The Parthian

Chapter 16

Crassus was as good as his word. It took us three months to reach Rhegium in the toe of Italy, marching down the Via Annia. The journey was straightforward enough, but the army that Crassus had raised in Rome snapped at our heels like a dog and we were forced on a number of occasions to halt and form a battle line. We beat off their probing attacks with ease, but we could not shake them, and Spartacus was unwilling to risk a battle with the threat of other Roman legions coming from Brundisium. He did not realise it, but the movements of Crassus were dictating his strategy.

‘We don’t know if any enemy troops will even land at Brundisium, lord,’ I said.

It was a cloudy day but humid. Spartacus was marching on foot as usual, though he had insisted that Claudia, now she was pregnant, should ride on a cart. A bad-tempered mule pulled the two-wheeled contraption and Spartacus had a firm grip on its bridle.

‘I know that, but if we can stay ahead of Crassus then there is no need to fight him, at least not yet. In any case, I hope to move the army across to Sicily within a month, and then we won’t have to fight anyone. And once in Sicily it will be extremely difficult for the Romans to attack us.’

‘We can’t swim across the Strait of Messina,’ muttered Akmon, whose mood had an uncanny knack of matching the overcast weather.

‘Two miles?’ said Spartacus. ‘I think I could swim that. What about you Pacorus?’

I was shocked. ‘Swim? Across the sea, you are not serious?’

Spartacus smiled. ‘Well, I might make Akmon swim. But the rest of us will be using boats.’

‘Boats?’ Akmon was unconvinced. ‘Where are you going to get boats from?’

‘The Cilician pirates, my friend. They have plenty of boats and we have lots of Roman gold and silver. If we pay them, they will transport us.’

‘They might also betray us,’ I said. ‘We should not put our trust in such people.’

‘Unfortunately,’ replied Spartacus, ‘we don’t have much choice. When the army decided it did not want to leave Italy, Sicily was the only practical option, and to get there we have to get across the Strait of Messina. The pirates are the only ones who have the means to get us there. The alternative is to stay in Italy, and I believe Crassus when he says that the Romans will not tolerate that.’

‘The Cilicians it is, then,’ said Akmon.

The army marched at a slow pace, for it took three hours each day to take down our palisaded camp and another three at the end of the day to put it up again. But with the Romans so close it was unwise to risk camping without defences. So every day over fifty thousand troops, their equipment, the non-combatants and thousands more animals were herded into an area surrounded by a freshly dug earth mounds surmounted by wooden stakes. Even my horsemen were in camp and so we also became expert with the spade and pick.

The geography of Bruttium is mostly mountainous, with lush green forests on the lower slopes. Most of the people lived on or near the rocky coast, and the small villages dotted along the coastline seemed to literally hang from the rock face next the sea. The sea was always a deep blue or turquoise, and the land was often draped in a clammy mist. The forests themselves, vast stretches of oak, ash, maple and chestnut trees, were full of red deer, roe deer, brown bears, wolves and eagles. Eventually we reached the port of Rhegium, a bustling centre of naval activity whose harbour was crammed with vessels of every description. The city itself was situated on the lower slopes of a long, craggy mountain range. The mountains themselves were steep-sided and formed of overlapping terraces. Around the port, along the coastal strip, citrus fruits, vines and olives grew in abundance.

The city’s walls were decayed and neglected, and as we rode through the large though crumbling gatehouse, I could tell that this was a place that had seen better days. Godarz had told me that it had more than once sided with Rome’s enemies and had paid the price when Rome had invariably triumphed. There appeared to be no garrison, or none that would face us, and the forum and basilica were insignificant compared to those in Rome, the basilica being a long, rectangular covered hall with a nave, aisles and an apse at both ends. But the roof was missing many tiles and the plaster on the exterior walls was crumbling. Nevertheless, the port was obviously thriving and as we rode towards the harbour area the traffic on the road increased so much that we were forced to dismount and walk through the throng. There were half a dozen of us: myself, Spartacus, Godarz, Akmon, Nergal and Domitus, and it occurred to me that a few Roman archers could have destroyed the leadership of our army, and probably the whole rebellion, with only a handful of arrows.

We eventually arrived at the docks where Spartacus pointed out a warship with a bronze ram and two banks of oars each side. The vessel was tied to the main quay and was guarded by a group of muscled sailors with skin darkened by the sun and long black hair around their shoulders. They each wore earrings and carried scimitars at their waists. None wore anything on their feet but all had gold rings on their fingers. Their baggy knee-length trousers and dirty vests completed their appearance. They did indeed look like pirates. They lounged around the gangplank that led onto the vessel, though when Spartacus approached them all four barred the way and picked up short spears.

