The Black Stone (5 page)

Standing there with another sentry was one of the staff; an aged attendant holding a waxed tablet and stylus. ‘Officer Corbulo, good day to you. The governor is holding his meeting in the Table Room. Do you—’

Cassius didn’t break stride. ‘I know the way.’

The courtyard was large – forty yards from corner to corner – and today contained two groups of people. One was a huddle of toga-clad men: senior administrators deep in discussion. The others were centurions, helmets cradled under their arms as they listened to another officer reading from a sheet of paper. None of the men looked up.

Cassius passed through a portico then turned right into a corridor. Two maids were on their knees, rolling up a heavy rug. They were about to scramble out of Cassius’s way but he held up a hand and nimbly turned sideways to get past them. Slowing down as he approached the Table Room, he checked his helmet, straightened his tunic, and walked in.

The room was well lit by three grilled windows and dominated by the eponymous table – a rectangular monstrosity far too big for the space that housed it. On the interior wall was a fading fresco; the inevitable seven hills of Rome. At the near end of the table stood two young clerks, silently sorting through some papers. Sitting at the far end were Governor Calvinus, Tribune Pontius and Chief Nerva.

‘Ah, Corbulo.’ Calvinus beckoned Cassius forward then addressed the clerks. ‘You two leave us. Shut the door behind you.’

As the clerks complied, Cassius placed his helmet on a table next to Nerva’s (which looked in rather better condition) then slipped the satchel from his shoulder. The governor occupied the chair at the end of the table, the others to his right. Cassius took a seat to his left.

Directly opposite him was Pontius: a tall, striking man. At twenty-six he was five years older than Cassius and the legion’s senior tribune. His light woollen tunic was of unmistakable quality, the wide purple stripe running from shoulder to belt. Pontius was a senator’s son, putting in his time in the provinces before returning to Rome to take up a political career. With the prefect away leading the legion’s crack cohorts in Syria, he was now effectively commander of the province’s forces. Brash and direct, Pontius was also a renowned rider, having won several prestigious contests. Cassius had tried to ingratiate himself with all those he dealt with at his new posting but Pontius remained as unreceptive as Chief Nerva – possibly the only thing the two had in common.

Though technically a centurion, as the man in charge of the fortress, Nerva enjoyed a status only just below Pontius. Unlike the tribune – who might be back in Rome within a year – he had served with the Third Cyrenaican for two decades. Jowly and squat, his red tunic was far more faded than Cassius’s and looked at least a size too small. Pinned to his chest was a miniature silver spear: symbol of his post; and around both his wrists were broad gold bands: decorations for distinguished service.

Calvinus was a little older: well into his fifties. According to local lore he had shunned the possibility of a future career in Rome because of his love of the province and its inhabitants. His broad face was topped by a thick head of silvery curls, his cheeks lined with red veins. He was said to like his drink but there was never any at these meetings. Cassius was a tad hungover, and wouldn’t have minded pouring himself some water from the jug on the table. But it was too far away and he was last to arrive, so he sat up straight and waited for the governor to begin.

Calvinus ran a knuckle across his brow. ‘Chief Nerva passed this news to me early this morning. Pontius, Corbulo – you are the first to know. Five days ago the legionary fort at Ruwaffa was attacked. Burned to the ground. It was efficiently done – the fire was started in several places and the gates blocked from the outside. Almost the entire century perished. The three men that escaped had to climb over the walls. They eventually made it to Humeima from where Centurion Ignatius immediately despatched a message.’

‘By the gods,’ said Pontius. ‘This is an outrage.’

‘And unprecedented,’ said Calvinus. ‘In all my years here.’

Cassius had several questions running through his head but remained silent. Upon finding out he would be taking the job, he’d been relieved – pleased to accept an administrative position at last. But he was still getting to grips with both the role and the situation. He planned to listen, learn and keep his head down.

Chief Nerva broke the silence. ‘Without wishing to go over old ground, sir, it’s no coincidence that the frequency and severity of these attacks have risen since the legion was dismembered. Our enemies know we are weak.’

‘Dismembered? Must you use such dramatic language, Marcus? What we must focus on is finding out exactly who these enemies are.’

‘Could be brigands,’ replied the centurion. ‘Some splinter group within the Tanukh? Palmyrans, even?’

