Land of the Sacred Fire

Chapter 14

Izodora shielded her eyes from the sun and squinted ahead. The sea of dunes ended there. The flats and the oasis waited just over the last sandy ridge. She clicked her tongue and the twelve riders with her picked up the pace. Their patrol had been swift and uneventful, and her thoughts were now on bathing in the cool, shady pool amidst the palms. One rider galloped ahead, then slowed suddenly atop the sandy ridge. She frowned when he held up a hand, noticing the smattering of dark carrion birds in the air beyond.

She squeezed her mare’s flanks and the beast cantered up beside the other rider. What lay before her turned her stomach. The golden, dusty flats were plastered in patches of russet blood, dried to a crisp and reeking. Punctuating this gruesome carpet were mutilated bodies, flecked with battered armour. Hundreds upon hundreds of them. Twisted chunks of meat and severed limbs, white bone poking through chewed flesh. Swarms of gnats and mosquitoes buzzed over this carnage.

She rode down onto the flat, her lips taut. The hollow eye sockets of one Roman corpse gawped at her — the rest of the body near stripped clear of flesh. The intercisa helm had been punctured at the temple. ‘Clibanarius lance,’ she spoke solemnly as her fellow riders clustered nearby. Many other corpses lay with Persian arrows lodged in their iron vests and the bones underneath. She clicked her fingers. ‘Check the oasis; be sure it is unpolluted before we drink. If it is clean, we take our fill and move on at haste.’

The riders nearby nodded their assent and trotted towards the cluster of palms.

Izodora led her mare around the massacre at a gentle walk. She beheld the Roman corpses and heard a hissing, primal voice inside snarl in delight at the sight. This disgusted her even more. ‘These were fathers, brothers, sons,’ she chided herself. Then her gaze fell upon one intercisa helm lying upside down. Beside it lay a discarded spear. Trapped under this was a strip of red silk.

Pavo.

‘You didn’t deserve to die, Roman. Some of your kind are dark-hearted, but there are others like you,’ she thought of those legionaries who had saved her people on the night of the burnings.

Just then, a rider trotted back from the oasis. ‘The water is uncontaminated. But there is more. We found tracks. The Savaran did this as you suspected,’ he pointed to the massacre. ‘And they took prisoners, back in the direction of the Persis Satrapy.’

She looked south-east. So some of the Romans would have reached their destination after all, but in chains. She had heard of the blackheart archimagus who had harnessed the spahbad of that southern satrapy, and pitied the Romans who would be brought before him. If the young legionary, Pavo, was one of those in chains, then the noble quest for the scroll would be the last thing on his mind. Or perhaps not, she thought with a mirthless smile, remembering the legionary’s pluck.

She dismounted then crouched to slake her thirst at the oasis, gazing into her reflection as the ripples faded. Her face seemed more rounded than it had been in some time. She and her people had eaten well in these last weeks. She touched a hand to the frayed purse Pavo’s wolf-like tribunus had given her. Plenty of coin remained to buy more meat and cattle from the desert trade caravans. Her thoughts swirled, troubling her, but she shook her head and stood.

She and her riders readied to set off again, back to the Maratocupreni valley. But before she gave the order to move out, an odd breeze danced across the dust from the south-east. She turned and looked to the shimmering horizon there. One day soon, war would come from that haze. Then she flicked her head to the north-west, thinking of distant Antioch, of Emperor Valens, the man who had once ordered the destruction of her people. At that moment, memories of her chat with Pavo came to mind.

There have been times when I have had to make the hardest of choices to protect the few I love.

Her next thoughts astounded her.

Pavo woke on the stone shelf and instantly felt the aching in his muscles. The shift at the salt face had been brutal as always and he felt as if he had been asleep for only a few heartbeats. He convulsed in a coughing fit, covering his mouth with one hand, then shuddered at the sight of the fine red spray on his palm. This had horrified him when it had first happened six days ago, but he soon realised Khaled was right: there was no escaping the lung disease of the mines.

At least they had the spring, he thought. For the last few days they had been able to slake their thirst completely with its fresh and cool waters. Gorzam seemed unaware of the spring, but just in case, Pavo had taken to trembling and seeming grateful for the daily brackish water ration in an effort to avoid any suspicion.

He began his stretching routine, Khaled waking to join him. The Persian too had been buoyed by the discovery of the secret spring. ‘Perhaps today we will stumble across gold?’

‘Or,’ Pavo suggested, lifting a tattered water skin from beneath a pile of salt dust, ‘we put my plan into action?’

Khaled’s face fell a little at this. Two days ago, Khaled had found the punctured water skin, discarded by a guard. He had managed to patch it up with a piece of rat skin and a paste made from the rodent’s corpse. The pair had smuggled it to the spring and filled it. After slaking their thirsts again yesterday, Pavo had come up with his idea. Khaled had seemed reluctant at first, and even now, the doubt was etched across his face. But at last, he nodded. ‘Aye, but be wary, lad.’