Spartacus halted a few feet from the man who stood in front of the rest, a nasty looking individual with a scar that ran from the right side of his forehead down to his jaw. He had black eyes that narrowed as Spartacus neared him.

‘Greetings, friend. I am looking for a representative of the Cilician pirates.’

Their leader said nothing but stood his ground. I moved my right hand to the hilt of my sword.

‘Who wants to know?’

Spartacus smiled. ‘A man who could make him very rich.’

Their leader shrugged and relaxed his stance. ‘You’re lucky. Our local representative is about to ship out with us in a couple of days. He thinks it will be safer to go back to Crete for a while. Most of the ships you see in the harbour are leaving, too. The Roman boats cleared out days ago, apart from those who are too brave or foolish to do otherwise.’

‘Really?’ said Spartacus. ‘Why is that?’

The leader laughed. ‘Where have you been? Don’t you know that there is a huge slave army on its way? Led by a gladiator called Spartacus, so they say. He’s got the Romans running scared, I can tell you. He’ll squash this place like a fist flattens a fly when he gets here.’

‘So will you take me to see your representative?’

The leader said something to the other men, who put down their spears and began to talk among themselves. ‘Follow me.’

We trailed after him along the quay and into an alleyway beside two huge warehouses, that by the smell of them were used to hold pigs, then along a paved road for two hundred yards, before arriving at the gates of a white-walled villa. Two guards, dressed in similar attire to the sailors we had met earlier, stood sentry at the gates. Our guide waved them aside and we entered the villa’s grounds, which comprised flower beds bisected by a wide curving path that led to the two-story villa itself. Two more guards stood at the entrance to the villa, but they too let us pass when they saw our guide. Inside, slaves were hurrying from room to room, carrying chests, papers and clothes. Our guide told us to wait while he went to find the master of the house.

‘Looks like they are leaving in a hurry,’ I said.

‘Obviously your infamy has preceded you,’ said Akmon to Spartacus.

After a couple of minutes our guide returned with a gaudily dressed man beside him. His skin was dark brown, as were his eyes, and his teeth flashed brilliant white when he saw us. His clothes were a bright ensemble of greens and reds, while on his feet he wore expensive red leather shoes that curled up at the toes. On his head he wore a white turban that had a red ruby sewn into its front. He wore gold on his fingers and I could have sworn that he was also wearing perfume.

‘Welcome, welcome. Salcia has told me that you wish to hire our services.’

The man called Salcia whispered into his ear and the pirate chief bowed his head to Spartacus.

‘My name is Sherash Patelli, representative of the Cilician pirates in the Ionian and Tyrrhenian seas. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?’

Spartacus stood erect and proud, his massive shoulders and chest extended. ‘I am Spartacus, general of the slave army, and these are my lieutenants.’

Patelli blinked and then tried to say something, but though his mouth opened no words came out. Salcia gazed wide-eyes at us, while around us the servants stopped their activity to stare. Where there had been bustle and noise, there was now silence.

‘Perhaps it would be better if we could discuss matters more privately,’ suggested Spartacus.

‘Of course, of course,’ said Patelli, quickly regaining his composure and clapping his hands at his servants. ‘Stop what you are doing and bring us wine and sweet meats to my office. Hurry, hurry!’

His office was a large room that had marble tiles on the floor, a massive wooden desk, richly adorned bronze seats and couches around the walls. Patelli sat behind his expansive desk and invited us to sit. Spartacus did so directly opposite him. The rest of us sat behind Spartacus on the bronze seats that were first put in place by servants.

Patelli had recovered from his shock and now the slippery businessman in him took over. I noticed that he frequently brought his hands together in front of him as he talked, then placed them on the table, before once again bringing them together. A clerk stood on his right side taking notes as the negotiations got under way.

‘Your coming is fortuitous, general,’ said Patelli, ‘for it means that we no longer have to leave. I take it that you do not mean to burn the town.’

‘I have not decided, but when I do you shall be the first to know. Where is the garrison and governor.’

Patelli raised his hands in exclamation. ‘He and his soldiers left yesterday, leaving the town at, er, your mercy. But to business. How may I be of assistance to you?’

‘I intend to move my army to Sicily. For this I will need to hire your ships.’

Patelli nodded gravely. ‘I see. And what sort of figures are we talking about?’

