Once he had the coins, the tax collector handed over the counter, which Simo passed on to Cassius. It was made of bark and marked with some kind of code.
The legionary caught Mercator’s eye. ‘Careful on the quieter stretches of the road. We’ve not many troops to spare. Few incidents of late.’
‘Thanks for the advice.’
‘On you go,’ said the tax collector.
Cassius gave his horse a tap and set off through the gate.
They passed through the town of Hadid, then the ancient city of Philadelphia. Like Damascus and nearby Gerasa, it was one of the Decapolis — the ten eastern frontier cities colonised by Rome three centuries earlier. Though the provincial capitals were now more important, Philadelphia was still far larger and more populous than Bostra. Cassius found the impressive architecture reassuringly familiar, and as they rode on past busy side streets and squares, he saw several pretty sanctuaries. He got a particularly good look at one because of a collapsed cart that held up traffic for half an hour. While they waited, he gazed enviously at young men and women with nothing else to do other than lounge around on benches and talk and laugh. When they finally got under way again, he felt as if a black cloud of despondency had settled over him.
Since leaving Bostra, they had been skirting the highlands that bordered the Jordan and the Dead Sea. But as dusk fell, the Via Traiana neared the dark, rolling hills. Cassius was once again satisfied with the day’s journey and they found a suitable place to camp with the next town, Madaba, already in view. A quarter-mile from the road was an area of dusty ground bordered on three sides by scrub. With the sun already lower in the sky than the previous night, Mercator immediately set the men to work.
Indavara and Simo gave a hand and — thinking it wise to be seen to be doing his bit — Cassius took it upon himself to unsaddle his horse, then pour some water for their three mounts. Yawning and wincing at his aching backside and thighs, he looked on as the men raised the tents. Yorvah began a Nabatean song and — after struggling on alone for a while — was joined by most of the others. During the delay in Philadelphia, Cassius had struck up a conversation with the younger of the two guard officers. Despite a nasty scar on his cheek that had rather ruined an otherwise pleasant face, he seemed a cheery fellow. The veteran Andal — who Cassius reckoned to be forty at least — was a more reserved figure, but clearly well respected by the men.
The song seemed to help the auxiliaries work even faster and the last tent was soon up. With Cassius and Mercator’s approval, Andal got a fire going and some chickens were brought out for roasting. This prospect was enough to ensure Indavara didn’t stray far and Cassius — circling the camp to stretch his legs — was glad to see the bodyguard sitting with the men. He didn’t seem to be saying much but even the fact that he was mixing with them was a sign of progress. Cassius recalled their last assignment; how he’d been brought out of his shell by the camaraderie of Captain Asdribar and the crew of the Fortuna Redux.
He thought of the ship often. With the return of the sailing season the Carthaginian and his men would probably be heading for some exotic port, as ever occupied by their dual obsessions: superstition and turning a profit.
Cassius looked to the west. The Dead Sea was close now, just a few miles beyond the hills. He noticed a thick coil of smoke, drifting high.
Abruptly remembering how thirsty he was, he set off back to the small tent. Once there, he was surprised to see no light inside, but a faint glow coming from one side. He walked around the tent and spied a clay lamp on the ground. Facing away from him and kneeling beside it was Simo. He was whispering to himself.
‘You’d better not be praying.’
Simo stood but didn’t turn. When Cassius spun him around by his shoulder, he was still trying to push the cross down inside his tunic. ‘A-apologies, sir. I thought if I kept out of sight-’
‘You idiot, any one of the men could have seen you.’
‘Sorry, sir, shall I fetch you some dinner? What about a-’
‘Don’t you dare try and distract me,’ Cassius hissed. ‘I told you specifically not to do this.’
‘I am truly sorry, sir, there is-’
‘You know what soldiers are like. If Mercator and the others take against you, then they might just take against me. You are supposed to help, Simo, not be a hindrance. I’m beginning to wonder if you might be more trouble than you’re worth.’
‘Sir, if I can-’
‘Not another word. Get inside that tent and keep that bloody cross hidden.’
Simo bowed his head, then pointed west.
‘What?’ demanded Cassius.
‘The smoke, sir.’
‘What about it?’
‘The martyr Pionius of Smyrna,’ stammered Simo. ‘He wrote of walking these lands and seeing scorched earth and bodies that wouldn’t sink and smoke coming out of the ground. He believed them to be signs of hell. Sir, the Day of Judgement might come at any time. In Antioch all anyone talks of is sin and violence and the coming war. And in Egypt too. So much suffering.’
‘“Day of Judgement” — that nonsense again.’ Cassius held Simo by the shoulders. ‘Pull yourself together. That smoke could be anything, there are hot springs in this area. War? What your people call sin? It’s nothing new. And do you think your Christ was the first man crucified? I have ancestors, family, who died on the cross in the civil wars. Our gods, our traditions, go back a thousand years. This prophet of yours has barely been dead two centuries, yet you believe he and your one god have all the answers.’
Simo reached for the cross, then thought better of it.
Cassius let go of him.
‘I am sorry, sir. But we are close to many holy places here.’
‘Yes, and I expect you spent all your time in Antioch doing nothing but praying and listening to those fools who think the world will soon come to an end. There is more to life than worship, Simo. The gods do not always hear us. Sometimes they forsake us entirely. You have seen more than enough to know that.’
Simo bent down and picked up the lamp.
‘I cannot control what goes on in your head,’ added Cassius. ‘And unlike your people, I am not arrogant enough to assume I can control what you believe. But you belong to me; and you must do as I tell you. Any more of this and I will have to consider letting you go. Now is not a good time to be trying my patience, Simo. I don’t have much left.’
XI
‘What is that smell?’
‘Bitumen,’ replied Mercator.
Cassius looked around. Apart from a single hamlet between them and the hills, the surrounding area was empty.
‘Coming from where?’
‘It occurs naturally — pools of it float to the surface of the Dead Sea. The locals go out in boats and scoop up all they can. It’s worth a lot but doesn’t appear very often so it’s very competitive. They go armed to the teeth. People get killed over it.’
‘Really? I must confess I had no idea.’
‘What’s bitumen?’ asked Indavara, listening in as he rode along behind them.
‘Black stuff, like pitch,’ said Cassius. ‘Used for proofing and glue.’
‘It comes up from the bottom of the sea?’
‘The Dead Sea’s not actually a sea, technically speaking,’ said Cassius.
‘It’s pretty big,’ said Mercator.
‘It’s a lake,’ affirmed Cassius. He turned and gestured to Indavara and Simo (who’d said almost nothing for the entire morning). ‘We have been on several voyages across the Great Green Sea.’
Mercator looked impressed. ‘I’ve still never seen it.’
‘You’d never forget it if you did.’
‘Squint and Captain Asdribar went farther than that,’ added Indavara.
‘Men we sailed with,’ explained Cassius. ‘They have been out past the Pillars of Hercules, seen the Great Ocean.’