‘In here? Always.’ Pavo clutched the empty skin to his thigh and wrapped his loincloth around to conceal it as best as he could.

‘Quickly, they’re coming,’ Khaled whispered.

The rattling of a spear tip along the cell gates seemingly caused Pavo’s fingers to bloat. He fumbled, but tied the cloth in place before he heard Gorzam’s sour tones. ‘Khaled, Roman, your rest is over. Be ready to breathe salt again in the hottest part of the mine!’

The guard with him half-filled their cups with water. The pair took to drinking hungrily — as if it was the first water they had enjoyed since the last ration. Next, Gorzam held up two chunks of bread, then grunted and juggled something in his throat, before spitting thick, dark phlegm onto each piece and handing it through the bars.

‘Eat,’ he grunted.

Pavo felt a lurching in his gut at the thought of eating the greasy, phlegm-coated morsel.

‘Not hungry?’ Gorzam snarled, raising his whip.

Pavo backed away, feeling the water skin flap against his thigh. A lashing meant the water skin might be discovered, the spring found and the glimmer of hope extinguished. He quickly held up his hands in acquiescence and Gorzam slackened his grip on the whip. He lifted the filthy bread to his lips and bit into it, crunching into the rock-hard bread and chewing on the slimy, glutinous topping.

His disgusting meal finished, Gorzam’s spear prodded he and Khaled from the cell. They trudged along the rocky paths in the main cavern to the cramped tunnel mouth. Once inside, they scuttled along to the small chamber at the end with the spring. They worked to fill two baskets to ensure there was nothing out of the ordinary with the shift; there were no more guards than usual, and Gorzam was standing in his usual place near the pulleys.

‘This time,’ Pavo nodded as they filled the third basket.

Khaled sighed and nodded. ‘Very well, but be swift and do not take any risks. If you see any eyes upon you, turn back.’

Pavo nodded, filling the water skin and attaching it to his thigh. As he did so, he looked to the faint letters he had etched into the skin.

XI.

He stooped and made his way along the tunnel. As he did so, he felt the water slosh against his thigh. Surely nobody could see or hear it though. Surely? ‘No turning back,’ he affirmed. He rose to standing as he left the tunnel, then unclipped the dust veil from his face and panted as he hauled the salt basket to the pulley system. Gorzam sneered at him. The man’s eyes scoured the knotted scabs and scars on Pavo’s shoulders, as if judging whether he would withstand a fresh whipping. The giant clenched his whip and grimaced. Pavo froze until Gorzam burst into a chorus of rasping laughter and turned away to speak with another guard.

Pavo’s heart beat like a kettledrum as he mounted the full basket onto the upwards pulley. He bashed it accidentally with one shoulder as it rose and the rope squeaked as if calling out for the attention of all those nearby. Cursing his clumsiness, he looked round to see Gorzam scowling at him, whip hand clenched once more. But then another guard beckoned him. The giant’s face lit up as he saw that his comrade held a purse of the poppy seeds. They left together, ascending one of the rocky paths to the dark alcove as usual.

Pavo felt a wave of relief. But he had only a short while before Gorzam returned or another guard questioned him. Glancing around, he slipped the water skin from his loincloth and slid it into the next basket on the downwards pulley. He watched it descend into the blackness of the main shaft and prayed Sura was still down there, collecting the baskets as they came down. After what seemed like an eternity, the pulley system slowed momentarily. The chink-chink of pickaxes on the salt face seemed to slow and he felt all eyes burn upon his skin as slaves and guards alike turned to look. But within a few heartbeats, the pulley was moving. Now he had to wait even longer. Basket after basket on the upwards pulley was filled with salt and nothing else. The flimsiness of his plan seemed all too obvious now. He pretended to be stacking baskets near the pulley, when footsteps sounded behind him, growing closer. Someone in a hurry. He braced, expecting to feel Gorzam’s lash. But a pair of hands slapped on his shoulders.

‘Be swift,’ a voice said, ‘Gorzam is coming.’

Pavo glanced round to see Bashu, flitting away as swiftly as he had come, looking back over his shoulder, his handsome features wrinkled in alarm.

Now a crunching of boots on salt sounded behind. There was no mistaking the identity of this one. Sure enough, he twisted round to see Gorzam returning, his pitted face drawn and his eyelids heavy. Panic coursed in Pavo’s veins and his heart rapped on his ribs. He glanced at the upcoming baskets. Salt-filled, every time. Salt and nothing else. Gorzam was only a stone’s throw away and now he was alert, seeing a chance to use his whip. Then Pavo saw it.

The neck of the water skin, poking from the next upcoming salt basket. He grappled at it and pulled it clear, fumbling to tuck it into his loincloth once more.