Spartacus turned and looked at Godarz, while behind us a host of slaves came into the room carrying platters filed with sweat meats, pastries, fresh fruit and nuts, while others brought jugs of wine.

Godarz reeled off the figures. ‘Nearly sixty thousand people, four thousand horses and around ten thousand other livestock, plus wagons, carts and supplies for the army.’

Patelli’s eyes lit up when he was told this, for such an immense load of people and animals would mean a lot of ships, and a lot of ships would mean much gold flowing into Cilician coffers. As we drank his superb wine and ate his exquisite morsels, he sat back in his chair and placed his hands on his portly belly. He smiled.

‘My friends, this is truly a great day. For Sandon, our god of war, has smiled upon you all. Only the Cilicians can fulfill such a mighty task, and I want you to know that subject to an equitable price being agreed, you can look forward to being in Sicily within three months.’

‘Three months?’ Spartacus was surprised at this. ‘Why so long?’

‘Unfortunately, my friends, we are fulfilling a previously agreed and paid for contract with the Romans.’

‘I thought you were at war with the Romans?’ spat Akmon, wine running down his tunic.

‘Rome rules the land, we rule the sea. Whatever the Romans say, they need our ships to supply them with,’ he looked sheepish, ‘slaves, and sometimes to transport their troops.’

‘What troops?’ I asked.

Patelli looked alarmed. ‘So many questions, and yet I do not know all your names.’

I stood and pointed at Akmon. ‘This man is second to General Spartacus. His name is Akmon and he is a Thracian like my lord. Godarz,’ I looked at my fellow Parthian, ‘is the quartermaster general of the army. While this man, named Domitus, is a Roman and our loyal comrade.’ Domitus tipped his silver goblet at me.

‘And you?’ queried Patelli.

‘My name is Prince Pacorus, and I command the army’s horseman.’

Patelli nodded. ‘You are the Parthian, the one who rides a white horse.’

I sat back down. ‘Yes.’

‘Your fame precedes you, and I thank you for the introductions. But the fact is that my hands are tied until we transport the army of General Lucullus from Macedonia to the port of Brundisium, for we have been paid in advance for our services.’

My heart sank and I felt sick to my stomach. So Crassus had been telling the truth and a new army was indeed coming to southern Italy. We were at the end of a peninsula with no way of escaping. We had one Roman army directly to the north and another would soon be marching west to join it. We were truly trapped, and to make matters worse we were at the mercy of this greedy pirate who sat opposite us.

To his credit, Spartacus betrayed no emotion as he stood and nodded his head to Patelli. ‘Thank you for your time. I await your decision as to the price of renting your ships and a date when you can transport us to Sicily. My camp will be north of Rhegium.’

Later that day, at a meeting of the war council, Spartacus was in a subdued mood, no doubt reflecting on how he had allowed himself to be boxed in by the legions of Crassus, which were hovering to the north. Too far away to be of immediate danger, but casting a dark shadow over us all.

‘There is nothing to stop us attacking Crassus while we wait for these pirates to assemble their ships,’ said Akmon.

‘That would certainly give us the advantage,’ I added. ‘At the very least my horse could harry him and keep him on the defensive.’

‘What do your scouts report at the moment?’ asked Spartacus.

I shrugged. ‘Nothing. They are sitting in their camp doing nothing. And when they send out cavalry patrols they retreat as soon as they see any of my men.’

‘He’s waiting for reinforcements to arrive from Brundisium, that’s why he’s quiet,’ said Akmon. ‘And that’s why we should attack.’

Spartacus drummed his fingers on the table, while outside the wind lashed the outside of the tent. Winter in Bruttium was mostly mild I was told, but was prone to frequent and violent storms, one of which was now blasting our living quarters with high winds and a heavy downpour. Godarz had organised the building of temporary stables for the horses, made from the logs and wicker panels, as I suspected that Spartacus would not budge from this place of his own volition. I was proved right.

He made a fist and slammed it on the table. ‘No! We stay here as long as the Romans remain where they are. If we advance north and defeat Crassus, what then? If we destroy him, we will still have to come back here if we want to get to Sicily. We will be shedding blood for nothing.’

‘And once those reinforcements arrive we will be shedding a lot more blood,’ added Akmon, grimly.

‘It’s three hundred miles between here and Brundisium,’ snapped Spartacus. ‘We will have plenty of time to decide what to do.’

‘Do you trust that pirate, Spartacus?’ asked Castus.

