The Black Stone (67 page)

Though he would have liked to rest while he waited for Simo, curiosity drew him back to the edge. Galanaq itself still looked almost deserted, the compound and the encampment too, but from this high vantage point he could now see over the inner wall.

What looked like more than a thousand men had gathered outside the cavern. In amongst all the pale robes, only a handful of the coloured cloths remained. Suddenly more of the warriors poured out of the cavern, then the mass moved backwards.

It took Cassius a while to work out why; they were retreating towards the gate because they wanted to look up.

The two figures were walking across a plateau like the one Cassius was standing on, three or four hundred feet above the canyon floor. Ilaha still wore his purple cloak. Beside him was the old woman, white hair blowing around her face.

Angry cries rang out from the Saracens below.

The pair stopped, raised their hands to the sky, then bowed to the sun. They walked on, slow but strangely purposeful. Cassius couldn’t be sure because of the distance but it seemed to him that they were holding hands.

Their last step took them over the precipice.

As they plummeted towards the ground, Cassius saw only a streak of purple and another of white.

The Saracens cheered.

Though in their haste they had forgotten to take torches or lanterns, they rode on through the darkness, eventually arriving at the mushroom around the fourth hour of night. They found Damon and the other wounded auxiliary where they had camped with Khalima. The first thing they did was take down the dead and lay them out.

The second injured man, Ingennus, was in a bad way. He had been stabbed in the thigh and lost a lot of blood. Damon had done his best to clean and bandage the wound but had no wine. Ingennus immediately downed what spare they had.

Both men were immensely relieved that the others had survived and they listened keenly as Nobus described what had happened at the Scorpion Pass. Damon declared that they would all receive decorations for the action but showed little regret that he had missed it. Ulixes also related his tale and proudly showed them his hand – which now looked almost normal. They didn’t dare start a fire but used a lantern for Ulixes to stitch Mercator’s wound.

Though he wanted nothing more than sleep, Indavara found his figurine and left the others. He knelt in the darkness and prayed for Corbulo and Simo once more, and asked Fortuna to deliver him and the others to Humeima safely. On the way back to the small camp, he passed the cart. Without thinking about it, he reached inside and touched the black stone. He didn’t know why.

‘Do you think they’re still alive?’

Simo was squatting by their fire, heating a pan of wine. ‘I don’t know, sir. All we can do is hope.’

‘And pray?’

‘I have prayed for Indavara. And Master Mercator and the men.’

Cassius stood and warmed his hands above the flames. They had pressed on along the trail throughout the day. The deserted path remained precarious and slow, twisting up and around steep faces, then plunging deep into shadowy crevices. Both men – and both horses – had cut themselves on the unforgiving rock. Just before dusk they’d come across a hollow, protected from three sides.

‘And the man in the outhouse?’ said Cassius. ‘You prayed for him too, I expect?’

Simo hesitated before answering. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘To you I am a sinner now, I suppose.’

Simo stirred the wine.

Cassius glanced down at the spearhead, which was lying on the satchel next to his pack. ‘I had no choice. Say it – I had no choice.’

Simo looked up.

‘Say it or by Jupiter I swear I’ll hit you again.’

Simo answered softly. ‘You had no choice.’

Having got what he wanted, Cassius now found it made precious little difference.

‘I’ve never had a choice. Never. My bloody father, the army, Alauran, this. I didn’t want any of it!’ His shouts echoed around the hollow. ‘The fear, the killing. I
hate
what I have to see, what I have to do. I hate it!’

Cassius snatched up the spearhead and threw it at the rock. It struck with a metallic clang then fell to the ground.

Simo stood up. ‘Master Cassius—’

‘Do you think he survived? Really?’

Again the Gaul did not answer.

Cassius walked around the fire. ‘Come on, Simo, you know as much about these things as anyone. After the fit, might he have survived?’

Simo seemed about to answer but he stopped himself and stared down at the fire. The wine was bubbling.

‘Just tell me the truth. Whatever it is.’

‘Master Cassius, when we left he was … he was not breathing.’

‘He may have died, then. But there’s a chance—’

‘Sir, I think – I think he was dead when we left.’

Cassius nodded slowly and backed away.

‘Only to me would this happen. Only to me would the gods do this. Not some heroic bit of swordplay, not even a fight. But some horrible bloody accident in a shit-stinking hole. That is what they have given me.’

Cassius had reached the side of the hollow. He leaned back against the rock and covered his face with his hands. ‘And poor Khalima. I can’t take it. I can’t.’

Simo walked over to him and put a hand on his arm.

Cassius threw it off. ‘You should have helped me. You did nothing.
Nothing!
’

Simo retreated.

‘Damn you, you coward.’ Cassius nodded at the fire. ‘Take that wine off there and pour me a mug. But do not speak to me. Do not speak to me at all.’