‘Move, Roman dog!’ Gorzam cried behind him.

He spun to see the whip thrashing down, inches from him. He grasped the nearest empty basket and made for the tunnel, but Gorzam’s interest was piqued, his eyes searching the waist of Pavo’s loincloth. ‘What have you got there?’ he snarled.

Pavo looked back and mouthed silently, his thoughts jumbled. ‘I. . ’ he felt the blood drain from his face, then turned to run for the tunnel, ducking down and scuttling along its length.

Gorzam’s roar filled the tunnel behind him as the giant guard stooped and thundered along in pursuit. ‘You will bleed for this, Roman dog!’

Pavo saw Khaled and Bashu at the end of the tunnel. They turned, saw what was coming for them then swiftly disguised the water spring with their baskets. Pavo stumbled into the tunnel’s end, gasping, then turned to see Gorzam burst into the chamber, whip raised. ‘What have you got there? Tell me or you will suffer.’

‘Nothing, I. . I. . ’

Gorzam’s face creased into a vile grimace and he hefted the whip back. Pavo braced for the pain that was to come, then saw the whip’s iron-tipped tail lash back against the cracked mass of crystal overhead. The force of the blow sent the dark fracture on one side spidering across the ceiling, directly over Gorzam. Then it cracked. Gorzam glanced up at the teetering mass, mouth agape.

A flurry of thoughts flashed through Pavo’s mind. Before he knew it, he had launched forward, butting Gorzam back. The big guard’s roar was drowned out as the mass of salt crystal fell where he had stood moments ago. A storm of salt dust engulfed the tunnel end and then billowed along its length and out through into the main cavern.

Pavo retched and gagged, blinded momentarily. When he blinked through stinging eyes, he finally saw Bashu, stooped and helping Khaled to his feet. The tunnel’s end was knee deep in salt shards and dust. By his side, Gorzam was struggling to stand, gawping at Pavo. ‘You could have let me die?’ There was a moment where Pavo thought of offering the man an arm to help him up, but Gorzam stood swiftly on his own, issuing a growl. He eyed Pavo, Khaled and Bashu with a steely glare, then offered a curt nod to Pavo. ‘For this, I will spare you the lash today, Roman. But tomorrow,’ he grinned, ‘you will suffer as normal.’ Finally, he flicked a finger to the baskets buried under the salt. ‘See to it you fill your quota,’ he grunted, then turned, stooped and headed back through the tunnel to the main cavern.

‘You might just have saved our skins, Roman,’ Bashu said, watching Gorzam leave. ‘Had a guard died here while we were present, we would surely have been executed.’

Pavo watched Gorzam go, his top lip wrinkling. ‘Perhaps that would have been a fair price to pay, considering the guard in question?’

Khaled scuttled over beside them. ‘Never mind him. Did you do it?’ he said, his eyes sparkling as he untied his facemask.

Pavo frowned momentarily then remembered — the skin! ‘I don’t know yet,’ he whispered as he fumbled to pull it from his loincloth. It was empty, that much he could be sure of. He held the item up so the dull light reflecting from the salt face danced across the skin’s surface. Under the faint etching, more letters had been added.

XI. . Claudia.

His heart soared.

Then he saw something on the floor, almost buried in the salt dust. Something Gorzam had dropped. A small hemp purse brimming with poppy seeds. His thoughts danced this way and that. Then they settled on something that had happened on the journey through the desert. At that moment, he realised what they had to do.

In the fifth chamber, Zosimus hauled a basket of salt onto his back and set off from the edge of the dark, shallow cavern towards the main shaft. The grumbling, squeaking pulley and the tink-tink of pickaxes sounded all around him. Clouds of salt dust billowed across his face and gathered on his scrub of hair and beard. He stopped as the breath caught in his lungs, then yet another wheezing, hacking coughing fit came on. It felt as if his chest was on fire, today more than any other day in this accursed hole in the ground. He saw Felix up ahead; the short primus pilus was hunched and trembling as he hauled a basket onto his shoulders. The little Greek stumbled, falling to one knee. Zosimus instinctively hurried over towards him, but a guard got there first and Zosimus froze in indecision. The guard finished sucking on his water skin, wiped his lips and then belched, shaking his head as he beheld Felix, crouched and panting.

‘Weak Roman,’ he uttered in broken Greek, then swung his boot into Felix’s gut.

Felix cried out and crumpled under the blow, his basket of salt spilling across the cavern floor.

‘Now look what you’ve done!’ the guard said with a gleeful smile.

Zosimus winced. His heart willed him on, to crush the guard’s face with his fists, but his head stilled him. He saw another form nearby, watching this. Quadratus was no doubt a reflection of himself; a hulking frame stretched taut after five weeks of pitiful rations, face coated in the white dust, his eyes black-ringed. A beard now accompanied the big Gaul’s moustache, matted and tousled like his hair.

