The Black Stone (45 page)

Uruwat was one of the last to appear, accompanied by a retinue of senior men, his son Urunike included. Cassius guessed the ethnarch was at least sixty. He was small in stature and wore modest attire, but had a stately manner about him and was clearly revered by his tribesmen. Once he reached the camp and collected them, Cassius and the others followed Khalima and started down the track. As a mark of respect, only daggers were to be carried. Each man still wore the green cloth upon his arm.

Two things led Cassius to believe that they wouldn’t particularly stand out. The first was the air of tense expectation that seemed to focus all discussion and attention on Ilaha and the upcoming ceremony. The second was the weather. The sun was blisteringly hot and many – Cassius included – were wearing their hoods.

Where the track met the road they waited for another tribe to pass, then joined the throng heading for the inner gate. The guards stood in silence and good order. Unlike the other Saracens, they had kept their swords. The compound – like most of the rest of Galanaq – was empty.

Cassius grimaced at the harsh odour in amongst the men. Beside him, Simo plucked a handkerchief from his belt and wiped his face and neck. Even Indavara seemed unnerved by the sheer size of the crowd. Cassius was glad to be surrounded by friendly faces; just ahead were Khalima and Adayyid, behind were Mercator and the guard officers.

The doors of the inner gate looked new; the huge slabs of timber pale, the nails and bolts free of rust. The wall had clearly been improved too, with rubble and cement inserted to plug weak points.

As they passed through, the first thing Cassius noticed was the crane. It had been erected at the base of a rocky slope on the left side of the canyon. The main arm was a reinforced triangle of timber, hanging from which was a rope connected to the triple pulley system that gave the crane much of its lifting power. The rope ran down to the base of the arm and from there around the winch, which was turned by two spindle wheels. Iron weights at the rear stabilised the machine.

As the column shuffled on, Cassius also saw that a level platform had been carved from the slope next to the crane. The platform was about ten feet above the canyon floor and the front three sides of it were protected by dozens of closely packed guards. Steps had been cut up to the platform, and from there to the narrow path where the slope met the cliff face. Upon the steps stood nine priests of varying ages, all clothed in red cloaks and each holding drums or bells.

Above them, lining the path all the way back to a large cavern, were dozens more guards. Outside the cavern was a group of older men. Cassius recognised only one: the shiny head and unpleasant visage of Commander Oblachus.

The lemony, woody aroma of incense had reached the encampment hours earlier but now the grey smoke seemed to be everywhere. Wafting it away from his nose, Cassius waited for his eyes to clear then realised there were great smoking bowls of the stuff lining the canyon.

Indavara was coughing. Once he’d drunk from his flask and recovered, he croaked a whisper to Cassius. ‘I feel like a smoked fish.’

‘It’s supposed to purify you. These easterners love it.’

Cassius didn’t mention his suspicion that their host might also be trying to intoxicate his guests; make them more susceptible to suggestions of the fantastical or the divine. He was in little doubt about what the guards on the platform were protecting.

Some of the tribes had already stopped but Uruwat kept moving. As they drew level with the platform, Cassius noticed a youthful warrior supervising a large crew of guards moving the crane to create more space. When four of them thumped one of the weights down upon another, the young man loudly berated them.

Uruwat led his men beyond a tribe of warriors wearing red cloths. Cassius and the others followed Khalima to the rear of their group and they turned to face the platform. Not long after, a clan wearing white cloths lined up beside them, farthest from the gate.

Ulixes sidled up to Cassius. Despite their situation, he was grinning. ‘I think we both know what’s up on that platform,’ he whispered. ‘Hope you’ve got that coin ready.’

Once the doors were shut an uneasy quiet settled over the mass of men. Cassius estimated there were a thousand of Ilaha’s warriors, five hundred visiting tribesmen and a similar number of locals. The rock walls seemed to magnify the heat and suck any remaining moisture out of air already thickened by sweat and smoke. Cassius had downed half his flask of water but was relieved to find that others were faring no better. One of Uruwat’s men was vomiting and another from a neighbouring tribe actually passed out.

The drums and bells began again; a simple, repetitive beat that further dulled the senses. After a time, heads began to turn towards the cavern. Oblachus and the other senior men moved away from the entrance and three figures emerged from the shadows. The first of them was a slight man wearing a voluminous purple cloak embroidered with gold. Little of his face could be seen under the hood but Cassius noted the sword swinging from his belt. He thought of another man clad in purple whom he’d faced in battle three years ago; a nerveless warrior who’d led from the front and given his life fighting Rome.

But surely this was Ilaha. Five paces behind him was an old woman who was moving surprisingly swiftly. The third individual was a giant of a man with blond hair and a freakishly thick neck. He was wearing a plain tunic and was armed with some weapon hanging from a strap on his shoulder.

Adayyid had subtly edged back through the men to stand beside Cassius. Indavara joined them.

‘Lord Ilaha,’ breathed the Saracen contemptuously.

The guards on the path bowed as their leader passed. The low drums and high-pitched bells echoed around the canyon.

‘Who’s the big fellow?’ asked Cassius.

He could now see that the northener’s weapon was an enormous double-bladed axe. Even at that distance, the man looked like a different species to everyone else present.

‘Name’s Gutha,’ replied Adayyid. ‘German mercenary. My father remembers him from the Palmyran war. He killed scores of them. They say he’s the only living descendant of hired men who came east to fight the Goths under your emperor Severus. He’s been with Ilaha for some years.’

Cassius exchanged a speculative glance with Indavara, not only because of what they had heard in Bostra about the big, fair-haired warrior who’d taken the stone.

