The Black Stone (53 page)

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.’

Gutha spoke into the older man’s ear. ‘Somebody must watch the other ethnarchs – any one of them might be involved in this plot. Lord Ilaha will be most grateful.’

Kalderon glanced back into the room and made his decision swiftly. ‘Very well.’

Gutha addressed the guards. ‘Half of you stay here. The rest with me.’

He sprinted off down the passageway.

The flaming arrow was still in the air when Andal ordered Simo’s group to move out. The men immediately mounted up but there was a long wait while they each led their horses clear of the corral. Simo was last to leave and by the time he reached the track, there were numerous riders and men in the way. Some were still watching the burning compound, some were running to help, others were moving their horses away in case the fire spread. Though the sheer weight of numbers slowed them down, Simo realised the chaos was undoubtedly working to their advantage: no one had given them so much as a second glance.

Indavara heard Yorvah running down the path. ‘Here he comes.’

Mercator and the other auxiliaries gathered around him as the guard officer arrived.

‘I saw the arrow. It’s time.’

Mercator nodded at his tunic; there were drops of blood across the front. ‘What happened?’

‘There was a man posted up where the slope meets the wall. I … dealt with it.’

Andal clapped the younger guard officer on the shoulder.

Indavara turned to Mercator. ‘Get as close as you can to the gate then wait.’

‘How will we know when you’ve taken the archers out?’

‘You’ll know.’

Indavara ran past the buildings and up the slope. As he neared the side of the canyon, the outer wall became low enough for him to climb up. Once there, he looked east and was surprised to see the extent of the fire – no wonder the guards were staring. He retrieved a heavy bag from his pack then set off.

The uneven surface was awkward but the moonlight allowed him to make out the edges and stay in the middle. He kept low, so low that the fingers of his free hand dragged across the stone. He ignored the lights and the noise to his left, the black nothingness to his right; and he didn’t look at the tower until he was twenty feet away.

Had there been one or two archers, he might have considered taking them out from a distance, but once alerted they would have the upper hand. With the surround for protection and such a height advantage, even one man could keep firing and control the gate. This way would be better – as long as they didn’t hear him coming.

His next steps were careful and slow. The top of the tower was about ten feet higher than the wall and he halted again when he had a good view of the men. The three were together on the town side of the tower, still preoccupied by the fire. They weren’t wearing helmets or armour.

Knowing the auxiliaries were waiting somewhere below, Indavara continued on until he was within touching distance of the tower. As he had previously noticed, there was only a three-foot gap between it and the wall.

He untied the twine that held the bag shut and tied it to his belt. He then planted his feet on the inner edge of the wall and let himself fall forward onto the tower. Now stretched across the gap, he checked the surface, hoping the top of the structure was similar to the bottom. He soon found a suitable crack between two bricks where the cement had dried out. He reached into the bag, took out one of the daggers and pushed the blade into the gap. He then located another void and placed a dagger there to form his second foothold.

Indavara whispered: ‘I beg for Fortuna’s favour.’

He put his left boot on one handle and tried his weight. It held. Then he brought across his right boot. The second dagger held too. He reached up to find the next gap.

Cassius hadn’t realised he was touching the black stone. While he crouched at the rear, Khalima and his men stayed at the front as the cart rumbled away from the crane. One of the Saracens suddenly pointed at the stone; a red light was shimmering across the honeycomb surface. Fearing some divine manifestation, Cassius let go and shrank backwards. Only then did he realise the effect had been caused by the lantern in his hand.

Then he noticed something twinkling within the stone itself. He moved the lantern and discovered a small hollow. Something inside was reflecting the light. Curious, he reached inside.

Khalima cried a warning but Cassius’s fingers had already found a smooth, circular shape. He gripped the edge and pulled it out.

In his hand was a highly polished mirror of red-tinged glass mounted in a wire frame. Thinking instantly of the mysterious light, he circled the rock, looking for another hollow. Despite the juddering of the cart, he persisted and eventually found a second hole – and a second mirror – in the opposite side of the stone. Khalima looked no less stunned than the other Saracens. Even though he knew they were nearing the gate, Cassius couldn’t stop himself. He found the third mirror embedded in the conical top of the stone, mounted at an angle.

