The Parthian

Chapter 12

The next day we went back to the corpse-strewn battlefield, to carry out the grisly task of stripping the dead of anything that might be of use to us. This included swords, javelins, bows, arrows, shields, helmets and mail shirts. I ordered more of my men to scour the battlefield and retrieve any undamaged arrows, for most of our quivers were empty. I sent Nergal with five hundred horsemen to find the Roman camp and take anything of use, and to burn what was left. The Germans and Dacians took great delight in hacking off Roman heads and mounting them on broken spear shafts and bent pilum and then planting them in the ground, until I ordered them to desist. Castus was taken aback, but I told him that we were there to take what would be useful and then march back north to Spartacus, not to indulge the worst aspects of our fantasies. He asked me what I was going to do with the captured Roman officer, who in truth I had forgotten about. As a vast pile of captured weapons and equipment grew by the side of the battlefield, Lucius Furius was brought before me. Despite his situation he still had that air of haughty arrogance that seemed endemic to all Roman officers. A small circle gathered round us as he faced me under a bright blue sky. Burebista stood behind him, Castus on my right, while a host of warriors gathered behind me. I had arranged for the captured legionary eagles to be held behind me as I spoke.

‘Well, Lucius,’ I said. ‘You don’t mind me calling you Lucius, do you? Only I’ve beaten you so often that I feel that we are friends.’

A ripple of laughter came from behind me. Furius stood motionless, his eyes full of hate. Burebista kicked the back of his knee, causing him to fall to the ground.

‘On your knees when you talk to a prince of Parthia,’ my lieutenant sneered, drawing his sword and placing the point at the rear of the Roman’s neck.

Furius was on his knees but still defiant. ‘Kill me and have done with it,’ he spat.

I gestured to Burebista to put away his sword and motioned for Lucius to stand again. ‘I’m not a Roman, Lucius. I don’t kill people for the pleasure of it. I’m not going to kill you.’ There was a murmur of protest at this.

‘Silence!’ I shouted. ‘I want you to take a message from me to the senate in Rome.’

‘What message?’

‘I want you to tell them that we desire free passage out of Italy, and that if they send more armies against us then we will destroy those, too. Tell the old men who rule Rome that we do not fear them, but if they antagonise us further then we will turn our wrath on Rome itself and burn it to the ground.’ My men cheered wildly at this. I raised my arms to quiet them.

‘Words are cheap,’ he taunted me.

‘Words are cheap but Roman lives are cheaper. Look around you, Lucius. It is not the bodies of slaves that are lying on the ground, but Romans. How many more times must you learn that we are soldiers, not a rabble? Your vanity does not permit you to believe that, does it? But let your eyes see the truth. Look at the captured eagles that are held before you. Be grateful that I let you live and deliver my message to your masters. Find him a mule.’

Moment later a rather sorry looking animal with not even a cloth over its back was brought before me. Lucius Furius was stripped naked, forced onto its back to face its hindquarters and then lashed out of camp. To the south a large column of black smoking was ascending into the sky. Nergal had obviously found the Roman camp. Burebista was very unhappy.

‘You should have let me kill him, lord,’ he said as Lucius Furius disappeared from view, heading east. ‘A man like that despises all enemies of Rome.’

‘You are probably right, but if I do kill him, it will be in battle with a sword in his hand.’

Castus shook his head. ‘You talk too much sometimes, Pacorus. Burebista is right, you should have killed him. He would have killed you if the places were reversed.’

‘You Germans are obsessed with killing,’ I chided him, ‘I find it hard to believe that there are any of you left.’

‘We only kill Romans,’ he looked at me and smiled. ‘And any Parthians who are foolish enough to wander into our territory.’

It took us the rest of the day to loot the Roman dead and organise the collection of their equipment. By the time we had finished Nergal had returned with dozens of captured Roman carts and several hundred mules in tow. The Roman camp had been deserted, though he believed that those who had fled from the battle had visited it during their flight, as there was nothing of value remaining. However, perhaps more valuable were the standards that we had captured: four legionary eagles and a host of banners. There were small pieces of red cloth attached to a cross-bar and carried on a pole. On each piece of cloth were gold Roman numerals and animals. There were other tall poles topped with various insignia, such as a silver hand, and many types of animals, with silver discs attached to the pole itself. Many of the standards carried the letters SPQR. I asked Castus what they meant and he told me it was Latin for Senatus populusque romanus, meaning the ‘Senate and people of Rome’. I had them all dumped in a cart and gave it to Castus. His men had won the battle and it was only right that he should be rewarded.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. ‘You are a good friend and a fierce enemy.’

‘You and your men fought as well.’

‘It is only right that your Germans receive the recognition they deserve. Carry them proudly back to Spartacus.’

Byrd rode into camp as Castus was trying on a Roman bronze muscled cuirass decorated with mythological designs. It was a beautiful piece of armour, though he complained that the arrow hole in its back spoiled the overall effect. Byrd dismounted and handed me a piece of folded paper. I opened it and read the scribbled message.

My friend

Byrd brought joyous news of your victory. I am pleased to report that we too were victorious against the Romans. I look forward to celebrating our joint triumphs when you return. Claudia sends her love.

Spartacus

I related the wonderful news to Nergal, Burebista and Castus, and soon the whole army knew that Spartacus had also vanquished the Romans. I rode off to inform Gallia, whom I had instructed to remain at our camp as I did not want her or any of her women on this field of carrion. I told her and the others about the note from Spartacus and they, like me, were delighted. It was a far happier camp that night, as everyone gathered round fires, drank, ate and talked of what they would do when they left Italy. Suddenly Rome seemed far away and insignificant. We allowed ourselves to dream, and in the intoxication of that warm summer’s evening I asked Gallia to marry me. She was standing with Diana and Rubi next to a roaring log fire, her long hair turned orange by the glow of the flames, when I pulled her away and asked her to share my life with me. She whispered yes and we kissed long and tenderly.

The next day we broke up fifty of the Roman carts as the rest, loaded with supplies and equipment, were driven north to Spartacus. We used the wood to make a funeral pyre, and added to it those Roman shields that were beyond repair. Then we heaped the bodies of our dead upon the whole, doused them with oil and set it alight. We stood in ranks, both horse and foot, as the fire consumed the bodies. I prayed to Shamash that the spirits of our fallen be allowed into heaven, there to dwell for all eternity. We left the Roman corpses to the crows. Before we departed Castus brought me a fine leather cuirass that his men had taken off a Roman officer, a general he said, and by the look of the armour I did not doubt it. The man, whoever he was, had taken an arrow through his eye that had killed him instantly. The black two-piece cuirass was muscled in the Roman manner and was embossed with a splendid golden sun motif on the upper chest, with two golden winged lions immediately beneath it. It had fringed strips of black leather over the thighs and shoulders, which were adorned with golden bees. It was a beautiful piece of armour. He also presented me with the general’s helmet, a fine steel piece that was padded inside, had large, hinged cheek plates and a polished brass crest. It had a large red plume, which I would replace with white goose feathers in due time.

‘My men want you to have them, for giving us victory,’ he said after he had fastened it over my white tunic.

‘I accept, convey my thanks to your men.’

In my new finery I took my place at the head of the army as we marched north to rejoin Spartacus. Beside me rode Gallia on my right and Nergal on my left, with Gafarn, Diana and Praxima immediately behind us. The mad Rubi also rode with us, humming to herself and in a world of her own.