‘Perhaps our resident spy has something to add?’ said Pontius, staring across the table at Cassius.

Nerva weighed in before he could reply. ‘Unlikely, Tribune. To find out anything useful one might actually have to leave Bostra.’

Pontius sneered, then continued the attack. ‘Well, Corbulo? Isn’t it your job to anticipate such events?’

The governor intervened. ‘I shall remind you both that Officer Corbulo has been here only a matter of weeks. He is no more a soothsayer than you or I.’

Cassius decided he had to say something, if only to be seen to contribute. ‘Sir, was there any further information regarding the attack in the letter? Any evidence or—’

‘No,’ said the governor. ‘Just the bare facts.’

Nerva picked up a sheet in front of him and slid it across the table. ‘Here.’

Cassius examined the letter – a few sentences scrawled hastily on a well-worn page.

Calvinus continued. ‘Ruwaffa is – was – our most southerly presence. Now we shall know even less about what is going on down there.’

‘What
about
the Tanukh, sir?’ asked Nerva. ‘Any progress?’

‘Whatever their other concerns, the thirteen chiefs do not currently seem particularly interested in meeting me.’

‘What is wrong with these bloody Saracens?’ uttered Pontius. ‘We have safeguarded this province for almost two centuries. They should be coming to us, not the other way around.’

‘With respect,’ said Nerva, ‘you weren’t here when the Palmyrans hit us. The Tanukh’s reward for fighting alongside us was to see their villages and towns razed, their caravans robbed. When the Emperor defeated Zenobia we told them that was the end of it; that we could guarantee a period of peace. And now? Palmyra up in arms again. Egypt? No wonder they’ve turned their backs on us.’

‘Is there no more we can do, sir?’ asked Pontius.

‘My emissaries are working hard but we have heard almost nothing,’ said Calvinus. ‘You know how it is with these nomads – always on the move. Let’s go over the numbers again. If this attack presages a wider problem, I want to know just how bad it could get if the Tanukh do turn against us.’

‘Sir, I think that’s extremely unlikely,’ said Pontius.

‘Based on what?’ replied Calvinus irritably.

‘The fact that they have fought beside us before, been our allies for many years.’

‘That’s right. They have. I consider some of these men my friends. I have eaten with them, ridden with them, seen their children grow up. And they are ignoring me. That silence frightens me more than anything.’

Nerva swiftly outlined the deployment of the Third Cyrenaican. ‘The first and tenth cohorts of course remain here in Bostra, the sixth outside Petra, the seventh at Aila. The eighth is divided between Gerasa and Philadelphia. The ninth currently man the fortresses in the south of the province. Based on current strength returns, we can muster a total of around two thousand six hundred men.’

Nerva saw the look of surprise on the governor’s face.

‘This outbreak at Gerasa, sir. A third of Modius’s men are laid up. Half his officers too.’

‘Auxiliaries?’

‘Viridio’s camel-riders are in as good a shape as ever. Strength returns for the other cohorts are adequate.’

‘That’s something, I suppose,’ said Calvinus. ‘Now what about the Via Traiana? It’s an obvious target for whoever’s behind the attack. The road
must
stay open. Trade must continue, taxes must be collected and the general staff must be assured of free movement across our territory.’

Calvinus and Nerva turned to Pontius.

‘No incidents reported to me. Clearly, protecting the entire road is a virtual impossibility but we are ready to mount extra patrols and put squads into the way-stations if required.’

‘And your report on potential placements for these patrols and squads? Wasn’t it due last week?’

‘My apologies, Governor. We are doing our best but where previously the chiefs would have provided us with intelligence, we are now rather in the dark. I must confess I am bemused as to what Officer Corbulo has been doing for the last few weeks.’

Cassius had been reading the letter for a second time while keeping one ear on the conversation. He lowered the sheet as the three senior men looked at him.

‘As you know, my predecessor Verecundus wasn’t the most conscientious of individuals but I have been in contact with a few of the men he employed as informers.’

‘And?’ asked Pontius.

‘I have obtained nothing that could be described as actionable intelligence,’ admitted Cassius. ‘Some refused to meet me, others claim that the tribesmen are spending less time in the north of the province. None were prepared to cooperate.’