When the guard had strolled off to berate another group of slaves, Zosimus and Quadratus helped Felix to his feet. Quadratus scraped the spilled salt back into the basket.

‘But there will be dust and grit in there too,’ Felix said, his eyes darting round to see who was watching.

‘Good, then the Persian bastards can break their bloody teeth on it,’ Quadratus seethed.

Felix panted, then broke down in a coughing fit. The little primus pilus seemed to glow red for a moment in his struggle for breath. When Felix steadied himself again, Zosimus’ eyes locked onto the back of the little Greek’s hand; a splatter of crimson trickled over the skin, and there was more on his lips.

‘Sir!’ Zosimus gasped.

‘It was only a matter of time,’ Felix shrugged. ‘For me, for you, for all of us. You’ve heard what the other slaves say; when the blood turns black, it’s over.’

‘Then we need to find a way out of here, or die trying,’ Zosimus spoke solemnly.

‘It’s hopeless,’ Felix shook his head. ‘I’ve spent every moment in my cell thinking about it. The main shaft is the only way out but it’s too well guarded. If there were more of us, perhaps.’

Quadratus wheezed and just controlled a coughing fit of his own. ‘Well maybe this will change your mind?’ The big Gaul looked this way and that, then lifted a half-full water skin from the basket he carried.

Zosimus’ eyes bulged. Felix stifled a gasp. ‘Where in Hades did you get. . ’ Zosimus’ words trailed off as Quadratus brushed the salt dust from the skin to reveal the XI Claudia etching on there, and jabbed a thumb upwards.

‘It seems we have a comrade in the chamber above. Pavo.’

‘Aye?’ Zosimus thoughts swirled.

‘Aye, and he and Sura have been passing messages up and down since yesterday. They’re planning how they could use the pulley to escape,’ he tapped a finger to the smaller scribblings and drawings around the base of the skin.

Zosimus frowned. ‘But you’ve heard what happens to those who try to escape that way.’

‘Aye,’ Quadratus nodded over to the main shaft and the solitary figure of Sura, monitoring the baskets as usual. ‘And Sura reckons that they are more thorough than ever at it — they spear down through every basket, or so he has heard, and at the slightest abnormality they will stop the pulley and all the guards up there on the surface will cluster round it, eager to bloody their blades.’

Felix frowned. ‘Sura’s always been something of a demented bastard, but this caps it all. How does that constitute a plan?’

‘Ah, that’s where it gets interesting, sir. You see, perhaps the guards are a bit too keen to keep an eye on the pulley.’ Quadratus’ face split into a broad grin. The sight after so long in this place brought matching grins from Zosimus and Felix. ‘But before I tell you the details,’ he thrust out the water skin, ‘drink this.’

Khaled looked up through the main shaft, the tiny disc of daylight sparkling in his eyes. ‘Ahura Mazda wills that today will either be the finest of days, when I will be freed and reunited with my family. . or the darkest hour, when Ahriman will cast my soul forever in the shade.’

Pavo looked up with him, then glanced down to see the endless train of salt-filled baskets emerging from the darkness, rising past him and on up to the world of the living. He saw one with three notches hacked into the edge — the signal from Sura. ‘It’s time,’ he said.

‘This will work, aye?’ Bashu hissed beside them. The man was nervous, his eyes darting. ‘I must have my freedom from this place.’

‘Relax,’ Khaled rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘We must be at ease or our ploy will never work.’

The three lifted empty baskets and turned from the main shaft. Nausea swam in Pavo’s gut; the consequences should they be caught did not bear thinking about. Then again, he mused, neither did the prospect of remaining down here forever. He steeled himself and looked up to the shadowy alcove halfway up the cavern wall. It was a few hours into Pavo’s shift and there, as always, Gorzam stood in the darkness, talking with another guard, supping at his drink. The pair were barely visible, and that was key.

Pavo, Khaled and Bashu walked past guard after guard, their eyes trained on the ground before them as if heading back to the entrance to the cramped tunnel. But, at the last, they turned away from this, instead stepping onto the rising rocky path that clung to the cavern-side and led up to the alcove. The path was littered with slaves working at the sheer crystal face. They edged up this narrow walkway, pretending to discuss where to work. All the time, Pavo fired stealthy glances around the cavern floor. Not one guard was looking this way. They edged closer to the alcove until they could hear Gorzam’s conversation and see his outline, back turned, draining his cup. The giant’s words sounded slurred, as did those of his comrade. Then Gorzam rubbed at his temples and slumped back against the alcove wall, sliding down to sit. They watched as the pair muttered, then became monosyllabic. Finally, they fell silent, heads lolling.

Pavo clenched a fist in victory. Thank you for the inspiration, Yabet, he thought, dryly.

He turned to the two with him. ‘You did it!’ he whispered to Bashu.

