The Eagle In the Sand - Scarrow Simon (читать книги онлайн без сокращений txt) 📗

'Siq?' Cato asked. 'What is the siq?'

Symeon smiled at him.'The siq is Petra's secret weapon. You'll see what I mean the moment we pass into it.'

They rode on, into the base of the valley, and became aware of a growing sound of voices, the braying of donkeys and the deeper grunt of camels, and then the track turned round a spur of rock and ahead of them lay a vast open area filled with men and beasts. Porters struggled with great bundles of goods: rolls of cloth, tightly bound packages of spices and fine glassware carefully packed in straw and placed in wicker baskets. Caravans were being loaded for the cities of the north, while others, unladen, were preparing to return to the great trading ports of Arabia for their next consignment of luxuries. Cato looked round eagerly. He had never seen the like of some of the people who thronged the great natural marshalling arena of Petra – brown-skinned, silk-robed men with narrow eyes, and dark hair in plaits. He pointed them out to Symeon and asked who they were.

'They're from the east.The furthest east a man can go, so I'm told. I don't know much about them, except that they are as rich as men can be, thanks to Roman and Greek gold and silver. The amount of treasure passing through Petra is almost beyond imagination, Cato. I am surprised you Romans aren't being bled white by such an outpouring of your wealth.'

'You've never been to Rome, have you?'

'Not yet. But I will, one day.'

'Then you'll see why Rome can afford these luxuries. There is nothing the richest men cannot buy. Their coffers are that deep.'

'For the moment perhaps,' Symeon mused. 'But no empire, however rich, can continue indulging itself at such a rate, surely?

'I don't know,' Cato admitted. 'I've never thought about it.'

Symeon shrugged. 'Then maybe you should.'

After Symeon had dismissed his Nabataeans they rode on, threading through the marshalling arena until they reached a broad road that led towards the rock cliffs. The road was paved and gently cambered with a drainage ditch on either side. There was plenty of traffic along the route, more porters, merchants and mercenaries like the men who rode with Symeon and Murad. On either side of the road were tombs, carved into the rock with great skill so that the facades looked like freestanding columns. Then the road curved round a large rock formation and Cato and Macro saw a small but solid-looking gateway built across the road. Behind it soared sheer cliffs of red rock marked with darker and lighter bands of stratification. There was a narrow fissure between the cliffs that led back into the mountains. Symeon turned to his Roman companions.

'That, my friends, is the siq.'

The gateway was guarded by a score of men in fine robes and polished scale armour that gleamed brilliantly when they stood directly in the sunlight, out of the shade of the cliffs. Before the gate stood a crowd waiting to pay their toll to go through, while a steady stream of people passed by in the opposite direction. Symeon indicated that they should dismount, and led them over to join the crowd entering the siq. The crowd slowly shuffled forward until Symeon approached the table set up by the entrance. A smiling, over-indulged official greeted him in Aramaic.

Symeon responded, indicating the size of his party, and the official quickly rattled some beads across an abacus to work out the toll. Symeon took out his purse and handed over some silver coins, and the official slipped them into the slot atop a big chest to one side of the table. He was about to wave them through when he spotted Macro and Cato and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. He raised his hand to halt Symeon and shot some questions to him in a hostile tone. Symeon responded as reasonably as he could, but the official became increasingly ill tempered and finally shouted an order to the guards by the gate.

Macro stepped towards the table. 'What's going on?'

'Our friend seems to have taken exception to you. There were some Parthians amongst a party seeking entry to Petra early this morning. Now there are two Romans. He wants to know why representatives of the great powers are suddenly so interested in visiting Petra.'

'But we're not representatives. We're just hunting down Bannus. Tell him.'

'I did. I said I have a house here and that you are my guests. He didn't believe me. He says he must detain you and is going to inform the palace that you are being held.'

'Detain? You mean arrest?' Macro frowned.'Not likely.'

A squad of six guards approached from the gatehouse and Macro's hand slid down to the handle of his sword. He drew it a short distance from the scabbard, before Cato pressed the pommel back down.

'Macro, that's not going to help. Please don't.We can't afford to cause any trouble.'

'Bollocks.'

'This won't help us to take Bannus prisoner, and return Yusef to his mother.'

Macro turned from Cato to the approaching guards, and then back to Cato again with a deep sigh of resentment and frustration. 'All right then.'

The guards halted in front of the table and their leader approached the two Romans warily. He gestured towards their swords and Cato and Macro reluctantly drew them and handed them over.Then he indicated the entrance to the siq.

Cato turned to Symeon. 'Where are they taking us?'

'To the cells under the royal palace. Don't worry, I'll do what I can to get you out of there as soon as possible.'

'That would be nice,' Macro said coldly. 'If it's not too much trouble.'

The leader of the guards spoke to them, more insistently this time, and thrust his finger towards the siq. Cato stepped into the middle of the group of guards, and after a moment's hesitation Macro followed him and they marched away. Once they had passed through the gate the rock faces closed in on both sides so that in places only a few men could stand abreast. Overhead the cliffs blocked out all but a thin sliver of open sky, and in places an overhang threw the passage into dim shadow. The route was paved and a small water channel ran alongside to prevent flooding. Those ahead of the small party had to squeeze to one side to permit them to pass as the guards and their prisoners made their way along the winding path into the city.

'You can see why Pompey was never able to bring the Nabataeans to heel,' Cato said quietly. 'If this is the only way into Petra then a small force could hold an army at bay for ever.'

'There has to be another way in,' Macro replied. 'A path through the mountains, or at least something scaleable. Surely?'

'Maybe not. How else could Nabataea have resisted every conqueror passing through the region?' Cato looked up at the cliffs in wonder. 'It's a miracle that anyone ever found this entrance in the first place.'

They turned a corner and ahead of them a narrow fissure of light split the cliffs from top to bottom. A short distance beyond the opening was an enormous structure, a temple, built from massive columns. Only when they got closer did Cato realise this was no construction, but had been carved from solid rock.

'Will you just look at that,' Macro marvelled as they emerged from the siq and could see the entire edifice, fiery red in the sunlight angling down across it.They had emerged into a narrow canyon, stone-paved and filled with market stalls and the stands of bankers, just as in any large city of the empire. Except that there were no temples surrounding the market, just red cliffs. The guards steered them across the market area and round another corner and there, at last, the city of Petra revealed itself to them. Great tombs, carved into the rock, lined the broad thoroughfare leading into the heart of the mountain-bound city. More stalls lined the route and ahead, rising above a low spur of a hill, was a sprawl of magnificent palaces and temples. As they emerged from the tomb-lined street the cliffs opened out and the rest of the city came into sight, a mass of houses and streets covering the small rises in the ground that surrounded the basin at the heart of Petra. The guards and prisoners marched down a wide straight street, colonnaded on both sides, until they reached a broad flight of steps rising up the hill to the right upon which rested the great palace of the kings of Nabataea. They climbed the steps, but headed away from the large brass-covered doors of the main entrance towards a small, discreet door at the side. Beyond, a staircase descended beneath the palace and then a torchlit tunnel doubled back towards the street they had walked down. At the end of the tunnel was a line of cells with small barred openings that looked down into the street. The leader led them past the first cells, some of which contained a handful of wretched individuals living in their own filth as they awaited judgement or served out their punishment.