It was a joyous occasion when we returned to the army and were reunited with our friends. Gallia and Diana hugged Claudia while I embraced Spartacus and Godarz. They were all unhurt, though Spartacus had taken a glance from a sword blade just above his right eye, which would have taken his sight if it had been two inches lower. ‘I’ve had worse in the arena’ was his only comment. There have been times in my life when I have experienced true happiness, and the meal that night, in Spartacus’ tent, was one such occasion. Perhaps it was the fact that we all still lived after the battles, or more likely that Gallia had agreed to be my wife, but the wine was light and sweet and the food was the best I had ever tasted. It was no different to what we normally consumed, of course, but it was an occasion of sheer bliss. We sat round the large table, Spartacus at its head, with Claudia seated beside him. I sat next to Gallia, and all night we glanced at each other and swapped caresses and assumed no one noticed. Diana sat with Gafarn, and then there was Castus, Burebista, Nergal, Praxima, Rhesus, Akmon, Cannicus and Byrd, who had not wanted to attend, preferring the company of his rough scouts. But I insisted as I liked him and wanted him to share our joy. Even Rubi seemed to be in a happy mood.

The table was overloaded with bread, fruit and meat, which were heaped on great silver platters, which were refilled when one of us went outside and cut more strips off the whole pig and side of beef that were roasting over fires. A shrill chatter filled the large tent as we all swapped stories about the previous few days, wildly embellished as the wine flowed freely. Burebista regaled us with how he had, with but a handful of horse, defeated the entire cavalry wing of the Roman army, allowing me to ‘sneak round the back’ of the enemy and attack them from behind. Nergal said that the sky had been filled with so many of our arrows that they had blocked out the sun. Praxima boasted that she had killed as many Romans as any man, a claim that I doubted not. Eventually all of us fell silent and waited for Spartacus to tell us how he had defeated the Romans, despite their superior numbers. He sat with one leg over an arm of his chair and a cup of wine in one of his large hands.

‘We fought them in a wide valley, between two great forests of trees that covered the hillsides. I knew that we had a chance if we didn’t allow them to turn our flanks, so we formed a battle line across the whole of the valley, from one treeline to the next. But it was mighty thin. We drew up our cohorts in three lines, but the third line was held back and given strict orders not to attack until I gave the order. They came at us with banners flying and trumpets blaring, I counted four eagles but there may have been more. They tried to soften us up with archers and slingers, but the men locked shields and took their fire. Then they charged us, their whole front line, throwing their javelins and then running at us with their swords drawn. But all those hours spent on the training field paid off for us, for our men loosed their javelins and then used their own swords. And we stood and fought them, fought them long and hard for hours, fought them to a standstill. I know because I was there, listening to the screams and shouts, seeing the injured being hauled back, and shouting encouragement with the rest of the third line. For what seemed like hours thousands of men hacked and shoved and bled and died. But I knew that we were stronger and better, and I gave the order for the first two lines to fall back. And then the Romans thought that they had won, but as their exhausted lines stumbled forward we hit them with our third line, a screaming, frenzied mass of iron. We raced forward and stabbed like men possessed at their bellies and groins, disemboweling men where they stood. When we hit them they were still legions, but then they buckled, turned and fled. We followed them, snapping at their heels like wolves. Then their whole army dissolved and the killing began. Romans trampled other Romans to death, many met death on the point of our swords, and others ran so fast that their insides ruptured, their mouths foamed blood and they died without a mark on them. Their horse made good their escape but thousands of legionaries never left that valley. Our own dead numbered less than two hundred, with another three hundred wounded, but Akmon reckons that six thousand Romans were killed that day.’

‘It is true, lord,’ said Akmon.

‘The Romans have no armies left,’ said Castus, raising his cup to Spartacus, ‘you have destroyed them, lord.’

We all drained our cups and banged them on the table and cheered Spartacus. He raised his hands and gestured for us to desist.

‘I fear, my friends, that are many more Romans left.’

‘But there are none to stop us leaving Italy,’ I said.

Claudia had been silent while Spartacus had been speaking, and had remained seated and downcast as we toasted him. Now she looked at us with her large brown eyes, which seemed to fix all of us with their cool stare.

‘The talons of the eagle holds all of us still,’ she hissed.

It was a strange comment, but then Claudia was given to making obtuse remarks and I merely put it down to the fact that she was not a man and did not understand war. Rome had had its talons well and truly clipped, on both feet! In any case, she cheered up later when she sauntered over to where Gallia and I were seated and began probing us with questions.

‘You two seem very happy.’

‘Good company and fine wine, what more could a man want? I beamed.

‘A soul mate with whom to share his life,’ she retorted, her eyes darting from me to Gallia.

I looked down and could feel my cheeks becoming hot.

‘There is no need to be shy, Pacorus,’ she continued, ‘I’ll wager that many men would jump at the chance of marrying Gallia.’

‘Who said anything about marriage?’ queried Gallia, grinning at Claudia.

‘Is the thought disagreeable to you, my friend.’

‘Not entirely disagreeable,’ mused Gallia.

‘And he is a handsome catch,’ Claudia began to stroke my hair, ‘and he does have a nice horse.’

‘That’ true, I’m very fond of Remus.’

‘I’ll fetch some wine.’ I stood up, but in my eagerness to get away from being embarrassed further I tripped on a leg of my chair and was sent sprawling on the floor. All conversations stopped as I lay on the wooden boards. Akmon frowned, as I scrambled to my feet, probably assuming that I was drunk. Spartacus observed me with a cool detachment while Gafarn and Burebista grinned to each other and Nergal looked concerned.

‘Pacorus has an announcement,’ said Claudia, pointing at me. Once again I felt my cheeks colour.

‘I do?’ All eyes were on me now as I stood in front of the table. I was suddenly transported back to my childhood, to when I was hauled before my father for taking a horse from the royal stables without his permission. It was an uncomfortable experience, and my present situation was beginning to resemble it. I had been given a good thrashing that day; I hoped that this evening would end happier.

Spartacus leaned forward, intrigued. ‘Well?’

I glanced at Gallia, who seemed to be enjoying my discomfort.

‘Good news should be spared, Pacorus,’ remarked Claudia. ‘To keep it to yourself is selfish, but as your tongue seems to have deserted you, shall I relate your news?’

This was too much. ‘I have asked Gallia to be my wife,’ I blurted out.

The room erupted in cheering and reverberated to the sound of dagger hilts being banged on the table. Spartacus left his chair and embraced me, while Akmon and Castus slapped me hard on the shoulder. Godarz and Rhesus offered me their hand and Diana and Praxima planted kisses on my cheek. Rubi jumped up and down like a cat on hot coals. All offered their congratulations to Gallia, and Nergal slightly embarrassed me by kneeling before me with his head bowed. I hauled him to his feet. ‘We are not in Hatra now, Nergal.’

Gafarn embraced Gallia. ‘Wedding feasts are lavish occasions in Hatra, lady. All the kings of the empire will be invited, I have no doubt. King Varaz is a generous host, not like his son. And all the people will love your blonde hair. Parthian women are all dark and plump, not slim and beautiful like you.’

‘May I remind you, Gafarn, that my mother and sisters are all Parthian,’ I said.

‘Well, apart from your mother and sisters and few others,’ he corrected himself. ‘Did I ever tell you that it was mooted that Prince Pacorus might marry the Princess Axsen. Now she is plump, well fat, really…’

‘Shut up!’ I ordered.

‘You won’t marry here, among your friends?’ asked Spartacus.

‘Well,’ I stammered, ‘I had thought that we would be leaving Italy soon.’

‘It takes only an afternoon to be married,’ he said.

‘What do you say on this matter, Gallia?’ asked Claudia.

‘These people are my family, Pacorus, and I would like them to be witnesses to our betrothal.’

‘Out-foxed yet again, highness,’ beamed Gafarn. ‘It’s a good job you’re a warrior and not a diplomat.’

‘Leave him alone,’ said Spartacus, putting his arm around my shoulder, ‘all will be settled as they wish. So let us drink to their happiness, long life and good fortune.’