Bashu’s silver eyes glinted in the gloom. ‘Only just. They let down those water skins unattended for but moments. Then,’ he grinned, his handsome features creasing as he held up the empty poppy seed purse, ‘I saw to it that they’d have a healthier dose than usual.’

Khaled fought to contain a chuckle. ‘They will be sleeping this off for some time.’

‘But we must move swiftly,’ Pavo added.

He, Bashu and Khaled crawled into the alcove. They stripped Gorzam and the other guard of their baked leather helms, cuirasses, face-veils, spears and whips and dressed in the guard armour. Khaled took Gorzam’s things as they were a better fit for his broad shoulders while Pavo took the other guard’s armour. As the pair wrapped the veils across their faces, Pavo saw one thing remaining on Gorzam — the phalera. He knelt to snatch it away, feeling a pang of sadness as he did so. If they were to escape today then this suffocating hole in the ground was as close as he would come to Father’s memory — only nightmares and thoughts of what might have been would be his lot from now on.

‘Come on,’ Khaled shook his shoulder.

The pair turned to descend the rocky path onto the cavern floor. They marched Bashu at spearpoint, as if taking him to a new part of the mine. They went unchallenged for some time, but Pavo’s mouth dried and his gut churned, just like the pre-battle nerves. All that was visible was their eyes — but a man’s eyes could betray him even at the best of times. He resisted glancing at Khaled — any hint of nerves would be a dead giveaway. Then he noticed another pair of guards approaching. They appeared to be frowning, looking them over. Pavo tensed his grip on the spear and pretended to poke at Bashu’s back. They passed the two guards, then a jagged cry from the pair halted them.

‘Where are you going?’ the voice growled in Parsi, behind them.

Pavo slowed and stopped, the blood pounding in his ears. This was it. The plan was surely ruined. He grappled his spear and readied to turn and face the pair. Now he had no option but to fight. He turned to see one of the guards scowling, whip raised. But the man’s eyes were trained over Pavo’s shoulder, to a clutch of slaves behind him. The guard lashed his whip down, then beckoned his comrade with him in stomping over to deal with the slaves.

‘Time to spill some blood, eh?’ the whip-wielder cackled to Pavo on the way past.

Pavo struggled to disguise his relief.

‘I think it is prudent that the guard tunics are brown, do you not?’ Khaled remarked through his face veil, deadpan.

They set off again and stopped by the main shaft near the pulley, looking around the cavern and snatching furtive glances to the rising salt baskets. Finally, one rose that seemed to sway on the ropes a little more than the others, as if it carried something other than salt. Pavo gripped Khaled’s shoulder in anticipation.

They watched as the basket rose past them, the slumbering form of an unconscious guard curled up inside it, a bright red lump and a flowering bruise on the back of his head. He and Khaled shared an almost disbelieving glance. ‘Your Roman friends, they did it!’ Bashu whispered through taut lips.

‘Aye, now we must do our part,’ Pavo nodded to the ladders that led up through the main shaft. They hurried over and Pavo went first, hooking his hands and feet over rung after rung. When he reached the top, he gingerly poked his head up and glanced around. This third chamber was much taller than the fourth, and had been stripped of most of its salt crystal. The ladder leading up to the second chamber was a good fifty feet away, around the mouth of the main shaft and past a forest of dark rock pillars. He looked this way and that to see that only a few guards were nearby and none were looking at them. He climbed up and onto the floor of the third chamber, then flitted through the forest of stone columns to the next ladder. He scuttled up this ladder, all the time keeping his eye on the swinging basket, being sure not to ascend faster than it. When he reached the second chamber, he glanced down to see Khaled and, some thirty feet down and climbing, four more forms in guard armour. Sura, Quadratus, Zosimus, Felix!

He looked up to see the disc of daylight. It was now so much bigger — almost blinding. His heart raced. The sweet prospect of freedom danced in his heart. Shielding his eyes, he saw the swinging basket ascend, nearly at the top of the pulley. He hurried to climb the ladder into the first chamber. Up here, he could feel a change in the air. It felt clean, it carried scents he had almost forgotten — just the faintest hint of shrub and bloom. Freedom was only feet away. He eyed the last ladder, and saw the outline of four spear-wielding guards in the daylight, perched at its top. When the body was discovered on the pulley, they would rush to the scene. They had to. The plan hinged on this.

The swinging basket disappeared into the disc of light and Pavo waited. Khaled arrived beside him, Bashu close behind. ‘God of the Light, let this happen!’ he panted, craning his neck to the light above.

Then he heard the wheezing gasps of his comrades. He turned to them and longed to embrace each of them. The stolen guard armour they each wore disguised them well, betraying just their eyes. He noticed there were a few men missing. ‘Noster and Habitus?’

‘Still down there,’ Quadratus replied gravely. ‘Either they couldn’t take the guards or they were locked in their cells.’

