Legionary: Land of the Sacred Fire (30 page)

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.’