Later, when Burebista had been carried back to his tent by two guards after collapsing into a drunken slumber, I asked Claudia how she knew about Gallia and myself.

‘Was it a vision, like you saw at Thurri?’

She laughed and embraced me. ‘No, my dashing young prince. Gallia told me, as she told Diana. She is so thrilled that she could not keep it a secret. You have made her very happy.’

‘Really?’

She jabbed me in the stomach with a finger. ‘Of course, you think a woman like Gallia gives her emotions lightly. She loves you body and soul, so you had better not let her down.’

‘I won’t,’ I said, solemnly. ‘By Shamash I swear it.’

She pulled a stern face. ‘So serious. But I know you won’t let her down.’

‘Is that what Spartacus told you?’

‘No, Pacorus, that is what a vision told me.’ She filled her cup with wine and went back to her husband.

We spent two weeks in the province of Umbria, reorganising and commencing the training of new recruits, for many escaped slaves began to flock to our banner once more. They were men, mostly, lean individuals with faces made hard from living in the hills and mountains tending flocks, or living under the lash of the overseer in the fields. Women came also, mostly from the gangs who had worked in the fields, mostly in their teens or twenties, in rags and threadbare cloaks, but whose faces were alight when they walked into our camp and asked to see the slave leader Spartacus. They embraced him, shook his hand and some fell to their knees and wept, and to his credit Spartacus made every one of them feel as though he or she was a long-lost friend. To me he was a friend, but I think that all those who filled our centuries and cohorts also believed him to be one of them. It was that bond of comradeship that held the army together, I knew that now, the strong bond of loyalty that united us all behind him. To me he was always kind, but one does not become the commander of an army by being kind. He also possessed a streak of iron, a degree of ruthlessness that had enabled him to survive as a gladiator in the merciless arena. I saw this in the days following our two victories. Spartacus had captured a cohort of the enemy, men who had thrown down their weapons when they had been surrounded during the pursuit. They had begged for mercy and had seemingly been granted it. But it was not to be, for five days after he had defeated the Romans, Spartacus gave a great feast for the army. The plundered wine and food from far and wide was provided for those who had bled for him, tables stacked high with meats, fruit and bread. And afterwards, in a fenced-off area around which seating had been erected, the prisoners fought in matched pairs to the death.

Spartacus declared it to be the funeral games for Crixus and thousands stood by as pairs of fighters, some armed with gladius and shield, others with a trident and a net, fought each other to the death. The combat went on for hours, the audience, former slaves now turned masters, hooted and cheered in their drunken state, while all the time a stony-faced Spartacus sat on a wooden dais and observed the slaughter. Beside him, squat and rock-like, stood Akmon, with a black-haired and stern-faced Castus stood on his other side. Under a hot sun men sweated, bled and died, each death greeted with rapturous applause from those present. Some refused to fight and threw down their weapons, then stared in defiance at the dais. Spartacus merely nodded to one of the many guards who surrounded the temporary arena, who then speared the reluctant gladiator with his javelin. Claudia and Gallia had been present at the start of this gruesome spectacle, but had departed soon after the first blood had been spilt. I had been asked to attend, as had Rhesus, Nergal and Burebista, though I had little enthusiasm for this organised slaughter. Spartacus noted my discomfort.

‘You do not approve, Pacorus?’

I shrugged. ‘I see no point in it, lord.’

‘Crixus was my comrade, so it is fitting that I should celebrate his life.’

‘With death?’

‘The first gladiatorial contests took place at the funerals of rich Romans,’ he said. ‘So I thought it right and proper that we should return to the old ways to give Crixus a proper send-off.’

In front of us two more men died, one screaming as his belly was sliced open by a gladius. Burebista smiled while Castus remained unmoved.

‘That used to be us down there,’ said Spartacus, ‘spilling our guts for the amusement of the Romans. Now the roles are reversed.’ He cast me a glance. ‘You waste your pity on them, Pacorus, and pity will get you killed if you’re not careful.’

‘Tempted to try your hand, Spartacus?’ Castus was being mischievous.

‘It had occurred to me,’ he replied.

‘Then why don’t you?’

Akmon look alarmed but said nothing. ‘I would advise against it, lord.’ I offered.

He turned to me and smiled, the first time he had done so that day. ‘Why? Do you think they can beat me?’

Before I could answer he had stood up, drawn his sword and leapt from the dais and into the temporary arena. He walked calmly among the fighting pairs until he was about a hundred feet from where we stood. He raised his sword to me in salute, and then bellowed to those around him to attack him, shouting that whoever cut him down would win his freedom. Within seconds five Romans were circling him like ravenous wolves. They had swords and shields and wore helmets on their heads; Spartacus wore just a tunic and had only his sword. Any lesser man would have surely perished, but one did not become a champion of the arena by being ordinary. And whereas gladiators were trained to fight on their own, the Romans facing him had been trained to fight as a unit. On their own they were clumsy and uncoordinated. One, his shield tucked tight to his body, thrust at Spartacus but the slave general pounced to the man’s right and stabbed the point of his sword into the man’s upper arm. The Roman yelped in pain and dropped his sword, whereupon Spartacus pounced and thrust his sword through the man’s neck. He used the Roman’s body as a shield as a second attacker lunged at Spartacus’ chest, only to become entangled in the corpse as he fell to the ground. He died with a gladius thrust through his back into his heart.

Spartacus was in his element now, his strong jaw thrust forward and his eyes alight with the thrill of the deadly drama he was involved in. He killed the third Roman at the end of a series of rapid sword strokes that his opponent could not parry, Spartacus driving his sword through the man’s groin. The fourth died after Spartacus feinted a trip and the man, thinking his opponent would fall, rashly charged forward, only to be tripped himself and then have his belly sliced open as he fell. Thus the last Roman, a pathetic figure who clearly did not want to fight, threw down his sword and shield, fell to his knees begged for mercy. Spartacus walked up to the man, placed his left hand on his shoulder and then looked to where we were standing. He smiled at me, turned to look at the man before him and then rammed his gladius through his throat. He left the blade in place, his hand still on the Roman’s shoulder, as the gladius was covered in a red froth. He then placed his foot against the dead man’s chest and pushed the corpse onto the ground, extracting his sword as he did so. He then walked calmly back to the dais and retook his seat.

‘Like I said,’ he said to me, ‘pity is a weakness.’

I confess that the gladiatorial contest was not to my liking and had seemed to me to be nothing more than sport.

‘Of course it’s sport,’ remarked a surprised Gallia. ‘Why are you so surprised?’

The two of us had ridden into the vine-clad hills surrounding our sprawling encampment, which was growing larger each day as new recruits joined us. The scenery we rode through was breathtaking, with deep gorges among the limestone peaks. The day was very warm, an intense sun beating down as we made our way upwards along an old goat track. The area teemed with wildlife and we saw deer, porcupine and a peregrine falcon fly overhead as our horses walked along the dirt track. Either side of us tall beech trees filled the landscape.

‘I would have thought that having been forced to fight in the arena, he would have wanted to banish all traces of it from his mind.’

‘It is not that simple.’ She looked striking today, her hair flowing freely down the back of her blue white-edged tunic. She wore brown breeches and leather riding boots, her sword in its scabbard at her hip and her bow, like mine, tucked in its case and fixed to her saddle.

‘He was a gladiator for a long time,’ she continued, ‘and that sort of experience leaves a permanent imprint on the mind. That’s why he hates the Romans and that sort of hatred burns for a long time.’

‘I hate the Romans, but I do not butcher defenceless ones.’

‘You do not hate them, Pacorus.’

‘I fight them, do I not?’

‘Yes, but you fight for glory and because you are good at it. Spartacus is like a cornered animal. He is fighting to stay alive.’

‘And I am not?

