of about twenty trotted out from the same doorway. She was clad similarly to Korinna, though her stola was pale green. Cassius felt sure he could see a family resemblance.

  ‘Roxana will escort you to a waiting room.’

  The new arrival gave a slight bow. ‘Please follow me.’

  As they traversed the atrium, Cassius looked back at Korinna and Caepio, who watched him and spoke quietly to one another. Turning his attention to his guide, Cassius’s eyes dropped to the contours of her bottom moving beneath the smooth material. It seemed a long time since he’d been so close to an attractive woman.

  Roxana led him along a corridor with unpainted walls to a room that seemed in a better state than most of the others. Three plush couches had been arranged around a glass-topped table. Roxana hurried over to the long, low window and opened the shutters.

  ‘Please take a seat, sir. Can I fetch you any refreshments?’

  ‘Just wine, please.’

  ‘Of course.’ Though her eyebrows needed some work, the girl was really quite pretty. Despite the reason for his presence, Cassius couldn’t entirely curtail his normal instincts.