‘I knew it.’

With the midday sun above, the light would have bounced off the three mirrors and projected the beam directly out of the rock. Ilaha had been standing right in front of it just before the light had appeared. All he would have needed was a cover of some kind to remove at the desired moment.

‘And there was a secret compartment on that platform. I’ll wager he had a man in there doing the voice. I knew it.’

‘Roman,’ said Khalima. ‘Sit down. We’re close.’

Cassius did so and put the mirrors inside his pack.

Khalima and his men drew their swords but kept them low and out of sight. Cassius wedged himself in place and put down the lantern. Reyazz was at the front once more, again with Adayyid’s knife pressed against his back.

The guards were still watching the fire but they turned as the cart stopped. One man steadied the nearest horse and spoke to Reyazz. Instead of replying, Reyazz threw himself forward off the bench. He slid down the horse’s side and landed on all fours, already yelling.

The driver tried to set the horses away but the guard had already jumped up and grabbed his belt. As the tribesman was hauled to the ground, Adayyid leaped after him, dagger at the ready.

Khalima gave a shout. Despite his size, he leaped nimbly out of the cart and came down beside his son. The closest guard still hadn’t drawn his sword when a slash from Khalima’s blade carved a diagonal line across his face. As he fell, the Saracens piled out of the cart and past their leader to take on the guards. Khalima shouted at Cassius without turning round. ‘Go! We’ll catch up.’

Cassius scrambled past the stone and climbed onto the bench. The startled horses were already on the move but he grabbed the reins.

Suddenly one of the guards appeared to his right, sword swinging up at him. Cassius threw himself to the left and the blade clanged harmlessly against his flank, the tough copper alloy doing its job.

The horses pulled away, veering dangerously close to the side of the gate. Cassius winced as the cart scraped along the door.

Once they were clear, he recovered the reins and yanked them to the left, guiding the horses into the middle of the road. He looked back in time to see the last of the guards’ lanterns smash upon the ground.

Gutha had collected six more guards on the way out. As he reached the top of the path, he knew instantly that the fire wasn’t their only problem. There were no lights by the platform or at the gate. Then he heard the cries.

‘Help us here!’

‘Guards to the gate!’

‘With me.’ Still wishing he had his armour on, Gutha charged down the slope. As his eyes adjusted, he spied the clashing figures close to the gate. He slowed as he neared them; with only the moonlight to see by, it was hard to make out who was fighting who.

‘Careful,’ he told the guards behind him. ‘Mark your man.’

The closest combatants were a pair swinging wildly at each other. Gutha couldn’t tell friend from foe.

‘Snake’s tongue,’ he shouted.

‘Vulture’s claw.’

Relieved that the man had the presence of mind to recall the previous week’s watchword, Gutha circled around to his opponent. The warrior never saw him or the weapon that almost took his head off. Gutha needed both hands to dislodge the blade from the lifeless lump of flesh at his feet.

As the guards came past him yelling the watchword, he skirted around the melee along the wall. Such a chaotic scrap robbed him of his advantages and – as the guards seemed to have the numbers – his priority was to get through the gate and find out what was going on. As he neared the doors, a figure tottered out of the fight and fell in front of him.

This warrior hadn’t seen him either. He leaped to his feet, panting like a dog.

Gutha knew it might be one of the guards but if he called out he would alert him. Better not to take the chance. He raised the axe.

The warrior twitched, sensing danger.

Just before Gutha brought the blade down, something hit him hard in the back. The pain dropped him to his knees and it took a moment for him to realise he hadn’t been cut. He swung the axe at where he thought his foe was but missed. Sand splattered into his face.

Someone ran past. Someone else said ‘this way’ in Nabatean.

Fearing he would be struck before he could see again, Gutha got to his feet and withdrew to the wall. He stayed there until he’d managed to blink and paw most of the sand out of his eyes.

‘Commander Gutha? Commander?’

‘Reyazz? Over here!’

The engineer could barely get his words out. ‘They – they have the stone. I’m sorry, sir. I’m so sorry.’