Zosimus was last up the ladder. He clasped a hand to Pavo’s shoulder with a glint in his weary eyes. ‘Good to see you, Optio. You haven’t found any scrolls lying around in this place, have you?’

Khaled frowned at this and opened his mouth to speak.

‘Never mind that,’ Sura gasped, looking up. ‘Have they spotted the unconscious guard yet?’

Pavo raised a finger to silence his friend. At that moment, the pulley slowed. A voice above cried out some jagged Persian curse. Other voices up there echoed the cry. ‘I’d say they have now,’ he replied, struggling to contain the tremor in his voice. Up above, the dull shapes of the guards around the ladder disappeared one by one, rushing over to the pulley system.

‘This is it,’ Pavo whispered, resting one hand on a rung of this final ladder, ‘when that last guard goes too. . ’

His words faded as a scraping of timber on rock sounded. The rung was pulled from his grasp as the last guard hoisted the ladder up and onto the ground above. Only then did the last guard leave his post to go to the pulley system. The forty feet from the floor of the first chamber to the surface above seemed like miles.

‘Mithras, no!’ Zosimus gasped.

Pavo felt all the hope in his heart dissolve. But fear quickly replaced it as shouts of alarm rang out all around the chambers below. He turned to his comrades. ‘We’ve got to go back,’ he said.

‘What?’ Quadratus gasped. ‘Are you bloody mad? Let’s wait for the ladder to come back down and we can rush them. Freedom is right there!’

‘Pavo’s right,’ Felix gasped. ‘They won’t drop that ladder back down anytime soon and there’s nowhere for us to hide in this chamber. They’ll search this place high and low until they find out who knocked out that guard,’ he jabbed a finger up to the basket at the top of the pulley, then nodded downwards, ‘and the others.’

‘Then we must be quick about it,’ Khaled said. Already, the guards in this first chamber were whipping at the slaves, driving them back from the salt face and into clusters where they could be counted.

Pavo was last to descend the ladders back through the levels. They hurried down until they reached the third level, then flitted through the forest of stone pillars to the next ladder. They halted only when a guard leading eight colleagues barked to them. ‘Where are you taking this one?’ he flicked his head at Bashu, who was acting the cowering prisoner well.

The guard stared at Pavo in search of an answer. Pavo mustered the few words of Parsi Khaled had taught him. ‘Down, to the next chamber.’

The guard cocked his head to one side. ‘Did you not hear the order? No movement between chambers until further notice.’

Pavo hesitated. The guard snatched on his indecision, his gaze narrowing on seeing the dark rings they all wore around their eyes, then noticing that some of them wore no boots. ‘Who are you?’ he said, levelling his spear and motioning for those with him to do likewise. Nestled amongst these stone pillars they were obscured from the rest of the cavern, and the guard seemed nervous. ‘Remove your veils!’

‘What is this, comrade?’ Khaled said in a light-hearted tone, his hands extended by his sides.

The guard’s shoulders dropped a fraction, as if he was ready to back down, then his scowl snagged on Pavo’s chest, where the edge of the phalera glinted. ‘Hold on, that’s Gorzam’s. . ’

His words ended with a punch of iron into flesh and a stunned croak. Zosimus’ spear quivered in the man’s breastbone and the other seven with the guard gawped. ‘At them!’ Felix rasped. As one, they fell upon the guards like lions, driving their spears into guts, swinging their fists and smashing out teeth. Pavo leapt for the nearest man, they clashed their spears together like swords until the guard batted Pavo’s weapon away. The guard grinned and readied to thrust forward with his own lance. Pavo jinked clear of the blow, grabbed the spear shaft and pulled the guard towards him, then thrust his forehead into the guard’s nose. With a crunch of bone, the man’s nose flattened and he flailed backwards, stumbling past the rockfall and then swaying at the edge of the main shaft, arms swinging for balance. His eyes widened in terror as he lost the battle and toppled into the darkness, his cry long and desperate before a meaty crunch ended it. Pavo looked around to see that the rest of the guards had been dealt with. The scuffing of boots and babble of more approaching voices started all of them into action once more. They scrabbled down the ladder into the fourth chamber.

‘Be swift, be safe,’ Pavo called after Sura, Zosimus, Felix and Quadratus as they carried on back to the fifth chamber, below.

Pavo, Bashu and Khaled saw that the guards here in their chamber were almost done rounding up the slaves. He glanced up to the shadowy alcove to see Gorzam, sitting up, rubbing at his temples, shaking his head as other guards questioned him. The slighter guard by his side seemed equally confused.

Khaled waved Bashu off back to the cells, then pulled at Pavo’s arm; ‘Come on.’ The Persian led him to the edge of the cavern and into the accursed tunnel, right to the end where the water spring trickled. There, the pair hurriedly stripped off their guard armour, burying it under a pile of salt rocks. Wasting no time, they scuttled back through the tunnel then stood tall again when they came back to the cavern. No sooner had they emerged than a whip cracked by their ankles.