‘Not really, but I can see that he is a greedy little bastard and he knows that we have a lot of gold. That’s why he will do business with us. In the meantime, we stay here and keep our swords sharp.’

The enforced stay meant we could devote more time to training and drills, and as an added bonus we practised on the seashore, the long, narrow beaches of mainly sand with a sprinkling of pebbles being ideal for the horses to stretch their legs. We planted targets in the sea, ran our mounts along the wet sand at the water’s edge and loosed arrows at circles of tightly packed straw strung between two poles standing in the water, while on other beaches Burebista’s dragon fought mock battles with their lances tipped with bundles of cloth and used small, long sacks crammed full of leaves instead of swords for close-quarter combat. It was great fun and all the horsemen and women wanted to take part in the ‘sack battles’. On one occasion a thousand horsemen on a ten-mile stretch of beach fought a mock battle, though what started out as a serious drill aimed at perfecting company level manoeuvres descending into hilarity as companies tried to outflank each other and ended up riding their horses into the sea until the water lapped around the beasts’ shoulders, with men hitting each other with sacks soaked in seawater. Gallia’s women took part and hit their opponents with gusto, until the sacks burst and the whole beach was covered with leaves. Afterwards we groomed and tended the horses, collected driftwood and had a giant feast after I gave orders that several bulls were to be slaughtered. As we watched the sun go down in the western sky, over a calm and smooth sea, I held Gallia close and wrapped her in my cloak.

‘Well, soon we will be on this island of Sicily and then we can think about getting back to Hatra.’

She turned and looked at me, the gentle wind ruffling her hair ever so slightly. ‘Do you truly believe that?’

‘Of course, we have only to wait a few more weeks and then we will be out of Italy.’

She laid her head on my shoulder. ‘The Romans will follow us wherever we go. Of that I am certain.’

But the Romans seemed far away as the weeks rolled by, and as the new year dawned we almost forgot that they existed. I sent out patrols to alert us of any movements by Crassus’ legions, but they merely stayed behind their palisades and waited. But while we trained, sharpened our weapons and kept our bowstrings taught, a new enemy emerged.

‘We are running short of supplies’ said Godarz, pacing up and down Spartacus’ tent. He pointed at me. ‘Each horse eats around twenty pounds in weight of fodder a day and there are nearly four thousand of them.’

‘We can confiscate all the hay and grain from this area,’ I replied.

Godarz stopped pacing and put his hands on his hips in frustration. ‘I’ve already done that, and we are still running out of food. This is a poor area for hay. Pasture and grain are also not in abundance.’

‘How long before you run out of food for the horses?’ asked Spartacus, drawing the point of his dagger across his desk.

‘A month,’ replied Godarz, ‘perhaps less.’

‘Then we will have to go north and replenish our supplies,’ I said. ‘Lucania should be able to fulfil our needs.’

‘There’s a Roman army between here and there,’ mused Akmon.

I did not think it much of a threat. ‘I’ll swing east and go around it. Crassus won’t budge while the main army remains here.’

‘No, he won’t,’ said Spartacus, idly. He jumped out of his chair. ‘And we will use that to our advantage.’

‘How? asked Castus.

‘It’s simple.’

‘It is?’ I was confused.

‘Pacorus, you are right when you say that you will have to go north, but instead of Lucania I think it would be best if you went to Brundisium.’

Akmon laughed. ‘So you solve the problem of feeding the cavalry by getting them all killed. It was a pleasure knowing you, Pacorus, and I hope you have a good death.’

I stared at Spartacus in disbelief.

‘Don’t look at me like that. Listen. Take your cavalry and raid Brundisium while the Romans are disembarking their army. Surprise them and hit them hard. They won’t be expecting an assault, because as far as they know we are all nicely boxed in at Rhegium. Hit them hard and then get back here as fast as you can. When you return I will attack Crassus while you assault him from the rear. And then hopefully our pirate friends will have their ships ready to take us to Sicily.’

Akmon was shaking his head. ‘It’s a risky plan, Spartacus. If Pacorus loses then we lose his cavalry, and his horsemen have been the difference between victory and defeat on more than one occasion.’

‘Akmon,’ I said. ‘you flatter me, but you shouldn’t, really.’

He snarled at me. ‘I only want you to live so you can provide a screen while we embark on the ships for Sicily. Then we’ll leave you to the tender mercy of Crassus. You can wave at me from your cross as I sail across the Strait of Messina.’

‘Crassus will have scouts out like us, Spartacus,’ said Castus. ‘It will not be easy slipping three thousand cavalry past him.’

