Suddenly, a spear tip rattled along the bars once more. Both men braced. Pavo’s heart thundered. Gorzam unlocked the cell and ushered in another pair of guards, who hurried to poke their spear tips at Pavo and Khaled’s backs. Gorzam cracked the whip down on the dusty, salty cell floor and the noise was cue enough for both men to shuffle out into the cavern obediently.
The echoing rhythm of pickaxes intensified as they trudged along one of the walkways that snaked round the cavern wall. When they came to a ramp that led down onto the cavern floor and the salt face they had worked these last weeks, Pavo turned to descend.
But Gorzam thrust his whip-wielding hand into Pavo’s chest. ‘Not today,’ he barked, then nodded to the far edge of the cavern. There, a network of tunnels spidered off from the main cavern and into the rock. Each tunnel was barely lit and only tall enough for a crouching man to fit into. Gorzam struggled to contain his joy. ‘Today, you work in the wormholes.’
Pavo sensed Khaled brace at this. Then another guard jabbed his spear butt into the Persian’s back, sending him stumbling onwards, round the walkway towards the nearest tunnel entrance. Khaled picked up a basket and a pickaxe from the pile near the tunnel, then crouched and entered the space. Pavo took a pickaxe and followed, stooping so his back was horizontal. The air in here was sweltering and he felt his chest tighten at once. His quickened breaths barely fought off a tingling dizziness. As he stumbled along, the jagged rock overhead scraped on his back, and clouds of dust thicker than ever wafted into his eyes and mouth. Panic began to grip him as he felt the walls of the tunnel grow narrower, almost tomb-like. He stumbled and fell, then righted himself, back pressed against the dagger-sharp crystals of the tunnel wall, panting swiftly.
‘Be calm,’ Khaled grasped him by the shoulders. ‘Close your eyes. Focus on your breathing. Let each breath reach your stomach, fill your lungs, enrich your blood.’
Pavo nodded, clenching his eyes shut. His heart hammered at first, then it slowed. The air was still foul but the deeper breaths seemed to cool and calm him. His heartbeat returned to normal as he fought back his fears.
‘Now come,’ Khaled beckoned, one eye on the guard scowling at them from the mouth of the tunnel.
They carried on until the torchlight from the main cavern offered only a dull glow that danced from the crystals. Every so often, the tunnel widened where men worked into the salt face. There were pairs and trios of men, bent double as they hacked and chiselled at the salt face.
‘Why do they continue to work – there are no guards in these tunnels, it seems?’ Pavo asked.
‘That’s because no guard would want to come down into these deathly passages,’ Khaled replied. ‘They continue to work because the guards waiting at the mouth of each tunnel know how many men are in there, and they expect twelve crates of salt per man per shift. If there is one crate less . . . ’
Pavo nodded, ‘I can imagine.’
They continued on, passing another group of workers. One skeletal figure trembled, racked with fever and struggling to draw breath. As Pavo passed by, the man retched and spat thick gobbets of blood. Black blood. Pavo’s heart iced at the sight, remembering Khaled’s description of the disease. He wondered whether to pity or envy the man – for surely death would be a freedom of sorts.
They came to the end of the tunnel and eyed the sheet of salt crystal before them. Blessedly, they could stand tall at this point, but there was little else to relish in this location. He and Khaled shared a weary glance before they took to hacking at the face. Salt shards and dust showered back at them with every strike.
Pavo halted, coughing. He turned to fill a basket, grunting as he hefted the salt chunks into it. ‘You could fit a man in one of these.’
‘Many have tried to do just what you are thinking of; hiding in the baskets that are lifted to the surface on the pulley.’
‘Aye?’ Pavo’s eyes narrowed, intrigued.
‘Aye, the shaft is the only way in or out.’ Khaled shook his head. ‘But at the top, they have men checking every basket. Those they find hiding, they send straight back down. No need for ladders, if you get my meaning.’
Pavo nodded faintly, horrified. He looked to the shattered salt face before them then weighed the pickaxe a few times. ‘Has anyone ever tried tunnelling their way out?’
Khaled’s face fell, then he boomed with laughter that filled the end of the tunnel. ‘If they have tried, then perhaps in a few hundred years they might reach the surface!’ He jabbed a finger upwards. ‘I told you, hundreds and hundreds of feet of pure rock. If you think it’s hard mining the salt, then try swinging your axe at that!’ he said, nodding to a flat patch of blue shale, veined with russet sedimentary rock.