‘Into line!’ a prune-faced guard snarled.

Pavo backed away from the lash, bunching up with Khaled into the mass of sweating, terrified slaves.

‘We have achieved nothing today,’ Pavo whispered bitterly.

‘But we live on for tomorrow,’ Khaled replied.

Both men’s gazes were upon Gorzam as he stood tall and shook his head, blinking and steadying himself.

Sat alone by the main shaft, Gorzam’s breath came and went in fiery grunts and his head throbbed. Never had he been so humiliated, he thought, sucking hungrily on a fresh water skin and eyeing the polluted one with a low growl. The slaves were back at work and no culprit had been identified. But those responsible would be found, for he was the shahanshah of the mines. He ruled this dominion like a god. His lot on the world above was too meagre to bear — a filthy home, no woman to cook for him since his wife had vanished. ‘I should have beat her even harder,’ his shoulders jostled in a gruff, dry chuckle. He made to take another swig of water when a voice hissed by his side.

‘I know who did this to you,’ it said.

He turned to behold the shadowy figure stacking cane baskets by the pulleys. It was the cretin who had long informed him of the other slaves’ misdemeanours. The man dropped his gaze as soon as Gorzam met it.

‘Tell me,’ Gorzam demanded.

‘You will give me freedom, as we have discussed before.’

Gorzam bristled at this. He stood, towering over this figure, his shoulders broadening. ‘I have never promised you freedom. I might see to it that you are raised to the first chamber — the air is breathable there. But if you do not tell me who did this to me, I will throw you into the shaft without hesitation. Or worse, I will tell the other slaves that the traitor is still amongst them, Bashu.’

Pavo and Khaled hobbled into their cell and the bars clanked shut behind them. The shift that immediately followed their foiled escape plan had seemed to last for days. Now they would be afforded just a few hours of rest before the next shift began.

Pavo winced as he lay back on the stone shelf and tried to let his muscles relax. But his thoughts quickly jabbered with all that had gone wrong. He clasped his hands over his face and fought to clear his mind. They did not speak for some time, neither man sleeping, nor able to summon any words. What was there to say?

Eventually, Khaled slid from his cot and began scraping the bristles of his beard from his jaw with a sharpened slat of rock and a sprinkle of water from his cup. ‘Tell me, Roman; what did your friend — the big one with the squashed nose — mean when he spoke of a scroll?’

Pavo frowned. He had barely noticed Zosimus referring to it in jest up in the first chamber. Instinctively, his lips tightened and he thought carefully about his answer. Then his shoulders slumped and he shook his head. ‘It matters little now, for we are all going to live out our days in this place. My comrades and I were sent here, all the way from Roman Syria, to seek out a scroll. It is thought to contain some agreement between your empire and mine — one that might stave off war between our armies.’

Khaled said nothing, but his grin spoke a thousand words.

Pavo sat up. ‘Khaled?’

‘You speak of Jovian’s lost scroll. There were a few in here in years past who spoke of such a thing.’ He looked up, bemused. ‘The scroll is real?’

Pavo leant forward. ‘It is, or it was. . it may no longer exist, but the mere possibility that it does brought us across the desert. Khaled, please, tell me what you know.’

Khaled shrugged, smoothing at his roughly shaven jaw with one hand, then twirling the ends of his moustache. ‘I know very little, only what you have already told me. There was a slave, long ago, who claimed to have held it in his hands.’

Pavo latched onto this, remembering Gallus’ description of the man who had hidden in the mountains with the scroll. ‘Where is he?’

‘He died many years past,’ Khaled replied, the words flattening Pavo’s nascent hope. ‘But he passed his knowledge of the scroll on before he died, to a group who worked with him.’

Pavo’s hopes picked up once more. ‘What happened to this group?’

Khaled’s face darkened and he shook his head.

‘Dead?’

Khaled fixed him with his gaze. ‘Worse. They were consigned to the seventh chamber, right at the foot of the mine. They say it is so far underground that the light from the top of the shaft cannot even penetrate into the darkness there.’

‘How long ago?’

‘The passage of time is difficult to record in this place. But I would guess that it was about a year after I came here.’

‘Twelve years ago?’ Pavo’s heart leadened. ‘Then surely they have perished down there?’

Khaled’s face grew weary. ‘Aye, I am almost certain they have by now. A year in those depths must feel like a lifetime. . ’

As Khaled spoke of the seventh chamber, Pavo sought a grain of hope. Their chances of escape were gone. An ember of possibility that the scroll might be found had been extinguished too. He shook his head and pulled the phalera medallion from the waist of his loincloth. His fanciful hopes of finding some trace of Father were further away than anything else, he realised, absently tracing a finger over the engraving.

Legio II Parthica.