She looked at me and smiled. ‘Oh, Pacorus, your men say that you are a great warrior and leader, but you have a kingdom to go back to and an empire that will embrace you. Spartacus has nothing save the clothes he stands up in.’

‘He has a homeland to go to.’

‘Does he? Most of Thrace is under Roman rule. If goes back there he will have to live the life of a hunted man. And that’s true of the Spaniards and Gauls also.’

‘Then where is he to go?’ I asked.

She shrugged. ‘Where indeed?’

We rode on in silence for a while, but then came to a small lake surrounded by trees whose waters were crystal clear. At the far end side of a lake was a white rock face, over which teemed a small waterfall. It was an idyllic place, the birds singing in the trees and the scent of wildflowers filling the air. We tied up the horses in the shade of a beech tree, disrobed and plunged into the water, and afterwards we made love in the sun beside the waterfall. I lay face down on the warm, smooth rock gazing over the water, her lithe body lying beside me. She began tracing lines over my back with her finger.

‘How did you get these marks on your back?’ Her voices was low and sultry, her touch sensuous. The marks were the small scars bequeathed me when Centurion Cookus had whipped me.

‘A present from a Roman.’

‘They look rather striking, like scars earned in battle. What happened to the Roman who whipped you?’

‘I cut his head off.’

She laughed and dived into the water.

‘Well then, come and get your prize, lord prince.’

We were truly happy at that time, in that wonderful summer when we had destroyed Rome’s armies and reached northern Italy. The world seemed to be at our feet, but perhaps it was because I was in love and I believed the impossible was possible.

We continued our march north, bringing us into a region called Cisalpine Gaul. Though it was a Roman province, it was populated by the Gauls, Gallia’s people, who were ruled by a Roman governor who resided in the city of Mutina. The Gauls lived under their own rules and customs and were not Roman citizens. They paid tribute to Rome, but as long as they stayed loyal Rome left them alone. Spartacus was keen to enlist their help and so convened a council of war, to which he invited Gallia. She was not intimidated as she sat around the large table in the company of Spartacus’ warlords. Claudia had made herself scarce.

‘We move north in two days,’ began Spartacus, a sudden storm outside shaking the sides of the tent and rattling its central supports. ‘We will be moving through the land of the Gauls, your people, Gallia. I wish to know if they will help us.’

A thin smile crossed Gallia’s face. ‘They are a beaten people. They will not help you. You would be foolish to think otherwise.’

Nergal, Rhesus and Burebista were shocked by her words, while Akmon glanced at Spartacus and nodded.

‘Nevertheless,’ continued Spartacus, ‘we must travel through their province. If they will not aid us, will they then fight us?’

Gallia snorted at the suggestion. ‘They are a broken people. I doubt they will fight us, as even my company of women would be a match for a host of their warriors. But they will betray you to the Romans if they have a chance.’

I laid my hand on her arm. ‘Yet there are stills Gauls with courage.’ She snatched her arm away.

‘You delude yourselves with thoughts of the Gauls helping you. They pay tribute to Rome. They would earn much esteem among the Romans if they delivered us up to them. Even now their scouts will have reported our position to the nearest garrison.’ She bristled with anger.

‘I have to ask you one more thing, Gallia’. Spartacus looked at her with a grave countenance. ‘Byrd has reported that our army will march though the land of the Senones, your tribe, I believe. If your father is still their king, would you speak to him on our behalf?’

There was silence as Gallia stared at the table in front of her, her arms resting on the surface. I noticed that her fists were clenched and her knuckles were white. She stood up slowly and looked at Spartacus.

‘No.’

She then turned and walked out.

‘Sorry, lord,’ I mumbled.

Spartacus rose. ‘For what? If I had a thousand like her I could take Rome itself. We leave in two days. That is all.’

All my efforts to discuss the matter further with Gallia were to no avail. She did not want to talk about her father. Why should she? He was, after all, the man who had sold her into slavery.

The army moved along a splendid road called the Via Aemilia, which Godarz informed me had been built over a hundred years before. As with all the roads that I had seen, it was as straight as an arrow and had beautifully tended verges on either side. It would lead us to Mutina, the administrative centre of the province and the place that we would have to take if we were to reach the Alps and thereafter freedom. The morale of the troops was extremely high; indeed, the march started out resembling a carnival until a disgruntled Akmon issued orders for all cohort commanders to keep their men in check. I threw out a cavalry screen a few miles ahead of the army and on the flanks, while Burebista and his dragon was assigned to the army itself, under Akmon’s command. He was most unhappy because he wanted to undertake scouting duties, fancying himself as fighting skirmishes with Roman horsemen rather than walking alongside bullocks and goats. However, I told him that I would rotate duties between myself, Nergal and him, which kept him reasonably happy.

The first two days were uneventful as we advanced through the valley of the River Pagus, a fertile area crisscrossed by marshes, swamps and pine and oak forests. The area teemed with wildlife, chief among them being wild boars who ignored us as they rummaged through the undergrowth searching for acorns. Near the road itself the Romans had established a number of settlements and farms, which Godarz informed me were populated by veteran soldiers and their families. They had also started the construction of dykes and canals to drain the area and turn it into farmland. How industrious these Romans were. All the farms and villages had been abandoned on our approach, however. We found only empty houses and fields.

Though she had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with her people, I was still curious to find out more about these Gauls who lived as part of Rome, not free but not slave either. When the army camped I ordered Byrd to join me in my tent to discuss the Senones. My cavalry were spread across the area in a number of small encampments, none of which was fortified like the main camp.

‘Senoni very dangerous, lord,’ remarked Byrd, his unkempt appearance disguising the fine scout he had become. ‘They all around, have eyes everywhere.’

I poured him some wine and we sat in two chairs outside my tent. The evening was warm and pleasant, with a slight breeze freshening the air. ‘I have patrols out at all times, Byrd. They will not surprise us.’

He stretched out his legs. ‘These Gauls not like Romans. They have lived here for hundreds of years. They move unseen. Killed one of my scouts yesterday.’

Now I was alarmed. ‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘Do not know, lord. We found him tied to a tree with his throat slit. They had stripped him naked and blinded him first.’

‘How do you know they put out his eyes first?’

He took a drink from his cup. ‘No point in killing someone then blinding them. No sport in that.’

I shuddered. The thought of hundreds of men like Crixus prowling the forests all around us did not fill me with glee.

‘Do you know where their main camp is?’

He finished his wine. ‘Yes, lord, but would not advise you go unless you take many horsemen, but perhaps…’ He turned away and looked at a group of mail-clad horsemen returning to camp, their mounts sweating after a hard patrol.

‘Perhaps what?’ I asked him.

‘The Princess Gallia is the daughter of King Ambiorix. She could speak to her father, perhaps.’

‘King Ambiorix?’

‘Yes, lord. He is the master of the lands we march through.’

They came that night. How many I do not know, but they killed two sentries and two others who had the misfortune to be in their path. They cut open the side of the tent and stole inside, and after what must have been a brief but violent struggle they left as silently as they had arrived. I stood in her tent and stared at the lifeless body of a young Gaul lying face down on the floor, a wound in his side. A red-eyed Diana sat on the bed, likewise staring at the dead man, as if he would suddenly spring to life and give us answers. A cowered Rubi sat huddled in the corner, a look of terror on her face. I could hardly believe it. I felt as though a blade had been stuck into my belly and was being slowly twisted. Diana buried her head in her hands and wept again. I could not bear it so I waved a hand at a pale-faced Praxima to take her away. As she was gently lifted from the bed and shuffled past me, I laid a hand on her shoulder.

‘We will get her back, I promise.’ Was I assuring her or me? I did not know. All I knew that I would not rest until she was safely back by my side.

‘I have sent our patrols in all directions, highness,’ said Nergal.