Spartacus sat back down in his chair and grinned. He was in a good mood at the prospect of doing something at last. ‘Don’t worry about that, we will undertake a little diversion to get friend Crassus’ attention.’

‘An attack on his camp?’ asked Akmon.

‘A small diversion, nothing more. I will send Afranius and his Spaniards. Who knows, perhaps he will destroy Crassus all on his own.’

‘More likely get himself killed,’ sniffed Akmon.

‘When do I leave, lord?’ I asked.

‘In two days, Pacorus.’

Godarz nodded approvingly. ‘That will certainly alleviate the supply situation.’

The day before we left was a rain-lashed affair that drenched the ground and reduced the avenues in our camp to rivers of glutinous mud. I sat with Gallia in my tent as the wind made great indentations in its side. Though it was not normally cold, today the wind and the rain had reduced the temperature to such an extent that we sat in chairs with our cloaks wrapped around one another, and held our hands to the coals of a brazier. Her hair was tied into a plait and her eyes appeared icily blue. As soon as she had heard of the great raid she was determined to accompany me, she and her group of women. I knew that the men would not object, as they had come to view her women archers as good luck charms. I was far from happy, though.

‘That is your final word, then?’

She flashed a stern look at me. ‘It is.’

‘I don’t suppose I could appeal to your better nature.’

‘No.’

‘I can’t guarantee your safety.’

Her face melted into an expression of affection and sympathy. ‘Oh, Pacorus, ever the valiant knight. Do you think that I am safer sitting here than riding with you to Brundisium? Of course not. But if I am to die I would prefer to do so killing Romans, and so would my women. And if I am to die I want to do so fighting beside you.’

I shuddered. ‘So be it, though I think it would be better to leave Diana behind. I fear she has no heart for being a soldier.’

Gallia laughed. ‘Yes, she is not an Amazon.’

‘A what?’

‘The Amazons were a race of women warriors who lived on the island of Lemnos in the Aegean Sea. That is what we call ourselves, the Amazons.’

‘A truly terrifying idea, my love. Perhaps I should stay here while you and your women burn Brundisium, and I can wait for the pirate ships to arrive.’

She looked at me with amusement. ‘You think that the pirates will honour their agreement?’

‘Why not? We have already paid their representative, Patelli, a deposit in gold. Besides, they will make a lot of money from dealing with us.’

‘Do you know that the Cilician pirates make most of their money from the slave trade? Their main slave market is on an island called Delos, north of Crete. They capture Roman trade vessels and enslave their crews, then sell the same crews back to the Romans as slaves. They raid all over the Mediterranean and take who and what they want. Greed is their only motivation. Spartacus is a fool to think they will do his bidding.’

‘I thought you liked him,’ I said.

‘I do. He is like a brother to me. But what’s that to do with anything? He is still a fool to trust anyone save those that are around him. Even the lowliest soldier in his army knows that we can only look to ourselves for our safety. These pirates are, if we are to believe them, at this very moment working for the Romans. Do you think the Romans will want them being our mules afterwards?’

I leaned back in my chair. ‘If, as you say, the pirates are only interested in profit, then why shouldn’t they work for us?’

Her blue eyes narrowed. ‘Because the Romans have the money to persuade them to do otherwise.’

‘I would have thought that the Romans would be glad to see the back of us.’

She raised her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. ‘The Romans will not rest until we are wiped out. You know so little about them. They are ruled by pride and vanity, and the existence of this army is a gross insult to both of those vices. They can’t parade themselves as masters of the world with an army of slaves roaming at will throughout Italy.’

‘The Romans are not the masters of the world, my sweet. They cannot fight everybody.’

She shrugged and then grinned. ‘Do the Parthians believe that they are better than the Romans?’

‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘We know we are better. After all, no Roman army has ever stepped foot on Parthian soil and survived, and yet here am I leading horsemen in the Romans’ backyard.’

She threw a cushion at me. ‘Is that why you stay? To prove that you are better than the Romans; is that not vanity?’

‘You know why I stay. To be with you.’

‘Ah, so if I said I wanted to leave tomorrow would you accompany me?’

‘To where?’

‘What does it matter? Would you leave with me, leave the army, leave Spartacus and your horsemen?’

‘Yes.’

She studied me for a moment. ‘Are you giving that answer because you know I would never ask that of you?’

‘No, it is the truth. If you asked me to leave with you then I would go, because I could not live without you.’