He heard Khaled’s words as if from a faraway place; ‘Some Persians can survive in the dry, stale air down there for that length of time, perhaps, but not Romans. No, they have surely perished in that deepest chamber. Indeed, we consider any souls sent down there as dead men.’

The breath froze in Pavo’s lungs. One word rang over and over in his thoughts. Romans? ‘They were Roman? The men sent to the seventh chamber?’

Khaled looked up, eyebrows raised, then nodded. ‘Yes. This place was once worked by many of your kind. Not so many recently. It was a surprise when you and your comrades arrived.’

Pavo slid off the stone shelf and knelt before Khaled. ‘But they were Romans?’

‘Aye,’ Khaled nodded, then jabbed a finger to the phalera, ‘some wore trinkets just like yours.’

An intense shiver danced across Pavo’s skin. ‘Khaled, I need you to think back,’ he said holding up the phalera. ‘The engraving on this — did the Romans you speak of have the same markings, exactly the same?’

Khaled curled his bottom lip and nodded. ‘Yes. I’m sure of it.’

‘Romans in the seventh chamber know the whereabouts of the scroll? Legionaries of the II Parthica. . ’ Pavo staggered back, his head swimming, his eyes combing the floor of the cell as if to organise his jumbled thoughts. A bewildered laugh toppled from his lips.

Khaled smoothed the ends of his moustache. ‘Remember, this was some twelve years ago. These men are likely to be nothing but bones now. Do not trouble yourself with thoughts of their fate. . ’

‘My father may well have been one of them,’ he cut Khaled off.

Khaled’s eyes widened. ‘Your father? The one you speak of in your nightmares.’ He nodded in realisation. ‘Of course.’

‘So you realise that I must go down there. When my legion set out to the east, I promised myself I would find my Father or honour his bones.’

A long silence passed, then a sorrowful smile crept across Khaled’s face and he laid his hands on Pavo’s shoulders. ‘I understand, friend. Just as I long to be reunited with my loved ones, you feel you must do this.’

‘It is not a feeling, nor a compulsion of some sort.’ He fixed Khaled with an unblinking gaze. ‘It is a certainty. I am going down there.’

Tears appeared in Khaled’s eyes. ‘I once had your fire in me, lad. Many years past.’ He blinked the glassiness away and came closer to Pavo. ‘If you are to do this, then know that you are not alone. I will do all I can to aid you. . ’ his words trailed off and he gawped over Pavo’s shoulder, to the cell gates.

An icy chill danced across Pavo’s skin as the iron bars groaned open. He hurriedly tucked the phalera into his loincloth then spun to see Gorzam, trembling with rage. A second guard fumbled with the keys to the cell whilst another figure stood behind the pair. Bashu failed to meet their gaze.

‘It was them?’ Gorzam seethed.

Bashu nodded. ‘Aye, it was them who poisoned you. I saw them put the concoction in your water — they threatened to kill me if I told you this.’

Pavo scrambled to the back of the cell and Khaled joined him. ‘Bashu? No. . ’

Gorzam stomped in and raised his whip. Khaled’s cries were drowned out by the thrashing of the barbed tails, the ripping of flesh and the thick blood-spray that coated all in the cell. As Khaled cowered, Pavo tried to grapple him and pull him clear of the next lash, but Gorzam was unstoppable, and the barbs gouged at Pavo’s arm, sending him staggering back. As Khaled took the brunt of the next blow, the second guard pinned Pavo back with his spear tip. ‘Move. . die,’ he grunted in broken Greek.

Pavo winced at every blow, hearing Khaled’s cries grow fainter with each. Eventually, the lash carried on to utter silence. Pavo was wet with Khaled’s blood and Gorzam wore a dripping, crimson mask. After an eternity, the whipping stopped. Gorzam panted, resting his hands on his knees. Pavo saw Khaled’s staring eyes, the light in them dimming. He reached out for his friend, but Gorzam booted him away.

The giant glared at Pavo. ‘I will be back to take the skin from your back later. And then every day after that. I plan to keep you alive for a few weeks. I want to see how long a man can live with the flesh ripped clear of his bones.’ He nodded to the second guard and stabbed a finger at the mutilated, flayed mass that was Khaled. ‘Come; let us haul this dog to the shaft.’ They lifted the still body and then with a clanging of the cell door, they were gone.

Pavo stared at the spot where Khaled had been moments ago. The flesh on his arm where he had been struck was raw, ripped to the bone. Fresh barbs, he realised, sickened. He found himself praying hurriedly to Mithras that Khaled was already dead and would not have to suffer being thrown down the main shaft. ‘I pray you meet with your family soon, friend,’ he sobbed, a chill settling on his heart.

He wiped at his tears, then lifted the phalera once more, glancing from it to the cell floor and the thought of what might lie deep below.

The seventh chamber beckoned him. Nothing would stop him.

Nothing.