Every sight of approaching riders worried them. Clear of the mountains and back on the Incense Road, they had nowhere to hide and could only watch and wait. But so far every party had turned out to be merchants heading south, who took little notice of the four men on horseback and the heavily loaded cart.

Ulixes drove the vehicle. Unlike the auxiliaries, he wasn’t concerned about being close to the stone or the dead men. Poor Ingennus had no choice. The wound in his thigh was far too big to be stitched and though the bleeding had slowed, he was still in a lot of pain. But what he complained about most was the smell. They had wrapped up Andal and the others as best they could but they were already rotting in the heat. Mercator remained determined that his men be buried at Humeima.

Five days after their flight from Galanaq, they still hadn’t reached the fortress. Indavara rode at the front, trying to keep them going, but he could tell the others were exhausted. Mercator barely spoke, and Indavara knew it wasn’t just because of his hand. When they stopped, the optio would look at the dead men or gaze up at the sky. The three auxiliaries were simply desperate to be rid of the stone and reach safety. Only Ulixes kept up his spirits – he just seemed happy to be alive.

In the quiet moments, Indavara thanked Fortuna. He had fought many men and come out with little more than a few scratches. The only pain came from his left shin. Somehow he had scraped off the top layer of skin; it would have to heal all over again. He continued to pray for Corbulo and Simo. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they would be waiting at the fortress, though he knew it was impossible.

As afternoon became evening on that fifth day, they still couldn’t see Humeima’s white walls. Nobus had already fallen from his horse twice and Ingennus was ailing. Mercator sat silently hunched over on his mount and even Ulixes was cursing, knowing they faced another cold night in the desert. Indavara was about to call a halt when the gambler gave a triumphant cry.

‘Look. Look there.’

In their weary state, none of the others had noticed the column approaching the Incense Road from the east.

Ulixes stopped the cart and stood up. ‘I think it’s the camel-riders.’

The column was heading almost directly for them and within a few minutes they could clearly see the well-organised ranks of cavalry.

‘Thank the gods,’ said Mercator.

They rode on another quarter-mile; to make sure the cavalrymen would come right past them. There were fewer this time, perhaps only forty, but Viridio was there. Mercator slid off his saddle and waved both arms at him.

Just as the column was about to turn onto the road, the decurion halted his riders. He didn’t bother to get down himself but sent another man to speak to the strangers. But when Mercator explained that they were on army business and in need of escort to Humeima, the cavalry commander dismounted. He removed the gloves he was wearing, brushed sand off his scarlet cape and strode over to Mercator.

‘What is so bloody important that you should halt a detachment of imperial cavalry?’

The optio quietly told him what was in the cart.

The decurion’s eyes widened. He looked at Ulixes and Indavara. ‘You don’t look much like soldiers to me.’

Mercator glanced helplessly back at the others. Not one of them had any papers or anything else to identify them.

‘Trust me, sir,’ said Ulixes, jumping down from the cart. ‘They’re soldiers.’

He walked up to the decurion and pushed up his tunic sleeve. Viridio looked at the four green letters etched on his arm.
SPQR.

Ulixes grinned. ‘Me too.’

Cassius and Simo spent two more days and nights in the mountains. As ordered, the attendant did not speak to his master. Cassius half-expected himself to weaken but he did not.

He hardly noticed the howls of wolves at night, nor worried about the dangers of the undulating trail. Even when they overtook two desperate-looking men armed with spears, he simply hurried his horse past and didn’t look back.

When they stopped he drank wine and ignored the water Simo offered him.

When he saw the young guard lying on the outhouse floor he looked up at the sun until it hurt – anything to burn the image away. He pushed the pace as hard as he dared so that he was exhausted at night – so he would sleep.

Once the trail finally took them beyond the last of the high peaks, they descended through wide hillocks covered with thick, pale grass. Nestled between two of them was a hamlet where Simo bought food and Cassius bought more wine. They had to use gestures to communicate; not a single person spoke a word of Greek.

Just after noon on the next day, the trail ran down to a sandy plain dotted with strange, bright orange shrubs. A haze hid the coast but a passing merchant (who did speak Greek) reckoned it was no more than twenty miles. Relieved he would reach Leuke Kome by sundown, Cassius continued on without waiting for Simo, who was having some problem with his horse.

At what he guessed to be around the ninth hour, he stopped in a village to rest. He’d at last regained a little appetite and bought some cooked fish from a stall. Without any plates or cutlery, he sat on a barrel and ate it from the leaf it had been served on. It was a white fish, the flesh soft and sweet and flavoured with green herbs.

He was about ready to set off again when Simo finally arrived towing his horse and Patch.

‘Sir, my mount cut its leg two days ago. I think the wound is going bad. I can’t ride it any farther.’

‘You can walk.’

‘And the horse, sir?’

‘Just leave it here.’

Though the fish was delicious, Cassius couldn’t finish it all. He handed it to Simo.