‘I was a fighter,’ he said. ‘It’s true.’
He was holding the goblet at a dangerous angle. To avoid any wine spilling on the rug beneath them, Cassius took it from him and put it down. Indavara didn’t seem to notice.
‘There was this trainer, Derkylos. He fought with sword and shield. Big tall sod. He didn’t believe in taking your time, softening the man up. With him it was always: “The head! The head!” That was all he ever said: “The head! The head!” Anyway, somehow he got into debt so he decided to return to the arena — a one-off contest for the money. He was in a pair, up against these two Africans. I wasn’t fighting until the next day so I was watching with this other fellow, Krantor. Towards the end of the bout Derkylos lost his shield. Can you guess what happened?’
‘No,’ said Khalima.
‘Can you?’ he asked Miraz.
‘No.’
The bodyguard reached for his goblet.
Cassius moved it away. ‘Just finish the story.’
‘So anyway, this African got Derkylos against the wall. The first swing shattered his blade, the second one took his head clean off. Clean off.’
Indavara made a cutting motion with his hand. ‘Krantor started laughing and I couldn’t work out why because I liked Derkylos and although it was quick I didn’t like seeing him go.’
‘Yes,’ said Khalima. ‘And?’
‘Krantor was still laughing. He pointed at Derkylos and said: “The head, the head!”’
Indavara looked around at the blank faces and chuckled to himself. ‘Ah, it was funny. Very, very funny.’
XXI
As the tents were taken down and the two groups prepared to leave, Cassius returned to the quiet cool of the date palms. He walked up to the water and looked at his reflection. The bright dawn light showed the full extent of his new colouring.
‘By the great and honoured gods.’
Of all the turns his life had taken since joining the Service, this was surely the most bizarre. Yet he was grateful for Khalima’s help; infiltrating Galanaq sounded hard enough — he certainly didn’t want any extra attention coming his way.
He looked across the pool. While the auxiliaries packed their gear away, Ulixes stood alone with his horse. The previous evening, while Cassius had checked that all the money was still in the barrel, Indavara had queried why he didn’t just pay the man off and cut him loose.
It was a fair question. Khalima had corroborated the significance of Galanaq and it seemed likely this man Ilaha would keep the stone there. Ulixes himself was desperate to leave and Indavara, Mercator and the others would be glad to see him go. But — after some consideration — Cassius had decided to keep him around.
He could not be certain of Khalima. The Saracen didn’t seem like a man to renege on a deal but he was in effect turning against his own, and who knew what they would find at Galanaq? With this meeting of chiefs — Khalima’s clan leader included — the situation would be complicated, fluid and dangerous. If the chief’s nerve failed him, there was no one else but Ulixes who knew the area; no one else to help them escape.
And there was another reason. Even if Cassius did give the gambler his money and let him go, what was to stop him betraying them to Ilaha? Unlikely perhaps, but Ulixes clearly wasn’t happy with his cut and — unlike Khalima — he knew exactly why they were headed to Galanaq.
Cassius nodded to himself, satisfied with his original decision. When — and if — they located the stone, the gambler could leave.
He snapped off a dead reed and flicked it into the water, shattering his reflection.
As well as Ulixes, he now held another man’s fate in his hands. He looked at the busy auxiliaries; twenty had become eighteen, and now he had to lose another.
Most of the horses were loaded and some of the men had already mounted up but Indavara and Simo seemed to be lagging behind.
‘Hurry up, you two,’ said Cassius as he trotted past them up to the ridge.
In his hand was a cloth bag containing two encoded letters — one for Abascantius, one for Calvinus — each detailing what he had learned about Ilaha (including the attack on Ruwaffa) and the assistance secured from Khalima. Accompanying Calvinus’s letter was a copy of the agreement which Cassius and the Saracen had both signed.
Cassius had disclosed little about his intentions; merely that the party would proceed to Galanaq and he would report back at the next available opportunity. How his superiors reacted to what he’d discovered was up to them; by the time they knew of it, Cassius’s party would be deep in the mountains.
Mercator was with Andal and Yorvah. Cassius would gladly have entrusted either man with the task of delivering the letters but he couldn’t spare them.
The optio looked at the bag. ‘So who are we sending?’
‘Apollinaris.’
The big auxiliary did not welcome the news. When Cassius and Mercator went to tell him, he screwed his eyes shut and shook his head.
‘Sorry,’ said Mercator. ‘But Officer Corbulo here needs a reliable man.’
‘Quite so.’ Cassius also needed someone who people would think twice about taking on. ‘I appreciate that you don’t want to leave the others but these letters are extremely important. One is bound for the governor himself.’
Apollinaris cheered up a bit. ‘To Humeima, sir?’
‘Yes. Report to the senior officer at the fortress and tell him these are for the imperial post — utmost urgency.’
Apollinaris took the bag and tucked it into his tunic.
A shout went up behind them and Khalima’s people set off to the north, with Miraz in the lead. Some of the older children rode mules while the younger ones sat behind their mothers and sisters. Khalima, Adayyid and ten of his warriors watched the rest of their clan leave.
‘You’d better go,’ Mercator told Apollinaris.
‘With them?’
‘No,’ said Cassius. ‘Too slow. I suggest you head straight for the road, leaving the formation to the south. You should make Humeima by nightfall. Stop for nothing and no one. Those letters must arrive. Wait for us at the fort.’
‘Understood, sir. Can I say farewell to the men?’
‘Go ahead.’
Mercator was looking at the Saracens. ‘I’m not sure Khalima’s warriors are as happy with this new alliance as he is.’
‘Possibly not. But I gather they’re mostly nephews and cousins. I doubt we need concern ourselves with their loyalty.’
Mercator inspected Cassius’s clothes — he had changed into his dullest tunic and riding trousers. ‘So no more pretty colours and bracelets, eh? Sure you’re ready to rough it with the rest of us?’
‘A rather sudden demotion, but I think I’ll manage.’
In fact, Cassius found it rather pleasant to be temporarily free of the travails of command. He and Mercator stayed at the rear while Khalima returned them to the Incense Road in good time. With the sky patched with white cloud and the temperature warm rather than hot, they continued southward. The road was marked only by intermittent lines of pebbles and took occasional diversions around rock formations both large and small.
Later in the morning, Cassius moved up to give Indavara more guidance on his riding. He was not at all bad now when walking, so Cassius asked him what problems he had at speed and offered advice. Despite his obvious hangover, Indavara seemed to appreciate the help.
Just after midday they passed a caravan heading north, each of the fifty men towing a packhorse or camel heavily laden with the usual jars of incense. Once they were past, Khalima dropped back to speak to Cassius.
‘Their leader is named Anzarekk. I have met him before but I thought a conversation best avoided.’
‘Quite so. He belongs to your tribe?’
‘No. That was the other reason I ignored him; his ethnarch is Kalderon — one of our more fiery chiefs. I’m sure he will already have allied himself to Ilaha. Like many, he has harboured ill will towards Rome since the Palmyran war.’