‘There were no horse tracks outside the camp,’ added Rhesus.

‘They would have left the horses in the trees,’ I said, dejectedly, ‘They will be miles away by now.’

Gallia slept among the women of her company. They had been in the main camp before we had defeated the Romans in Umbria, but after our triumphs I had grown too confident and had allowed them to stay with the cavalry. She would not countenance being away from them and said she would only share my bed as my wife. I respected her for that but did not like the idea of her being removed from me. So I had her company positioned in the centre of the camp every time we erected our tents. In this way, or so I thought, she would be safe. I was wrong. And now the woman that I loved had been snatched away and I was left helpless. I prayed to Shamash that she still lived, for life without her would have no meaning and death on the end of a Roman spear would be a blessing. They had taken her in the early hours, just before the dawn broke when men’s senses are at their most confused. She must have fought them, though, because they left one of their number dead. I just hoped that her show of defiance would not go against her. But did she still live?

Spartacus and Claudia arrived at midday, both of them trying to offer solace. They failed. Nergal and Burebista returned shortly after to report they had found nothing. After a brief rest to drink and eat, they set out again on fresh horses. Gallia, and in truth all her women, had become very popular among my horsemen, many of whom regarded them as lucky mascots. Those who rode with me came to love her, with her blond locks, her riding skills and her prowess with a bow. And of course it is easy to become besotted with a beautiful woman. There was thus no shortage of volunteers to go looking for her, though none met with success.

‘She is still alive,’ said Spartacus, after inspecting the dead Gaul. ‘If they had wanted her dead she would be lying there instead of him.’

‘But why did they take her?’ I was going frantic with worry.

He shrugged. ‘They want something from us.’

‘But what?’

‘We will soon find out, I think,’ added Rhesus.

An answer of sorts came at noon when a lone rider entered the camp, a young man stripped to the waist, his body covered in blue tattoos. He surrendered himself to the guards immediately and asked to be taken to see me. He was brought before Spartacus and myself in my tent at spear point, though he seemed unconcerned at the malice that was being directed at him. One of the guards pushed him down on his knees. He was broad chested, with muscular arms and thick wrists. He had pale blue eyes and his hair had been drawn back and tied behind his neck, around which he wore a gold torque.

‘What do you want?’ He was smiling at me.

‘You are the one they call Pacorus?’ He spoke Latin with a guttural accent.

‘You are to come with me.’ Nergal and Burebista hissed in rage behind me, but I stilled them with a raised had.

‘Why?’

‘If you wish to see your woman again you will follow me, alone and unarmed.’

‘And if I don’t?’ I knew the answer already.

‘She will be killed.’

‘Why shouldn’t we kill you, also?’ asked Spartacus.

The Gaul looked at Spartacus and then me. I guessed that he did not know the identity of the large warrior who stood next to me, though he must have detected the authority in his voice. The Gaul smiled.

‘My father does not wish to kill anyone. He wants only to discuss — certain matters.’

‘Your father?’ I asked.

‘King Ambiorix.’

I was surprised. ‘Then you must be…’

‘The brother of Gallia, yes.’

‘What are these matters?’ said Spartacus.

‘Only my father knows. But if I do not return within four hours then he will assume I am dead. And…’

He did not have to finish his sentence. He was bundled outside as I gave orders for Remus to be saddled.

‘Do not go, highness,’ said Nergal. ‘Give this man to me and I will make him reveal the location of his camp. Then we can rescue the Lady Gallia.’

‘Thank you, Nergal, but no. This is their country and they are probably watching the camp now. If we harm this Gaul I might as well kill Gallia myself. I have no choice.’

‘The fact that he sent his son means he attaches some importance to obtaining something from us,’ mused Spartacus.

A few minutes later I was riding Remus out of the camp with my guide beside me. We rode through pastures, across shallow streams and followed dirt tracks though trees. He said nothing until we came to a great camp at the foot of the mountains, which stood in a vast clearing hewn from the forest we had been riding through. The camp was surrounded by a ditch and earth mound, on the top of which had been built a tall wooden fence. The track led across a wooden bridge over the ditch and through two large spiked gates. The gates were flanked by guard towers occupied by warriors armed with spears and shields. Before I rode through the gates my nostrils recoiled from the stench of animal dung and human sweat, and as I rode through the camp I saw pigs and goats in cramped pens living beside untidy huts. Naked children caked in filth ran between the huts, while everywhere stank of animal and human filth. Is this how the Gauls lived?

In the centre of the camp stood a large, squat building made from logs with a thatched roof. We tied the horses to a rail outside the main entrance, which was guarded by two long-haired warriors armed with spears, and went inside. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the darkened interior, for the only light that entered was via small windows positioned high on each wall of what was a large hall. The roof was supported by thick pillars made from tree trunks, from which hung oil lamps. My guide strode confidently down the hall towards a dais that stood at the far end, upon which was seated a man in an oversized chair and next to him a thankfully unharmed Gallia. More warriors stood behind and on each side of the man seated in the chair, who I assumed was King Ambiorix. I stood a few paces from him and bowed my head, as is the custom when a prince meets a king. I also glanced at Gallia and smiled. She looked pale and tired but was not bound in any way. The man who had been my guide stepped onto the dais and took his place beside his father. The king was not like a typical Gaul. He had no facial hair and his face was lean, almost gaunt. He wore a gold torque around his neck and gold rings on his fingers, but his tunic and trousers were plain and his boots were also ordinary. His arms were not tattooed and, unlike those of his warriors, were not thick and hairy; rather, they were lithe and thin. His hair was fair and his eyes were blue, but unlike Gallia’s they were full of cunning and malice. A young girl walked from the shadows holding a tray of silver goblets. She stopped before the king who took one, then offered me one. I took it and raised it to Gallia’s father, who likewise raised his goblet and then drank. The atmosphere was unbearably tense. I sipped at the drink, which was crude mead that tasted of juniper berries and a hint of oak.

The king gestured to a warrior standing against one of the giant oak pillars, who brought me a chair to sit it.

‘Sit.’ King Ambiorix’s voice was deep and severe.

‘Thank you.’ As I sat I noticed that the warrior who stood behind Gallia, thick set with a high cheek bones, must be another of her brothers, as he had the same demeanor. He was slightly taller than she and he too was covered in tattoos. ‘You have something that belongs to me, sire.’

He looked surprised. ‘Do I? Please enlighten me.’

I looked at Gallia. ‘My future wife sits in your throne room as a prisoner. I would ask why she was taken by your men against her will.’

He placed his goblet on the tray and I did likewise, and waved the girl away, then leaned forward.

‘You speak of my daughter and yet I do not recall agreeing to her marrying you. In fact, your decision to marry her without my consent may be construed as gross insolence.’

‘I do not mean to give offence, sire.’ I think he liked me addressing me thus, but I had the feeling that we were only dancing around the real reason for this meeting.

‘Prince Pacorus, I am sure that you do not mean to offend me. But you come into my land at the head of an army without my permission, you camp on my land, you take what livestock you want for food and lay waste great tracts of my territory. And not one emissary have I received from you.’

‘Sire, I do not command the army.’

‘Indeed you do not, for I know that the slave called Spartacus leads your band of ragtag murderers and thieves. You think that your activities have gone unnoticed in these parts? You loot all of southern Italy and then come north like a plague of rats, no doubt to carry out the same activities that you have perfected this past year.’

‘We are merely attempting to leave Italy and reach our homes.’

He swiped the air with his right arm. ‘What home does a slave have who was born to slaves in Italy? None. What homes did Crixus and his band of cutthroats have when they were camped on Mount Garganus and raided the surrounding area? None. Have you any idea of the trouble that I have had because fellow Gauls are running amok in Italy? Of course not, you are only concerned with your own desires and have no consideration for others.’