My answer obviously delighted her, because she rose from her chair and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. ‘You must love me if you are willing to sacrifice your honour for me.’

‘I love you more than life itself, Gallia.’

She kissed me tenderly on the cheek. ‘I promise that I will never ask anything of you that would compromise your honour.’

At that moment the flap of the tent was thrown open and a sodden Claudia stood at the entrance, the wind flapping her sodden dress that clung to her body, emphasising her large belly. Gallia and I were momentarily stunned by the apparition that was before us, before Gallia leapt from her chair and wrapped Claudia in her cloak. She ushered her into the tent while I secured the flap. Before I did so I shouted to one of the guards huddled in an eight-man tent feet away that he should take the horses that had been pulling Claudia’s cart to the temporary stables made from wood and canvas. It was raining so hard that I could see barely fifty feet in front of me. Why had Claudia made a journey in such inclement weather? Inside the tent Gallia was drying Claudia’s hair by the brazier with a towel and ordered me to fetch some hot broth. So outside I went again and commanded another guard to fetch us a pot of hot broth from the field kitchens. I returned and was told by Gallia to wait outside until Claudia had changed into one of my tunics and leggings. This was ridiculous! I was kept waiting just long enough for the wind and rain to soak me to the skin, before being summoned back inside, though I did relieve a thoroughly sodden and unhappy spearman who was struggling with his spear and shield while carrying an earthenware pot containing food.

‘Are you ill, lady? I asked, handing Claudia a plate of steaming thick broth.

‘Of course she isn’t,’ snapped Gallia, glaring at me and placing another dry towel around Claudia’s neck.

‘Thank you,’ Claudia said, rather weakly, ‘you are both very kind. I needed to see you both.’

‘You should have waited until this storm passed, lady. You don’t want to make yourself ill in your condition.’

‘I needed to see you both today, before you left.’ She put down her wooden plate and looked at Gallia, tears welling coming to her eyes. ‘You two are my only hope.’

Gallia embraced her and tried to comfort her as Claudia sobbed, about what I did not know, and feared to ask a simple question lest my head was bitten off once more. Eventually Claudia composed herself and gobbled up all her broth. Then we all sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, the only sound being the wind toying with the sides and roof of the tent. Gallia was content to sit while Claudia decided to reveal her mystery, while I drummed my fingers on one of the tent poles, until Gallia froze me with a look that told me to desist. I was putting on a new tunic when Claudia began to speak, in a low monotone voice that made her sound as though she was in a trance.

‘Last night I had a dream in which I saw the whole of this army destroyed and the earth soaked in its blood. I was walking barefoot among the broken, lifeless bodies, pierced by arrow, sword and spear. Black eyes stared up at me and gore engulfed me on all sides, but as I walked among the fallen I felt no sensation in my feet. Though I glided through horror no mark was made on the pure white dress I wore. And then I realised that I too was dead, and was but a wraith moving unseen among the dead.

‘I wandered for a great length of time, and still the ground was covered with dead, both Roman and slave, but as I moved I saw ahead a warrior on a mighty black horse. It was the Thracian Horseman. As I got near to him I saw that the warrior was dressed wholly in black, black boots, leggings, tunic and helmet. And though his helmet was open I could not see his face, only hear his deep, commanding voice. I asked him where I was and he said that I was near to heaven, but he told me that I could not enter until I had asked the rider on the white horse to take my most precious gift to the land of the sun. I asked the horseman where my husband was, and he replied that he was waiting for me under a tree, around which was coiled a serpent. I knew this was Spartacus and that he was also dead, for when he was an infant a snake had coiled itself around his head while he spelt, but had caused the babe no harm. This he told me many years ago. I also knew that I was no longer pregnant and that my most precious possession was my newly born child.’

Claudia turned and looked deep into my eyes, her intense stare unnerving me.

‘Are you my friend, Pacorus?’

‘You know that I am, lady.’

‘Then if I asked you to do something for me, would you respect my wish?’

‘I would always strive to do your bidding, lady.’

She paused for a moment, seemingly looking into my soul for the answer. But then she spoke. ‘Then I ask you this. When my child is born, I want you to promise that you will take the infant with you back to Parthia, for you are surely the rider on the white horse of which the Thracian Horseman spoke. Will you do this for me?’

I was confused, and thought her words the ramblings of a pregnant woman, for I had heard that when females are with child they are prone to bouts of lunacy.

‘But, lady,’ I said. ‘Spartacus will take care of you and your child.’

