XV
The cold night air chilled their hands and faces, until their fingers became stiff, their cheeks numb. And with the moon only offering its light on the rare occasion of a gap in the cloud, Cassius felt as if they were being drawn along some endless, black tunnel that narrowed with every passing mile. Though the road was indeed smooth underfoot, and the horses could ride side by side, they too seemed unnerved by the dark. Every clink of metal or tap of hoof seemed to reverberate outward, announcing their presence to whoever else had decided to brave the desert night.
They had missed the eighth milestone. Determined to see the ninth, Cassius stationed himself to the left of the road. Cradled in Simo’s lap was Cassius’s hourglass; only that afternoon the Gaul had adjusted it to account for the shorter days and longer nights of autumn. Exploiting a moment of moonlight, Simo checked the glass. The top half was empty.
‘Fourth hour,’ he said, turning it over.
Cassius rubbed his eyes. ‘Where’s this damned stone? Can’t be far now.’
With no word of warning, Indavara pulled back on his reins. His horse lurched off the road with a snort of protest. Cassius and Simo halted their mounts.
‘What are you doing?’ demanded Cassius.
‘Look there, ahead!’
Indavara pointed north. In the distance were several dots of orange light.
‘Gods,’ said Cassius. ‘They must be moving quickly — I saw nothing a few moments ago.’
‘We should get off the road while we have time,’ said Indavara.
‘Don’t you remember what Surex said about those channels?’
‘Then what do we do — wait for them?’
Cassius looked north again. Were the lights closer already?
‘Simo, you wait here with the horses,’ he said as he dismounted. ‘We’ll try to find a safe path.’
Once Indavara was off his horse and beside him, Cassius hurried off the right side of the road and down the shallow slope beside it.
‘Keep a few yards between us,’ he said. ‘Slow and steady.’
The bodyguard did as he was told and when Cassius had counted fifty paces of even ground, they turned and ran back to the road. Cassius dragged his eyes off the lights as he took his reins. There were three torches; no more than a mile away now.
Indavara’s mount was tossing its head around and puffing.
‘That accursed thing better stay quiet,’ said Cassius. ‘Follow me. Don’t stray off my path.’
With a last glance at the bobbing torches, he led the way. When the fifty paces were done, he gently brought his horse around. The others did likewise; Indavara to his right, Simo to his left. The bodyguard’s horse was still unsettled, and as it strained against its reins, anxiety spread to Cassius’s horse. He held its head close to him and stroked its neck. Indavara swore as his mount yanked him backwards.
They could hear the riders now; the percussive thud of hooves amplified by the stones below.
Indavara’s mount began to sniff and snort.
‘That bloody beast is going to do for us all,’ Cassius hissed. ‘Simo, you take it — might calm it down.’
Cassius muttered a prayer to Epona, goddess of horses, and held the reins while Indavara and the Gaul swapped positions. Either or both of the methods seemed to work because in moments all three animals were quiet.
‘That’s it,’ said Cassius. ‘Just a little longer.’
They stood in a line in the darkness, watching the road.
The riders approached. The first man was slightly out in front, torch held high.
Cassius’s horse began to shuffle its hooves and back away from the road.
The first rider was past them now. There were four more behind him, two with torches.
‘Keep going, keep going,’ Cassius whispered.
Suddenly Simo was struggling to keep control of Indavara’s horse and Cassius was hauled off balance by his own mount. He prayed again. All three horses were now snorting but the noise from the road was louder. Then Indavara’s horse loosed a high-pitched whinny.
One of the riders cried out and stopped. The others halted too, then the man in front. Without the clatter of hooves, the quiet came suddenly.
‘No, no, no,’ Cassius breathed.
Indavara’s horse whinnied again, then Simo’s too.
The riders peered warily into the darkness. They leapt down from their saddles, conversing in hushed, urgent tones. The leader was last off his horse. By the time he reached the others, three were holding their swords, one was putting an arrow to his bow. The leader drew his own blade. Flame flickered across its polished surface. He spoke; and one man sheathed his sword and took charge of the horses. The other three gathered behind him. With his torch in one hand, sword in the other, he strode confidently off the road.
‘What shall we do, sir?’ implored Simo.
Indavara came close to Cassius. ‘Take these,’ he said, holding up the reins for Simo’s horse.
‘What?’
‘I’ll move off. Stay hidden. If things go bad I can catch them cold.’
‘What? No, we-’
‘I may be some distance away so if you want me to strike, put your hand to your mouth and cough loudly. Understood?’
‘Wait-’
‘Understood?’
‘How do we explain the spare horse?’
‘You’re the talker. Think of something.’
Indavara forced the reins into Cassius’s hands, then took his bow and quiver from his saddle. Eyes locked on the men, he retreated silently into the darkness.
Cassius decided there was now nothing to be gained by staying hidden.
‘Come, Simo.’
He handed the Gaul the reins of Indavara’s horse and led his own mount forward.
‘Hello there,’ he said in Greek.
The men stopped. Cassius continued on until he was only a few feet from them. The leader was the oldest of them, bearded, dark-skinned and sinewy, and he smiled when he saw what he and his men faced. Strapped to his left arm was a small, round shield. Cassius had seen those before. Palmyrans. The archer raised his weapon. The bow was unusually long, the arrow too, and the tip was aiming straight at Cassius’s head.
‘Do you speak Greek?’ Cassius asked, failing to stop his voice wavering.
The leader nodded. He held torch and blade high, framing his drawn, angular face.
‘What are you doing out here?’
‘Hiding, actually. We were told the road was dangerous.’
A flicker of amusement crossed the Palmyran’s face. ‘Can be, can be.’
Cassius nodded at the archer. ‘Could you ask your friend to aim that somewhere else?’
‘You have three horses, but there are only two of you.’
‘A spare.’
‘It’s saddled.’
‘I used it this night. My mount is tired.’
The leader spoke to the archer. The Palmyran kept his string half-drawn, but aimed the arrow at the ground.
‘Who are you?’ asked the leader. ‘And why are you on the road?’
‘My name’s Oranian. I’m from Raetia. I’m interested in the mines north of here — looking for trade opportunities. I arranged several meetings in Chalcis but I was delayed, hence the night-time journey.’
‘Raetian, eh? Sure you don’t mean Roman?’
‘Quite sure, thank you.’
‘And him?’ asked the leader, turning to Simo.
‘My manservant.’
The leader walked past Cassius, passing within inches of him. The horses had calmed down but became skittish again as the sizzling torch came near. The Palmyran looked at the saddles and the gear. He said something in Aramaic to the others, then walked back to them. Cassius understood none of it and he turned to Simo, but the Gaul was staring at the four warriors.
‘There’s a tax for using this road,’ said the leader.
‘I see. How much?’
‘It varies. From a few coins to. . everything you own.’
Cassius noted that the other men made no reaction to this quip. They didn’t speak Greek.
‘I can be reasonable,’ he replied. ‘If you’ll allow us to continue peacefully on our way.’
The leader nodded at his comrades. ‘I don’t see you’ve much room for negotiation. You’ve some fine saddles and bags there. Who knows what we’ll find?’