The Black Stone (69 page)

‘But a new master, sir. I wouldn’t know—’

‘You will not make me feel guilty, Simo. I have had my fill of guilt.’

Simo remained there for a while but there was nothing more to say.

Some time after he left, Endymion came up to the mast. ‘Your slave seems very efficient. I aim to have one myself – within five years if the gods are willing.’

‘Choose carefully,’ said Cassius. ‘They can be more trouble than they’re worth.’ He pointed north. ‘Those sails seem to be converging.’

‘The mouth of the Gulf of Aila. From there it’s only two days if the wind doesn’t shift.’

Cassius imagined the captain and his crew must think him a drunk so he waited until Endymion left before drinking once more. He tilted his head back against the mast, the sun warming his face. He closed his eyes and listened to the
Tyrus
’s bow cutting through the water.

What frightened him now was the prospect of returning to Bostra. He would at least know what had happened to the others but what if the news wasn’t good? And how could he even function in his present condition? Could he ever get back to something approaching normality after what he had been through? What he had done?

For the first time in his life, Cassius would have been happy to stay at sea.

‘An odd place to keep such a sacred thing but we didn’t want to attract any attention.’

Governor Calvinus opened the door and led Cassius into the room, which was spacious and secure, with only two high grilled windows.

‘I believe this is where King Rabbel kept his treasures. My wife colonised it with our old statues.’

The six mounted busts were in a corner. All but one – Caesar, by the looks of it – were covered. Calvinus nodded at the broad, reinforced door at the rear. ‘Got the wide access there. Nerva’s centurions were able to wheel it up close then move it inside on rollers. Only he – and they – know it’s here.’

The governor pulled away the white sheet.

There sat the stone on a wooden pallet, its dark surface glittering under even the weak rays of light coming in.

Cassius almost swore aloud at how pointless the whole affair now seemed. A lifeless piece of rock had been moved from one place to another; and how many had died and suffered because of it?

‘Sick of the sight of the thing, I suppose?’ said Calvinus.

‘Something like that, sir. When did they arrive?’

‘Three days ago. You’ve not seen them?’

‘No, sir. I would very much like to.’

‘Of course. Once we’re finished here.’

Calvinus carefully replaced the sheet over the stone, tugging at the material until it hung straight.

Cassius was still staring at it.

Calvinus ushered him away and out into the corridor. ‘Come. Shall I have some food prepared for you, Corbulo? You look terribly thin.’

‘No, thank you, sir.’

Calvinus locked the door. They were in a quiet quarter of the residence; there weren’t even any servants around. The governor replaced the key in a pocket within his toga then put a hand on Cassius’s arm.

‘Are you all right, lad?’

‘Please, sir, do not show me too much kindness. I fear I might embarrass myself.’

‘As you wish. We shall be as swift as we can.’

They spoke in the Table Room, sharing a small jug of expensive-tasting wine. It was late evening and outside attendants were closing doors and shutters.

Calvinus listened carefully, occasionally asking for details and waiting patiently when Cassius hesitated, which was often. It was not only emotion that halted him but the state of his mind; he’d kept up his consumption of wine on the road back from Aila, stopping only when they were in sight of the capital. He told Calvinus everything – except what had happened in the outhouse. When he finished, the governor leaned back in his chair, his florid face even more flushed than usual.

‘By Jupiter, Corbulo. You, Mercator and the men worked wonders down there.’

Cassius finished his wine.

Calvinus refilled his glass. ‘I look forward to telling Tribune Pontius about you raising the spearhead in the middle of that crowd of bloodthirsty Saracens. I doubt he would have had the courage for that, and I
know
he wouldn’t have had the wit.’

The governor filled his own glass almost to the brim. ‘There’ll be decorations. If not from Abascantius then from me.’

‘Sir, has there been any word from him?’

‘Not yet. But my letter should have reached him by now. I don’t think it’ll be too long before we see him in Bostra again.’

Cassius leaned on the table. ‘Sir, this business with the import tax. Forgive me, but I noted the expression on your face when I mentioned it. Please tell me we can do something.’

‘I would do it in an instant. But such a step would require the permission of Marshal Marcellinus and he has wider concerns than my Arabia.’

‘Governor, I must also ask you about the agreement with Khalima. The man lost his son, he was mutilated, they—’

‘All right. Calm down. Take a deep breath.’

Cassius followed his advice.

‘I agree that we owe the man a debt. And as long as he keeps quiet about it, I will honour the agreement. But a concession to the entire Confederation?’

Calvinus ran a hand through his silvery curls.

‘You will meet with them, though, sir?’

‘Of course. I will send out messengers at dawn and make preparations to leave for Petra. For months I have wanted to see my old allies face to face and you have made that happen, Corbulo. I shall also enjoy telling Pontius and Nerva that it was you who brought the Tanukh back to the table.’

The governor took Cassius’s forearm and shook it hard. ‘I thank you. Rome thanks you.’

