Unsurprisingly, the lantern Khalima had used as a weapon had gone out. He took the one hanging from the crane and handed it to Cassius. ‘Your turn. I know nothing about these devices.’
‘I used to watch them down at the docks in Ravenna. Simple mechanics. You’d better bring our friend, though.’
Cassius looked up at the crane, which was still facing the platform. Below the pulley were two straps forming a cradle to be placed under the stone. There wasn’t enough slack to reach the platform so Cassius ran to the rear of the machine, opened the locking clamp and took the rope off the winch. He then grabbed the straps and hurried up the steps.
The dead guards were nowhere to be seen, though there was a wide puddle of blood next to the lantern. The Saracens had withdrawn to the edges of the platform, as far from the stone as they could get. Cassius whipped the cover off, then took the straps and fitted each one under the rounded base. As he walked back across the front of the platform he heard a hollow sound underneath him.
He tapped downwards with his boot and realised he was standing not on rock but on wood. With no time to investigate further, he hurried down to the crane.
‘Back the cart up to the platform,’ he told Khalima. ‘We only have to lift it an inch or two, swing it forward, then lower it.’
Grabbing the thick rope once more, Cassius ran it back around the winch then fed the end through the locking clamp.
‘I’ll need two men on the rope and the others pulling.’
Khalima gave the orders and the Saracens took their places.
Cassius joined the men on one of the spindles. ‘Ready? Heave.’
Simo watched the bleary-eyed tribesmen staggering out of their tents to look across the road at the burning compound. Thick tongues of flame could now be seen in at least five different places, and speeding lanterns and torches left orange streaks in the darkness. Shouts drifted across the canyon as the warriors tried to organise themselves.
Andal and the auxiliaries also looked on while doing their best to calm the mounts. Like them, Simo had four horses roped to his own. They were standing in the corral, waiting for the signal. The Gaul spoke soothing words to his horse but it and the other animals were growing increasingly agitated by the fire and the noise.
Of all the dangerous, hateful places he had found himself while in the service of Master Cassius, he reckoned this to be the worst. Though he knew little comfort lay beyond the outer gate, he longed for the moment when they would ride out onto the road.
None of the men saw or heard him pray. ‘Deliver us from this hellish place. Please, Lord, deliver us.’
Leaving the others in cover, Indavara peered around the courtyard arch. The guards were still in place by the gate but were now looking along the road. The earlier quiet was long gone but there was little attention on this end of the town. It was the perfect time to strike.
Indavara looked up the slope but there was no sign of Yorvah returning to confirm the signal had been given.
Come on, Corbulo. Has to be now.
Cassius couldn’t work out what was wrong. They had tried twice but the stone hadn’t moved even an inch.
‘Shit.’ He grabbed a lantern and inspected the locking clamp, the winch, the arm and the rope. Everything seemed to be in order.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’
Adayyid was guarding Reyazz. He pushed him towards the crane. ‘You — help him.’
The engineer did nothing but curse at his captors in Nabatean.
Still holding the lantern, Cassius sprinted up the steps and leaned across the rock. He examined the complicated workings of the pulleys, checking the blocks and each individual rope. Everything seemed to be running freely.
‘What is it?’ he whispered to himself. ‘What in Hades is wrong?’
He arrived back at the crane to find Reyazz spreadeagled on the ground, Khalima on his back. The Saracen was holding the young man by the hair and waving his dagger in his face.
‘He won’t help,’ explained Adayyid.
‘Yes he will,’ said Khalima.
Reyazz started laughing.
Khalima pushed the tip of the knife into his cheek.
‘Wait,’ said Cassius.
‘We don’t have time to wait!’ snapped Khalima. ‘He said we’re so stupid we’ll never work out what we’re doing wrong.’
‘Just give me a minute,’ pleaded Cassius.
He looked at the crane. He knew the answer was right in front of him but he couldn’t see it. Focusing on the winch, he thought of the Fortuna Redux, the ship he’d sailed on during their last assignment.
‘Tell the men to try again.’
Cassius kept his eyes on the winch. As the men heaved on the spindles, he realised the rope was slipping. That was it. He’d seen it on the winches aboard the Fortuna — the rope had to be wrapped around four or more times to gain sufficient grip.
‘Let go.’
He took the rope from the men manning the locking clamp and ran it around the winch an additional two times. ‘Let’s try it now.’
With those at the rear anchoring the rope, Cassius lent his efforts to one of the spindles. The crane creaked and groaned as the rope pulled tight. The men on the platform called out. The rope moved three or four inches.
‘That’ll do.’ He returned to the men at the rear. ‘Lock it off.’
This was done by jamming the rope between two wooden wheels with triangular teeth.
Cassius noted the sour look on Reyazz’s face.
‘Ha!’ Khalima pushed his head down as he got off him.
‘Now we have to swing it over to the edge and lower it.’
Cassius fetched a coil of rope from the cart and ran back up to the platform, where he found the stone now off the ground. He ran the rope around the lifting line then dropped both ends over the edge of the platform. On his way back down he grabbed Khalima and two others. The four of them took hold of the rope and walked backwards, pulling until the stone was close enough to the edge.
With prompting from Cassius, Khalima’s men released the lock and let out the lifting line. The stone scraped down the rock beneath the platform then a gentle thud confirmed it was down.
‘We’re there — Adayyid, give the signal!’
The Saracen grabbed a bow from the cart. Another man used a lantern to light an arrow topped with a wrapping of oiled skin. Adayyid nocked it and aimed the bow skyward.
Gutha sat Ilaha down in a chair. ‘You must stay here.’
Ilaha gazed vacantly at his hands, which were grazed and spotted with blood.
Mother appeared from an antechamber, arms outstretched, robes trailing on the floor. ‘My son, what happened? What happened?’
Gutha hurried out into the passageway and shut the door behind him. A pair of guards were waiting outside.
‘Stay with him. Let no one approach.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Steadying the axe with one hand, Gutha ran back to the meeting room. He heard the shouts long before he saw anyone. The bodies had been laid out in the passageway and covered with blankets. A dozen guards had gathered outside the door. Kalderon was remonstrating with the senior men, trying to get past. As usual, Yemanek was playing peacemaker.
‘Gutha, thank the gods,’ said Kalderon. ‘Get these cretins out of my way.’
‘Sir, it might be better if you remain here for now.’
‘What? If we are under attack you must allow me to help.’
‘Please,’ said Gutha. ‘Galanaq is our territory. I need to establish what’s going on. I will keep you informed.’
‘Our men are out there,’ said another of the ethnarchs.
‘Just give me a little time.’
‘He is right,’ Yemanek told Kalderon. ‘This is Lord Ilaha’s domain.’ He turned to Gutha. ‘Tell us immediately you know more.’
The ethnarch waved the others back into the room.
Kalderon gripped Gutha’s arm. ‘I’m coming with you.’