Nick Brown: The Black Stone

‘You — what’s going on?’

The priest shook under the centurion’s grip.

‘Speak!’

The youth uttered a garbled stream of Aramaic. Ursus didn’t understand a word. He let go and moved away from the barracks door to let the others out.

‘Sir, what’s happening?’ someone asked. Ursus ignored him; he was counting the men as they filed out. Eight were armed and ready to move and a couple had even found time to strap on their helmets. A ninth came through the door and instantly dropped down to tie his boots. Ursus slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Wait here. Tell Agorix to bring the rest and meet me at the temple end of the path.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You others, follow me.’

Ursus tightened his belt two notches and set off, the men behind him. At his insistence, torches had been put in at sixty-foot intervals: each stuffed with branches and covered in enough goatskin and oil to keep them burning for hours.

The bell had stopped and there were no more shouts. Cencius (his second guard officer) was on duty with twenty men. Could they really have been taken out so quickly? Were the raiders already inside? Had to be a large, well-organised force.

As Ursus passed the fifth torch, one of the legionaries cried out.

‘Sir, look there!’

A man — a man running towards them — flashed past the next torch and was then swallowed up by the dark once more. Ursus slowed. He could hear quick steps, panting breaths.

‘Draw!’

He gripped his sword hilt tight and eased it out of the scabbard. The legionaries came up on either side of him, blocking the path.

The man spoke. ‘The Pillars-’

Ursus completed the password: ‘-of Hercules. Who’s there?’

The soldier ran up to him, sword in hand, face wet with sweat beneath his helmet. Ursus knew him well: Bradua, a decorated veteran of the Palmyran campaign — not a man to run from a fight without good reason. ‘Sir, they’re in the temple. By the time I got there, they’d already surrounded the place. There are scores of them.’

‘Cencius?’

Bradua rubbed his eyes. ‘Didn’t see him. Lot of men down, sir.’

Agorix had caught up; accompanied by another small group.

‘Everyone follow me.’

Ursus ran on once more. Past the seventh torch, then the eighth. As the trees thinned out, he could see the vast, angular bulk of the temple over to the left. Torches flickered close to the great columns, sparking off armour and blades. More lights were scattered across the courtyard and by the main gate. Ursus could hear whinnying horses and hooves on stone.

He shuttered the lantern and slowed to a walk. ‘Quiet.’

Approaching the tenth and last torch he moved to the left side of the path, well away from the light. All he heard from his legionaries was their boots scuffing the ground as they narrowed into a line behind him. Just as he reached the low wall that surrounded the temple complex, a shout rang out and the torches closest to the building began to move away. Ursus crouched behind the wall, Agorix beside him. They were close enough to hear voices now.

‘What language is that?’asked the guard officer.

‘Not sure.’

‘Palmyrans?’

‘No idea. But the bastards know what they’re doing. Covert approach, quick … and attacking during the festival — they knew we’d be a mess.’

‘I count thirty torches, sir. Even if only every other man has one, that’s sixty.’

Bradua dropped down close to them. ‘Sir, I saw a cart. Big, reinforced thing — like we’d carry artillery loads in.’

‘Just one?’

‘Yes.’

Having gathered in the middle of the courtyard, the raiders now began to move right, towards the gate.

‘How?’ said Agorix. ‘How could they have got in and out already?’

‘Because they knew what they wanted and they left the rest,’ said Ursus. ‘They’ve got the rock.’

Hearing a sudden rush of movement, he and the others shot to their feet as a figure burst out of the darkness. The man ran straight into the wall and fell over it, landing in the midst of the legionaries.

‘Is that Bolanus?’ someone asked.

The soldier was writhing around on the ground, clawing at his face. The side of his helmet had been split by a blade and the same blow had carved a line across his face. Blood welled between his fingers and his mouth puckered like a landed fish.

‘Jupiter save him,’ said one of the men as two others knelt down and tried to hold the stricken soldier still.

Agorix was gazing at the courtyard. ‘They’re on horseback, sir. ‘We’ve only half a dozen mounts, none of them ready.’

‘They’ll stay with the cart,’ reasoned Ursus. ‘The cart will be slow.’

The other men closed in around him, listening in.

‘The road curves around that old guard tower at the edge of the wood. We can cut through the trees and get ahead of them.’

From the temple came a long, piercing wail, then another and another. It was the priests, mourning the loss of the sacred object they had pledged their lives to.

Ursus watched the last of the torches pass beneath the arch of the gate.

‘Sir, we’re badly outnumbered,’ said one of the soldiers. ‘Is it really worth it for some lump of-’

Though he saw the punch coming, the legionary was unable to avoid it and Ursus’s fist struck his jaw with a dull crack. Fortunately, the centurion had no intention of doing any real damage. ‘You can lead the way, Maro.’

Maro pressed his hand against his jaw but took the lantern offered to him.

‘Turn left after the closest light, then head south-east towards the road. Go!’

‘Yes, sir.’ Maro ran back down the track.

‘Agorix, you go last. Put the torch out and take it with you.’

‘Sir.’

Ursus did a quick head count as the men departed. Eighteen, including the two trying to help Bolanus.

‘Leave him.’

Unlike Maro, the legionaries knew better than to argue.

Ursus knelt beside Bolanus, who was lying on his side, head at rest in an ever-expanding puddle of blood. He was still now, and with each breath came an agonised whimper. Ursus put a hand on his shoulder. Bolanus was a local lad; he’d put in a leave request a few days ago — asking for two weeks off to help his mother on the family farm. Ursus turned him onto his back and stood. He took a moment to aim, then slashed downward with his sword, cutting the young legionary’s throat.

‘Gods forgive me.’

It didn’t take him long to catch up with the men but once in the trees, the going became difficult. Low, dense bushes carpeted the ground and — with the canopy blocking out most of the moonlight — they had only the lantern to guide them. Keeping his steps high, Ursus powered past Agorix and the others, urging them on. ‘Stay close together. Pick up your feet.’

As he closed in on the middle of the group, a man ahead of him fell, grunting as he struck the ground. Ursus grabbed him under one arm and hauled him to his feet before charging away again. As they entered a clearing, he took the opportunity to get to the front.

Maro was still leading the way. Ursus snatched the lantern from him and altered their direction slightly: by heading further south, they would have more time to get ahead of the raiders. On he ran, holding the lantern as steady as he could to keep the light aflame. As twigs snapped under his boots and birds scattered, he looked left. He could just make out the angular silhouette of the tower: the torches of the raiders hadn’t passed it yet. Fifty paces more took him close to the road and there was still no sign of a light. He crouched next to a tree, closely followed by Bradua and Agorix.

‘Bradua, here — guide the men in.’ Ursus swapped the lantern for the torch. ‘Agorix, you’ll take five of them across to the other side of the road. I’ll halt the lead horses. As soon as they stop, try and get the mounts down, then hit the men.’