Ilaha closed his eyes.
‘I wish I was so certain,’ said Gutha.
The crone smiled; a joyless smile that cracked her wrinkled face. ‘You will kneel too.’
XXVI
The ceremony began at midday. For an hour beforehand the beat of drums and the clanging of bells rang out from beyond the inner wall. When the noise stopped, the doors opened and the guards lined the road all the way to the town. Once the men of Galanaq had entered, the ethnarchs came out to lead their warriors inside.
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.