At this she grew angry. ‘Have you not heard my words, do you think am I some sort of imbecile? Do you hold me in such low esteem that you treat me with such contempt?’

I took her hand to calm her. ‘Lady, I would lay down my life for you, surely you know that.’

She snatched back her hand. ‘Then accede to my wish, young Parthian.’

Once more she held me with her gaze, only this time her eyes flared with anger, daring me to refuse her. I did not. ‘If that is your wish, then it is my command and I will do so. I swear it.’

At once the rage within her disappeared and a wave of relief swept through her. She grabbed my hand, then Gallia’s.

‘Thank you, thank you, my friends.’

When the storm had abated I had Claudia taken back to the tent of Spartacus under escort, for I was sure that her mind was still unbalanced and that she might harm herself if left to her own devices. But when she embraced me before her departure and kissed me, she seemed truly happy and carefree, almost like a child. Gallia stayed behind, for she and her women had to prepare for the following morning. She examined me loosely as we drank a cup of warm wine together in the early evening. The wind had dropped by now and the rain was but a light drizzle. The air was still cool and fresh.

‘Well?’ she said.

‘Well what?’

‘You gave your word; are you going to keep it?’

I laughed. ‘It won’t come to that.’

‘Will it not?’

‘She had a bad dream, the storm upset her and…’

‘And you choose to ignore the truth.’

I drained my cup. ‘I’m sure Spartacus would be most unhappy if he knew what Claudia had said.’

Gallia rose and made for the entrance. ‘I need to ensure my women are prepared.’

‘We leave an hour before dawn.’

‘I know. And I also know that Spartacus had heard Claudia’s words before we did. Goodnight, Pacorus.’

We moved out of camp in the pre-dawn gloom of a winter’s morning, the mist hanging over the land and sea, clinging to the earth and our bodies. Even though I wrapped my cloak around me I still felt cold, though maybe it was fear. For Claudia’s words had unnerved me and I had slept but little. I tried to dismiss what she had said, but she had been right about my coming to the army and about the ambush on the beach at Thurii. So why not now? I dismissed the thought from my mind. The night before, after Gallia had left me, I had ridden over to the see Afranius, where I found his men busy with preparations for the attack on Crassus. The air reeked with the smell of leather and the grating sound of blades being sharpened on stones. I found Afranius in his tent surrounded by his officers, most Spaniards like himself, all of them young and eager to get at the Romans. He was immensely proud of his three legions, and rightly so, and had trained them hard over the last year, though I feared that his desire to prove that they were the best in the army, better even than Akmon’s Thracians, would lead him to an early grave.

‘Remember,’ I told him after he had dismissed his officers. ‘You are making merely a diversion. Don’t get yourself killed.’

‘It may be just a diversion, but we can make an impression on this Crassus that he is unlikely to forget in a hurry.’ He cast me a sidelong glance. ‘Besides, why should the cavalry grab all the glory?’

‘You think I lust only for glory.’

‘Of course, what else is there?’

I suspected that he was talking about himself rather than me. ‘Are we not fighting to win our freedom?’

‘I thought we were fighting Romans, but I accept that for some freedom is enough.’

‘But not for you.’

He displayed an uninterested expression. ‘My homeland is under the heel of the Romans, or most of it. So there is little appeal in going back to scratch a living on some sun-blasted mountain and existing like a bandit. Here, we make the Romans dance to the tune we play. War is work I like.’

‘We cannot remain an army in Rome’s breast forever.’

He sat back in his chair and filled a cup from a jug. He offered to me while he filled another. To my surprise it was water. ‘Why can’t we? Have you heard of Hannibal?’

‘He was an enemy of Rome, I believe.’

‘He and his army roamed Italy for twenty years. Twenty years! Can you imagine.’

I shook my head. ‘I do not want to remain in Italy for twenty years.’

‘Of course not. You are a prince with a kingdom to go back to. But you are not like the thousands who fight in this army. They have no homes, or if they do they are either under Roman rule or so miserable that they not worth going back to. That’s why no one wanted to go over the Alps last year. Spartacus has shown us another path, that we can stand tall and be someone.’ He stared at his cup. ‘I shall stay with Spartacus when we get to Sicily, so will my Spaniards. We have all discussed it and it is agreed. And your horsemen, what they do?’

‘They are free to follow their own conscience.’

He looked up at me. ‘And you? Will you go back to Parthia?’

‘Of course, I have a duty to my father and to my people. But not before this army is safely on Sicily.’

‘If it were up to me I would stay on the mainland and destroy the Romans, all of them.’