This was ridiculous, and I was rapidly losing patience. ‘What do you want of me?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You do not ask the questions, prince of Parthia. This is my land, not yours. Imagine my surprise when I learned that a foreigner, a Parthian no less, on a white horse was leading a group of horsemen who were spreading fire and rapine throughout southern Italy. And imagine my horror when I further heard that his woman was a blonde-haired Gaul who rides and fights like a man.’ He looked disapprovingly at Gallia. ‘My daughter, who had escaped from her master, her murdered master, and was now shaming my good name.’

Gallia laughed at that.

‘Silence!’ Ambiorix rose from his chair and began pacing up and down on the dais and then pointed at me with a bony finger. ‘You and your slave general have put me in a very delicate situation. She,’ he jabbed a finger at Gallia, ‘I once sold to a Roman for her refusal to marry the chief of another tribe. I will not tolerate insolence, you see.’

‘He was old and fat, and it was more pleasurable being a slave.’ Gallia’s words were like javelins hurled at him.

Ambiorix was now seething with rage but kept it under control. He regained his seat and smiled at me. ‘If you want your woman back you will have to buy her back.’

Now we were getting to the crux of the matter. ‘Buy her back?’

He sat back in his chair. ‘A somewhat delicious irony, is it not? I sold her once and now I will sell her once more.’

‘I have no money, sire.’

His eyes flashed with rage. ‘Do not take me for a fool, boy. I know that you paid the city of Thurri handsomely in silver and gold. I also know that every Roman legion has its own gold when it marches, gold that your slave general now possesses after destroying the Roman armies in Umbria.’

I looked at him contemptuously. ‘How much gold will buy your daughter back?’

He smiled. ‘Do not be so quick to judge me, young prince, for I have a kingdom to rule whereas you have no responsibilities save charging around like some tragic hero in a Greek play. You despise me? Why not, you have blazed a trail of infamy through this land and take what you want. But I have to live in the real world. This was our land once, a long time ago when we came over the Alps south and made northern Italy our home. Rome was just a collection of villages then. Three hundred years ago a mighty army of Gauls sacked Rome and its citizens paid homage to us. But now Rome is like a hungry wolf and seeks to swallow us whole.’

‘Then why don’t you fight?’ I asked, a question that drew murmurs of anger from those around him. Ambiorix silenced them with a raised hand.

‘Fight? We are just one tribe. I am not so stupid to provoke a war that I cannot win. That road that your army has just marched up is like a spear though our hearts. Every year we are forced to pay tribute to the Romans, and every year they send more and more of their citizens to live on the land that they have cleared. Farms spring up where once there was forest, canals are dug to drain marshland and more roads are built across our land.

‘The city of Mutina sits in our land like a nest of vipers, ready to strike at us at the slightest provocation. The governor is an individual named called Gaius Cassius Longinus. He has two legions under his command, but the mere whiff of trouble and he will squeal like a stuck boar and there’ll be more legions flooding in to support him.’

‘What of the other tribes?’ I enquired.

‘They are cowered by the Romans, but there are some among them who still dream of a Roman-free world. It was one such man, the chief of the Lingones, whom my errant daughter was going to marry. And if they join me then the other tribes, the Insubres, Cenomani, Boii and Salassi, will follow.’

I wave of naivety suddenly swept over me. ‘Join with us, sire, and we can rid your homeland of the Romans.’ There was silence, then Ambiorix began to chuckle.

‘How many Roman armies have you defeated thus far, prince of Parthia?’

‘Three,’ I replied, proudly.

‘And have you noticed that they when you defeat one army, another one takes its place, and another and another? Romans are like cockroaches — difficult to kill. There is only one way to defeat the Romans, and that is to destroy Rome itself. You and your slave general do not have the strength to take the city. As I said, the Gauls did that once, three hundred years ago. If the tribes were united then it could be done again. But to attempt such a thing requires a great deal of persuasion.’

Or gold. It suddenly became clear what his plan was. If he had enough gold then he could bribe enough tribes to unite against the Romans. Greed was the one vice that usually overcame common sense. His tribe was obviously poor judging by the conditions in which they lived, and presumably so were the other tribes. But gold could provide the spark that could ignite an insurrection that could destroy the power of Rome, and make him a king among kings, no doubt. Our coming into his country must have seemed like a gift from the gods to him.

‘Twelve chests of legionary gold, delivered to me in two days at a time and place of my choosing.’

‘That’s a lot of gold.’

A thin smile crossed his lips. ‘I assume you value your future bride highly. Look upon it as recompense to me for your stealing her from her master. And now I believe we are done. Iccius will escort you back to your camp.’

‘What about Gallia?’

‘What about her? She will remain here until our business is concluded to my satisfaction. If you attempt any sort of rescue, she will be killed.’

He must have seen the disgust in my face, for he leaned forward. ‘You think I am cruel, you think that I am beyond contempt?’

I did, but said nothing.

‘Go now, Prince Pacorus, and await my instructions. And do not disappoint me.’

I stood up and bowed my head. ‘Sire, I request that I be allowed to speak to the Princes Gallia before I leave.’

‘The time for talking is done. However, as a sign of my goodwill you may embrace her, in our presence.’

I moved forward as she walked towards me. She stepped off the dais and we embraced. As I wrapped my arms around her I suddenly felt totally helpless and desperate. ‘I will not fail you,’ I whispered into her ear.

‘I know.’

‘Sire,’ I said, ‘keep me hostage instead of your daughter. She can relay your demands to General Spartacus as easily as I.’

He laughed cruelly. ‘Dear me, no. I think you value her life more than your own, and for that reason alone your request is denied. Be on your way now before you outstay your welcome.’

I rode back in silence, my escort, another greasy haired Gaul who stank of sweat, not attempting to engage me in conversation. The journey itself was a blur as I went over in my mind how I would get Gallia back. Her father would obviously have her throat cut without hesitation, and even if we supplied him with the gold there was no guarantee that he would keep his word. I rode back into camp thoroughly depressed, and in my tent sank disconsolately into a chair.

‘Twelve chests is a lot of gold,’ mused Spartacus as he handed me a cup of wine.

‘He hopes to buy the loyalty of other tribes,’ I said.

‘For what purpose?’ Spartacus sat himself down in a chair opposite me.

‘He wants to overthrow Roman rule.’

‘Then why doesn’t he join with us?’ queried Akmon, who had accompanied Spartacus.

‘Because,’ I replied, ‘we are slaves and he would rather live under Roman rule than fight by our side.’

‘I do not like blackmail,’ remarked Spartacus, frowning. He must have seen the alarm in my face, as he quickly added. ‘But on this occasion the price is worth paying to get a greater treasure back.’

‘How do we know the Gauls will keep their word?’ Gafarn was saying what I too was thinking.

‘We don’t,’ said Spartacus, who stood up and pointed at Godarz. ‘Have the gold loaded onto carts. Then all we can do is wait.’

We didn’t have to wait for long, for the next morning a rider arrived from King Ambiorix with instructions for the delivery of the gold. He rode a grey horse with a blanket for a saddle, a shield strapped to his back and a long sword hanging from his belt. His large moustache hung down to his chest. He was shown into my tent. He stank of sweat and pigs. He stood proud and contemptuous before me.

‘Follow the track that I have ridden along to get here. Five miles directly north of your camp there is a clearing in the forest. Through the middle of this clearing flows a brook. There is a wooden bridge over this brook. The exchange will take place there at noon tomorrow. You will bring carts only, no soldiers. Each cart will be driven by one man only, no weapons. If you attempt any treachery, the woman will be killed.’

I could have killed him there and then and was finding it difficult to control my temper, so I nodded curtly and waved him away. I turned to Godarz.

‘You heard that? Prepare the wagons.’