‘What?’ asked Adayyid.

‘Big Germans are his speciality,’ said Cassius

Indavara ignored him.

‘And the hag?’

‘She’s always been with him,’ replied Addayid. ‘A sorceress, if rumour is to be believed.’

As the trio neared the platform, the priests ceased their music and knelt down, prompting all Ilaha’s warriors to do the same. The other tribesmen, however, merely looked on in respectful silence. Cassius was encouraged to see that they and their ethnarchs were not yet in thrall to their host.

In fact, most of the Saracens seemed more interested in their first sight of what the guards had been protecting. Cassius heard dozens of whispered comments as the men peered up at the object. It didn’t seem particularly large and was covered by a dark sheet.

While Gutha and the old woman remained on the path, Ilaha strode down the steps. The priests and the guards withdrew to the rear of the platform.

Suddenly alone, Ilaha walked to the front and pulled down his hood. Cassius was surprised to see a youthful face, though even at that distance he could see grey bags under his eyes. His dark hair was cropped short like a military man but his body appeared thin, almost wasted.

Adayyid moved closer to Cassius, ready to translate.

Ilaha clasped his hands together then spoke. ‘Welcome, great chiefs and brother warriors of the Tanukh.’

He spoke loudly but did not shout, aware that the quiet and the amplifying effects of the canyon would do the rest.

‘I thank each and every one of you for journeying to Galanaq. Last night, I and the other twelve ethnarchs met. What I have asked of them I will ask of you. I believe you have come here because you realise that the Tanukh must stand up for our people. Rome has yet again shown itself incapable of ruling its vast empire. Rome takes; and gives nothing back. Rome is divided and weak. Now is the time to find a new path for we Saracens of Arabia.’

Other than a few quiet comments and nods, there was no significant reaction.

‘But there is another reason why we must act now,’ continued Ilaha. ‘Mighty Elagabal has chosen this moment to favour us. You are privileged to be here this day. You will see him, you will hear him, you will
feel
him among us. And with him at our side, you will know – as I know – that we
cannot
fail!’

Ilaha held up a hand.

A priest came forward and pulled the sheet away.

Though black, the strange surface of the conical rock seemed to glitter and gleam. After a collective intake of breath, a third of the Saracens dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Cassius looked around. None of Khalima’s men had prostrated themselves but a few of their tribesmen had.

‘Fear it not!’ cried Ilaha. ‘For this is the earthly dwelling-place of Almighty Elagabal, god of the sun.’

Though he had expected it to be bigger, Cassius had to admit there was something uncanny about the sacred stone. He had never seen a substance that so embodied both light and dark. Ilaha stood in front of it.

‘The Roman emperor wanted this – the Black Stone of Emesa – for himself, but I have reclaimed it for the true followers of Elagabal.’

Ilaha changed the tone of his voice. ‘I know that this is difficult for some of you. You worship other gods. Elagabal does not hold this against you. He knows you are good, that you seek only freedom – to live under your own governance, to provide for your tribes and families. Mighty Elagabal welcomes you to the light.’

The sun’s rays seemed to dance off the stone, creating a shimmering haze behind the small figure upon the platform. More of the Saracens dropped to their knees. A few cried out.

‘Pray silence, brother warriors,’ said Ilaha. ‘Listen now, to Mighty Elagabal.’

He knelt down and bowed his head.

Then came the voice.

A low, unearthly rumble that seemed to emanate directly from the stone.

A chill prickled Cassius’s spine. At first he could make nothing out of the slow, growling hisses, but then he realised the voice was uttering words.

More than half the warriors were now on their knees. Simo dropped to the ground and covered his ears. Indavara was muttering to himself. The auxiliaries and the Saracens looked terrified. But they listened.

Trying to ignore the voice, Cassius recalled a discovery made during the affair of the imperial banner. He had witnessed an underhand method used by priests to influence their followers, and now he looked for some sign that trickery was afoot here. But the voice was so loud, so powerful, so … godlike.

Now some of Khalima’s men prostrated themselves, though the chief and his son remained on their feet. Cassius could see from the warriors’ faces that they weren’t doing so merely to conform.

The voice grew louder. Though Cassius didn’t understand the words, they seemed to penetrate his head. As others dropped down around him, the halo of light around the rock became almost blinding.

Everything around him seemed to fade away. There was only the light and the voice.

He saw a vast black figure, a colossal warrior, striding across mountains, the sun blazing behind him.

Gutha saw a gaping mouth with jagged rocks for teeth and fire for a tongue. The god’s words were irresistible.

Ilaha is the chosen one. Follow him and you will get all you desire. Ilaha is the chosen one. Follow him and you will get all you desire.

Gutha opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the amulet, hanging out of his tunic on the chain. He had worn it only to appease Ilaha but now felt an urge to touch it. As incense smoke drifted past, he held it in his hand. It felt warm.

Gutha had never cared much for the gods. His family had forgotten theirs and shown little interest in those of their adopted homeland. He knew some said they heard voices from above but he’d never quite believed it.

Yet it was real. Ilaha had been right all along and now Gutha felt stupid for ever doubting him. As the voice continued its insistent refrain, he looked down at the warriors gathered in the canyon. Twice as many were now kneeling as standing. Some were covering their ears or shaking their heads or gaping up at the stone, open mouthed.

The priests were on their knees too but their heads were tilted to the heavens, faces serene. Gutha saw Reyazz, down by the crane. He too was looking up – but at Ilaha.

Gutha turned to his left. The old woman stood with both hands planted on her cane, gazing triumphantly at the scene below.

Suddenly the voice stopped.