Cassius heard the words but they washed over him. ‘Sir, even though Ilaha is dead, the situation remains dangerous down there. Again, forgive my impertinence, but I would advise the utmost haste.’

‘Young man, I have seen and heard enough to know that your advice is worth listening to. For that reason – and the fact that the Tanukh clearly respect you – I would like you to come with me.’

The governor stared searchingly into Cassius’s eyes, then gave half a smile.

‘But I will not ask you to. I see that you need to rest. We will talk again but not now. If you feel troubled, talk to that bodyguard of yours, or perhaps Mercator. Only they will understand what you have been through these last few weeks. Fellowship is all that helps at such times.’

Simo was waiting for him at the East Gate. Their ride up from Aila had taken nine days. Three times more Simo had begged him to reconsider until Cassius had finally snapped at him to be quiet. Now the Gaul seemed to have accepted his fate, which Cassius somehow found even more upsetting. He wished Simo could realise this would affect him too but there could be no doubt it was for the best. Even having him around was a reminder of what he was trying desperately to forget.

They walked back to the house, Simo leading their horses and Patch. The streets of the capital were quiet but Cassius drew a little comfort from the familiar sights. Yet everything seemed slightly different now, as if viewed through new eyes.

He turned to Simo. ‘I will take you down to the market tomorrow so I suggest you get your affairs in order tonight. You should take a sample of your writing – that will help you get a decent post. Do not mention the matter to Indavara. Is that clear?’

Simo kept quiet.

‘I said is that clear? I remain your master until you are purchased by a dealer.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cassius threw up a hand in frustration. ‘Gods, it’s not all bad, man. You would prefer a quieter life. If your new master lives here you might even be able to continue attending the church-house.’

‘I have seen what other slaves are put through, sir. It is one of the great blessings of my life that I have worked for two kind masters. I could not possibly be so fortunate a third time.’

‘Do not try to make me feel sorry for you,’ said Cassius as they turned onto the Via Cappadocia, the walls of the fortress looming up ahead.

He was glad to reach the house without seeing Lepida or anyone else. The only thing he was looking forward to was meeting Indavara and Mercator and whoever else had made it back alive.

Muranda opened the door. ‘Master Cassius!’

He walked straight past her.

‘Master Indavara has been worried sick. He was so relieved when that messenger came from the governor.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He waited here all day but that soldier came round about an hour ago with some other men. They were going to a tavern, I think.’

‘Soldier? Mercator?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cassius unclipped the brooch holding his cloak together and handed the garment to Muranda.

She looked past him at the street. ‘Ah, and Simo too.’

‘They didn’t say which tavern?’ asked Cassius.

She shook her head. ‘You really have caught the sun, sir. My, you’ve lost some weight too.’

‘Make sure my bed’s ready.’ He walked back outside and spoke to Simo. ‘Get unpacked then get the horses stabled.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cassius lowered his voice. ‘Indavara will be back here later. You will not tell him. I don’t want any fuss.’

Simo gestured at the mule. ‘Sir, what about Patch?’

Cassius was already on his way.

They had raised a toast to every dead man, each of them speaking his full name. Nothing was said after that and when some loud drinking competition began on the other side of the tavern, Nobus, Damon and Apollinaris drifted away to investigate. Most of the drinkers were Viridio’s men. Once the decurion had heard they were heading north with their precious cargo, he had volunteered to escort them up the Via Traiana. Entering the city with one hundred camel-riders had been an experience Indavara would not forget.

‘Thanks for coming with me today,’ said Mercator as he took a pickled walnut from a bowl with his left hand (the right was still heavily bandaged). ‘I don’t think I could have faced a second day doing that alone.’

‘It’s a shame Corbulo wasn’t here. He’s good with words. Women too.’

They had been to visit the wives and parents of all the dead auxiliaries. Indavara hadn’t spoken, just stood alongside Mercator. The optio had said they’d been on a scouting mission for the governor. Essential work. The men had died fighting enemies of Rome and Arabia; died bravely, died well. More than one wife had asked about the money but Tribune Pontius wouldn’t release the funds yet – not until Corbulo returned.

Indavara could not forget the last visit, to Yorvah’s sister Marcella. She had heard from the other relatives that her brother had been lost and that Mercator would be coming. Even though she knew him, she had refused to open the door, as if she could somehow stave off the news. But she had listened as he spoke, and they’d heard her slump to the floor, weeping. Despite Mercator’s pleas, she still wouldn’t let them in.

Indavara had mixed feelings about what he guessed he could now call his fellow soldiers. Unlike his time as a fighter, he had allowed himself to grow close to them and the loss of men like Yorvah and Andal was hard to take. Then again, he’d made new friends in Mercator and the other surviving auxiliaries. They’d known each other only for a few weeks but – as with Corbulo and Simo – the bonds of those who’d fought together were strong. Though memories of his old life remained lost to him, the feeling was somehow familiar.