I hardly slept that night and arose just before dawn to wash and shave. I would lead the group of twelve wagons, each one loaded with a chest of gold. Usually for such work heavy oak wagons would be used, each one pulled by four oxen, but today we would use four-wheeled wagons made of ash. These were lighter and thus faster — I did not want to be late for our meeting with the Gauls — and their wheels of twelve spokes banded with iron would be less uncomfortable while travelling along dirt tracks. Designed to haul heavy loads, today the wagons would be carrying a relatively light weight, as the chests were not large — though they were literally worth their weight in gold. Each wagon was therefore pulled by two horses instead of four mules or oxen. And on the return journey they would be carrying nothing at all. The chests were placed in the centre of the open cargo compartment behind the driver, so the Gauls could see that there were no hidden soldiers or other mischief.

As the sun began to climb in a clear blue sky, myself and the eleven other drivers sat and ate a breakfast of porridge, bread and water. I looked at Godarz.

‘All is ready?’

‘Yes, lord.’

Spartacus and Claudia joined us, having spent the night in our camp, while Diana fussed around Gafarn, but ate nothing herself. Her black-rimmed eyes and pale face betrayed her distraught state and she said little to anyone. Trailing her every move was Rubi, like an obedient dog.

‘Are you sure you do not want me to come with you?’ said Spartacus.

I finished my porridge. ‘No, lord, I must do this my way.’

Burebista was most upset. ‘I should come with you, lord. I can kill many Gauls if need be.’

I placed my arm on his shoulder. ‘I know that, but if anything happens to myself and Nergal, who will command my cavalry? I need you here to take over should we not return.’

My answer did not satisfy him but it would have to suffice.

We left an hour later, twelve wagons ambling slowly in a northerly direction towards the thick woods that hugged the sides of the massive valley our army was camped in. The day was hot and airless and I sweated in my white tunic and straw hat, beads running down my face and neck and soaking the top of the cotton material. After half an hour we reached the trees and the relief of shade as we moved along the narrow track that was our route. The trees were oaks, many of them tall with thick trunks that had been standing there a long time. This was an ancient forest that existed even before the Gauls had come to this land. I wondered who had lived here when these mighty trees were saplings. Idle thoughts. Around us, great lumbering boars rooted through the undergrowth looking for food. Occasionally one would raise its massive head and stare at us, displaying its vicious tusks that could rip open a man’s thigh with ease. I also saw deer, pigeons and ducks in this most abundant terrain. Of Gauls I saw none. But I suspected that they were there, watching us from the either side of the track among the trees and undergrowth.

Eventually we reached the clearing that I had been informed of, a wide expanse of meadow dotted with flowers and alive with insects. The track meandered through tall grass, eventually reaching a crude bridge of logs laid at right angles to the track and supported by upright logs driven into the water. The brook itself, a shallow course of water flanked by mud that flowed lazily across the meadow, was about forty feet wide. I led the line of wagons over the bridge and onto the far bank and there, just in front of the tree line ahead of us, was a group of Gauls. There were around fifty or sixty of them, most on foot carrying shields and large swords, though some had axes and spears. They were all bare headed with large moustaches and exposed chests. In the middle was Iccius sat on a chestnut horse with a blanket for a saddle. Either side of him sat half a dozen other warriors on horses, all carrying long spears and wearing winged helmets. And in the middle was Gallia, mounted on a grey horse whose reins were being held by one of the warriors. I brought my wagon to a halt and raised my hand at him. He kicked his horse forward accompanied by four of his horsemen. Behind me all the other drivers came to a stop. I stood up and raised my arms.

‘I carry no weapons, as you requested.’

Iccius drew close to my wagon. He wore brown leggings and brown leather boots, and the sweat was dripping from him. At his waist he carried a sword in an ornate sheath, while on his head he wore a helmet of iron with a black horsehair crest. He looked from me to the chest in the back of the wagon.

‘Show me the gold.’

‘Show me Gallia.’

He jerked his hand over his shoulder. ‘She is there, in plain view.’

‘It looks like Gallia, but all Gaul women appear the same from a distance. I need to be sure.’

‘You try my patience, Parthian.’

I jumped in the back of the wagon and opened the chest, which was filled with shiny gold coins. Iccius’s eyes lit up, as did those of the men with him.

‘A simple request, from one prince to another.’

He turned and gestured to the man holding Gallia’s reins to come forward, and then directed each of the men with him to examine the contents of the other wagons. Within minutes they were beaming like children with new presents and shouting at their leader, obviously pleased with what they had found. I looked past Iccius to Gallia, who was about fifty feet away. Her wrists were still bound and her reins were still being held. Iccius turned away from me and signalled to the men standing by the trees for them to come forward.

The wagons were simple affairs, essentially rectangular wooden boxes with a tool chest at the front end, just behind the driver’s seat. I now opened this box, removed my bow from inside, strung an arrow from the quiver that lie beside it and shot it at Gallia’s guard. The shaft hit him squarely in the chest and knocked him from his horse. Fortunately he tumbled backwards and released Gallia’s reins as he did so. I strung another arrow and saw it go through Iccius’s neck. He remained on his horse, gurgling as blood poured from his neck and as he made feeble attempts to claw at the shaft. I leapt from the wagon and ran over to Gallia. I reached her and cut the rope around her wrists. Behind me, all the other Gaul horsemen had been killed by my men, who were now directing their fire at the other Gauls on foot. They had halted about two hundred feet away, having been dumfounded by what had happened to their prince. Now, eleven expert Parthian archers, the best shots I had, were standing on their wagons firing at stationary targets. There was no wind and so Gafarn, Rhesus, Nergal and the others were picking off Gauls with ease.

‘Can you ride?’ I said to Gallia.

‘Yes.’

‘Then follow the others back to camp. Go.’

I slapped her horse’s hindquarters and the beast sprinted forward. I ran back to the horses tied to my wagon, cut the straps that bound them to the shaft and jumped onto the back of one. The horses that had been pulling the wagons were our cavalry mounts. I grabbed both sets of reins and kicked my mount forward. The others did the same while the surviving Gauls, maddened by our treachery, screamed their war cry and charged towards us. We galloped across the bridge, which was guarded by Gafarn and Nergal. I ensured that Gallia and the others were safely across before I ordered them to cross also, handing Gafarn the reins of my spare horse. They both picked off a couple of running Gauls before turning around and retreating like the others. I steadied my mount and strung an arrow in my bowstring. I saw a giant of a Gaul racing towards me, with a massive beard, a sword in one hand and shield in the other. He was ahead of the others, his long legs propelling him forward. He was heading straight for me, his face contorted in hate and bellowing something in his native tongue. I raised my bow and loosed the arrow, which travelled straight and true and hit him in the left shoulder. He staggered and fell and I laughed. But then my mirth disappeared as he got to his feet and continued on his way towards me, not as fast as before, but still walking determinedly in my direction. I put another arrow into him, this time in his stomach, causing him to roll forward. After a few seconds he rose to his feet again and roared his hate at me. Was he some sort of demon sent from the underworld? Behind him his companions were closing on me fast, so I strung another arrow and took careful aim, releasing the cord as the other Gauls sprinted past him. The arrow went into his right eye socket but he just stood there. I pulled on the reins and directed my horse back across the bridge. A spear flashed past me as I crouched low on the horse’s back and screamed at him to move faster. I glanced back and saw the big Gaul topple onto the ground, though I never did find out if he sprang back to his feet a few seconds later. I galloped to the edge of the meadow where Gafarn and Nergal were waiting for me.

I was sweating and panting heavily. ‘Is Gallia safe?’

‘She rode ahead of us, highness.’

Behind us angry Gauls were still chasing me, but they were now some distance away and would not catch us.