Pontius snorted.

‘How I love the Service,’ scoffed Nerva. ‘About as useful as a candle in a snowstorm.’

‘Actually, sir, what I have learned is quite useful, in a way.’

‘Knowing nothing is useful?’ countered Pontius. ‘Then you must consider yourself an expert, Corbulo.’

‘The fact that Verecundus – by all accounts a lazy, disorganised fellow – was able to gather information, yet I have not, is in itself instructive. It reinforces what Governor Calvinus has already told us. The situation has changed. I would surmise that some or all of the informers are withholding information out of fear. Perhaps because the attitude of the less loyal Saracens towards Rome is now at best unfriendly, at worst hostile.’

Pontius seemed determined to assert himself. ‘We must get a grip of the situation, sir. Allow me to march the tenth cohort down to Humeima. We shall investigate the Ruwaffa attack and bring those responsible to justice. Once there are a few dozen bodies hanging by the road these bastards might think twice about attacking again.’

Nerva was nodding. ‘If we can restore order, the chiefs may come back to us.’

Cassius made a noise, and realised the governor had heard him only when Calvinus looked at him.

‘Corbulo? Something to say?’

‘Er, well, sir … I’m not sure the situation is as chaotic as it first appears. I’ve been working through the documentation regarding the various incidents as you instructed. The majority may well be due to the reduction in troop numbers and a consequent breakdown in order. But a few – and I wouldn’t be surprised if this attack on Ruwaffa is the latest – share certain common characteristics.’

‘Go on.’

Cassius knew he should have been spending six hours a day on the paperwork Verecundus had left behind. In fact he’d been doing about two hours, but he was most of the way through it and sure of his conclusions.

‘Sir, I shall refer only to incidents where our people have been killed. You will recall that a tax collector was murdered outside Aila last March.’

‘Hardly a rarity,’ said the governor.

‘Usually two or three a year,’ added Nerva.

‘Four last year,’ said Cassius. ‘The other three were investigated by local legionaries and brought to a conclusion – all disgruntled taxpayers as I recall. The Aila murder wasn’t solved. Then, last October, a legionary patrol was ambushed outside Humeima.’

‘Palmyran irregulars, wasn’t it?’ said Nerva.

‘That’s what Verecundus wrote it up as,’ replied Cassius. ‘But I checked the original report from the optio down there. There was no evidence of Palmryan involvement. There was no evidence at all. Verecundus just wanted a neat conclusion to his investigation. Then there was the robbery of the wage cart at Udruh in January. Six men killed this time, several thousand sesterces taken. Verecundus made no progress identifying those responsible. All three incidents were roughly the same time apart, all struck directly at symbolic Roman targets and all were carried out with a high degree of professionalism.’

‘And you chose not to mention this before?’ asked Pontius.

‘I did mention it,’ Cassius replied quickly. ‘It was in the preliminary report I prepared for the governor. Your office should have received a copy.’

Pontius turned to Nerva, who nodded.

‘Bloody useless clerks,’ said the tribune, reddening.

‘Now this attack,’ said Cassius, tapping the letter. ‘Again, a few months after the last incident and, judging from what we know so far, again carried out efficiently.’

‘Do you have a theory about who might be responsible?’ asked Calvinus.

‘No, sir. Frankly, I don’t know enough about the province. All I can say is that there seems to be a guiding hand at work. Someone who is becoming more brazen, more confident.’

‘Governor,’ said Nerva. ‘You know the chiefs better than any of us. Are they really capable of this?’

‘Knowing so little of their present state of mind, it’s difficult to say. But a few were certainly more reluctant allies than others, and some still cling to the hope of a return to the old days.’ Calvinus flicked his head upward. ‘When old King Rabbel lived under this roof and the desert folk came and went as they pleased.’

‘This person is an opportunist,’ said Cassius. ‘They might have waited for years, even fought alongside the legions.’

‘We have always been so vulnerable here,’ said Calvinus. ‘Thousands of miles of ungovernable territory to our south and east; and always dependent on the Saracens to provide information and security.’

‘Well, sir?’ said Pontius, still anxious to regain some ground. ‘I could have that column on the move within days, down to Humeima in a couple of weeks.’