Free Empire of Dragons by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

into unconsciousness. His breath was getting shorter and shorter, a laborious whistle that was becoming a death hiss.
    At dawn, Metellus turned to Uxal. ‘This man cannot be made to work today. He can’t even stand up.’
    ‘I know,’ replied the old man.
    ‘Do you think they’ll let him rest?’
    ‘You’re asking me? I’ve never found myself in a similar situation.’
    ‘Help me. Talk to the guard.’
    ‘I’ll try. But we have nothing to offer him. Only something to ask. Why should he listen to us?’
    ‘I don’t know why, blast it! But you try, all right? Try, damn you!’ shouted Metellus.
    Uxal muttered something to himself, then said, ‘There’s no need to raise your voice. You won’t resolve much that way. I only hope I come up with an idea before that son of a bitch enters and opens the lock.’
    He got up, went over to the emperor and took a long look. Valerian was deadly pale, his eyes black-rimmed and hollow. His body was covered with bruises, his hair filthy and clotted with dust and sweat. Uxal gave a sigh.
    At that moment the door creaked open and the guard appeared. He bellowed something in his own language and opened the padlock, pulling the chain from the rings. Uxal muttered something back and the other replied with a shrug. Uxal insisted in a calm and rather detached tone, as if he were merely explaining something.
    The man replied with a short grunt and then turned towards Valerian and gave him an oblique look. He turned to Uxal again and spat out a few words.
    Metellus shot the old man a questioning look and was answered by a slight nod.
    They were soon at the mine entrance, while Valerian had been left behind on his straw bed in the shack.
    ‘What did you tell him?’ asked Metellus.
    ‘I said that if he forced Valerian to go down into the mine, he would be responsible for his death and that the spirit of a dead emperor becomes very vengeful and wicked, and would make him die the most abominable death a Persian can imagine: being buried alive in the mine.’
    ‘And he believed you?’
    ‘Maybe not. But why should he take a risk? It’s not going to cost him anything; I promised him he’d have the same quantity of turquoise tonight anyway.’
    ‘I’m very grateful to you. I only hope to be able to pay you back one day for what you’ve done for us.’
    ‘I haven’t done much, but I quite like the thought of dispensing favours to an emperor. Doesn’t happen every day.’
    ‘No, I’d say not,’ agreed Metellus.
    Balbus and Quadratus organized the working day so that in the evening the quantity of turquoise would be as much as the whole lot of them had produced together, and of the best quality to boot. They laboured without a pause so there would be no delay at the moment of weighing and they could get back to their shack as soon as possible. Metellus was especially bothered by the thought of the emperor all alone and feverish in that stinking hovel.
    And bothered by the thought of his son, which never left him. He wondered whether Titus was thinking of him as well, or had given him up for dead. Merely imagining such a thing made him suffer unbearably.
    The worst hours were the last; their muscles, aching with strain and riddled with cramp, no longer responded and every movement required immense effort.
    When the time came to be lifted to the surface, Metellus and his men were there for the weighing; the material was well over the required quantity, and of excellent quality as well. No one stopped them from returning to their hut; on the contrary, from the way the guards were speaking, Uxal understood that they were quite satisfied. He began to realize that his friends might survive.
    ‘Did you know the yields would be so high?’ he asked Metellus.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Don’t tell me you knocked yourself out just to make your jailers happy.’
    ‘No. I’m trying to get them to understand that it’s worth their while to keep us alive, because we ensure better profits