‘Time to go,’ I said. I waited at the first trees until Nergal and Gafarn had ridden away, then followed them back down the track. Behind us we left twelve chests of gold and hopefully one dead Gaul prince and a slain bearded giant.

Our arrival back at camp was greeted with rapturous cheers. Gallia brought her horse to a halt before my tent, jumped to the ground and hugged a sobbing Diana and hopping Rubi. Next came Claudia, wrapping her arms around all of them, followed by a beaming Spartacus whose massive arms seemed to engulf all four of the woman. Burebista threw a screen of lance-carrying horsemen around the camp lest the Gauls tried to attack us, but none dared approach us. The area around my tent son became a mass of people who wanted to convey their joy at seeing Gallia again. I didn’t realise until that moment how popular she was and how many people must have also fallen in love with her. Then came Praxima and the rest of the women warriors, squealing with joy like a group banshees. Gafarn stood beside me as the din increased and a steady stream of individuals approached to pay their respects.

‘It is good to have her back, highness.’

‘It certainly is. That was good shooting back at the bridge, by the way. I am in your debt.’

‘Of course, your skills with a bow are almost as good as mine.’ He always had a knack of reminding me what a fine shot he was. ‘Do you think the Gauls will attack us?’

I shrugged. ‘They can try, but if they do I will personally burn the king’s berg, and with him inside. Wretched man.’

Gafarn smiled slyly. ‘You do know he will be your father-in-law?’

‘I would prefer to celebrate him as a deceased father-in-law.’

‘No invitation to the palace in Hatra for him, then?’

‘No, Gafarn,’ I replied irritably.

Gafarn did come in useful a while later when I asked him to prise Diana away from Gallia and also asked everyone else to leave us. Later, when Gallia had washed and changed her clothes, we had a meal alone in my tent. I sat next to her and put my arm around her shoulder as she tucking into a plate of roasted pork slices and vegetables.

‘You can let go of me, Pacorus, I won’t run away.’

‘I’m never going to let go of you again. You and your women are to billet in the main camp, just in case your father decides he wants his daughter back.’

She laughed ironically. ‘He never wanted me, and was glad enough to get rid of me when he could.’

‘Why does he dislike you so?’

‘Because I remind him of my mother.’

She saw the confused look on my face. ‘Soon after I was born my mother died, I was told because the birth had been long and painful. With her died any feelings of affection my father may have had for me. He is a very unhappy man.’

‘He will be unhappier now that one his sons has been killed.’ I looked at her. ‘For that I am sorry.’

She laid her hand on mine. ‘Do not be sorry, my love, you came for me when I needed you most. But I fear you are right. Rage and my father are close companions. He hates the Romans, and for that I admired him. But he dreamed of a land free of them where he would be high king of all the tribes of Gaul this side of the Alps. But that dream gnawed away at him when he realised that it was just that, a dream. Like I told you before, they are a beaten people.’

Fat dripped onto my tunic as I picked up a slice of pork with my knife. ‘Perhaps with the gold he now has he can unite the tribes.’

She looked at me with those piercing blue eyes that seemed capable of reading all my thoughts. ‘Oh, Pacorus, you and my father would make good allies. You are both dreamers, but in his case his dreams are dangerous fantasies. The Gauls in Italy are slaves in all but name. Ever since I can remember, all I heard about was the Romans flooding into the valley of the Padus.’

‘The Padus?’

‘That is the name the mighty river that flows through the middle of the land between the Apennines and the Alps. You have seen for yourself how the Romans drain the land, cut down the trees and build roads and settlements. This is not a new thing; it has been going on for decades. But under the new governor of Mutina it has got worse. And all the time the Gauls, my people, are pushed into the hills and forests like hunted beasts, huddled in their villages dreaming of a time that is long gone.’ She sighed. ‘My father is eaten away with bitterness, like all people who want something they know they can never have.’

‘I almost feel sorry for him.’

Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘Don’t. He is dangerous still and we are not yet out of his reach.’

I smiled. ‘What can he do against the might of our army?’

We found out five days later. The army had struck camp and had moved directly north, through a land full of Roman villages, farms and neat, white-walled villas, a land divided into square fields and criss-crossed by irrigation ditches. Our route took us to within ten miles of the city of Mutina, but Spartacus saw no need to attack it as we could actually bypass it with ease. I had Byrd and his scouts riding on each flank and to our front, for we knew that the city’s garrison comprised two legions, though not if it would attempt to intercept us. I myself doubted it, for our army now numbered fifty thousand men plus assorted women who had come with their husbands or who had run away from their masters on their own. I had no idea how many they totalled, but Godarz had complained to me that there were at least five thousand of them, ‘all mouths we have to feed’. I told him that they kept the men happy, and a happy man is one who fights better. He was unconvinced by my argument, I think, but he was right about the food. Most days at least a third of my horse, a thousand men, undertook foraging duties, which in this fertile region was an easy task. We either looted Roman settlements for their grain or livestock, or helped ourselves to the abundant deer and boar that inhabited the forests. Indeed, I encouraged company commanders to hunt animals with their bows because it was good archery practice. Though we were always mindful not to stray too far into the trees as the Gauls still watched us.

‘I can’t see them,’ I remarked to Gallia one day as we were riding five miles from the army’s left flank along with three hundred of Burebista’s men.

‘They’re there,’ she replied, ‘they watch us all the time.’

I glanced at the thick oaks that spread as far as the eye could see to our left and shuddered. No doubt King Ambiorix would pay a high price in gold for me being taken alive so he could extract a slow and terrible revenge.

It was just after dawn on the fifth day, as the army was breaking camp, when Byrd and two of his men galloped through its northern entrance and halted in front of my tent, for now all of us took shelter in the main camp. His men were the eyes and ears of the army, scruffy men on scraggy horses but individuals who were like the wild boars that populated these parts. They could smell trouble without seeing an enemy and were each worth a company of cavalry. Godarz was always complaining about their appearance, the condition of their horses and their insubordination towards him when he rebuked Byrd or any of his men.

‘They are a law unto themselves, lord, and they should be under proper military discipline.’

‘Ordinarily I would agree with you,’ I replied. ‘But they carry out an invaluable task and while they are undertaking that to my satisfaction I will overlook their more eccentric traits.’

And once again they had proved their worth. The sun was a yellow fireball in the east as Byrd drank greedily from a waterskin and then gave the rest to his sweating horse.

‘Romani army ten miles to the north, blocking our way.’

Thirty minutes later we were at a council of war, sitting on stools in the centre of Akmon’s camp that was being steadily dismantled and packed away, a pall of dust hanging over the whole are as men packed tents into wagons, hauled their packs onto their backs, and sweated and cursed as their commanders got them into marching order. Trumpets sounded as centuries and cohorts were formed up and roll calls taken, while Spartacus drew patterns in the parched ground with the tip of his gladius.

He looked up at Byrd. ‘How many?’

‘My men count two eagles yesterday.’

‘That’s the garrison of Mutina, then,’ said Rhesus.

Castus slapped me on the back. ‘Two legions! Is that all that faces us. We will swallow them up.’

‘Others with Romani,’ added Byrd.

Akmon frowned. ‘What others?’

‘Gauls. They fill the land all around Romani camp with their warriors. Many thousands.’

A line of wagons pulled by mules trundled behind us, the muffled sound of their wheels mixing with the clanking of the pots and tools that hung from their sides, while their drivers shouted and cursed the animals to move more quickly. A pointless exercise when dealing with the most stubborn beasts in the world.

Spartacus stood up and sheathed his sword. ‘So, it would appear that the Gauls have formed an alliance with their Roman overlords and intend to crush us. If we continue our march we will have to fight them on ground of their choosing. But if we do not fight them, we will have to find another way north, which will delay us many more days.’

‘What are your orders, lord?’ I asked.

He smiled. ‘We fight them.’