I decided that it was time to leave, for Afranius’ head was full of notions of great victories. ‘Keep safe Afranius, and remember that your attack is only a diversion.’

‘Ride well, Pacorus, and don’t be disappointed if we Spaniards steal a little of your glory.’

The sound of three thousand horses moving out of camp produced a low rumble, like distant thunder. In addition, accompanying us on our journey were a hundred and fifty four-wheeled carts, each one pulled by horses that were the mounts of cavalrymen, their riders sitting on the carts. And each cart was piled high with either fodder for the horses or spare arrows, tools and clothing. Each man carried a month’s rations in a bag tied to the rear of his saddle, and we would take what we could find along the way, either by hunting or looting. Each company had five carts, and I ordered that the horses pulling them should be changed every day. This meant that at any one time there were ten men not riding with their company but sitting on the carts, but it was a necessity. Each company of one hundred horses consumed a ton of fodder a day, and it was three hundred miles to Brundisium. It would take us fifteen days to reach our destination, averaging twenty miles a day. Burebista wanted us to go faster.

‘We could move at least thirty miles a day, lord, maybe more. We could be roasting the backsides of Brundisium’s citizens within nine days, maybe less. We waste time hauling these carts.’

‘They hold food for the horses,’

He was riding beside me at the head of the column. In front of us, Byrd and his scouts were as usual making sure we would not be surprised by any enemy forces along the route. Burebista himself had just returned from a flank patrol that we deployed every day. Our column was strung out over many miles and was extremely vulnerable to any sort of assault.

‘We can feed the horses along the way, there are plenty of Roman farms with fat owners in these parts.’

‘Are there, Burebista? The harvest would have been collected in the autumn of last year, and any grain and hay can easily be hidden or destroyed before we get to it. I want the horses and their riders fresh for the attack on Brundisium.’

Gallia was riding the other side of me and was taking a keen interest in what was being discussed, though she kept her counsel. Her Amazons also undertook scouting duties, and sometimes I and the rest of the men forgot that they were women. This was one such occasion.

Burebista was unconvinced. ‘There are no Romans in these parts, lord, and my dragon can take any town or village before the inhabitants have risen from their beds.’

He had obviously caught the same fever that infected Afranius, the one that banishes reason and replaces it with delusions of glory.

‘Let me tell you an old Parthian tale, Burebista. Two bulls atop a hill are looking down on a valley filled with cows. One of the bulls, young and bursting with lust, says to the older bull, his father. “Let’s run down the hill and ravish a couple of them.” The older bull then says: ‘Son, why don’t we walk down and ravish them all?” You understand what I am telling you?’

‘That Parthian bulls are in desperate need of being castrated,’ said Gallia dryly.

Burebista leaned forward and looked at her in confusion. ‘Is that what the story means, lady?’

I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t matter. But we will maintain this rate of march until we reach Brundisium. Just make sure we don’t have any nasty surprises along the way.’

He saluted. ‘Yes, lord.’ Then he was gone, no doubt to join the scouts and try to find some deer or boar he could hunt for amusement. I had given strict orders that villages and towns were to be avoided if possible. I wanted us to be like ghosts moving unseen through the countryside, if thirty companies of horsemen could do such a thing.

‘An interesting story,’ remarked Gallia, irony in her voice. ‘I hope all Parthian fairy tales don’t involve amorous bulls. Actually Burebista reminds me of a bull, short-sighted, all brute force and stupid.’

‘He is a good fighter, though.’

‘Have you told him that there is a home for him in Parthia should he so desire?’

‘Of course,’ I replied, proudly.

‘I’m sure the cows of your father’s herds will be delighted to hear that.’

We kept away from the coast and settlements as we moved north, skirting Caulonia, Scolacium Croton and Thurii. How long ago it seemed when we were last at the latter place, when I had nearly been killed by Roman treachery and had been saved by Gallia’s skill with a bow. From Thurii we quickly crossed the land to the burnt-out shell that was Metapontum. A few poor wretches were still living among its blood-stained and charred buildings, but they squealed in terror and fled for their lives when a patrol of Byrd’s men entered the city. They were looking for food or anything else that might assist our journey, but found nothing but the bones of the dead, still unburied from when the Gauls had attacked, and the stench of death that hung over the empty husks of buildings. I rode into the city and saw for myself the decay, smelt the nauseous odour of decay and human waste, and saw the small harbour choked with smashed and tangled boats. There was nothing for us there.

We left Metapontum and advanced to north of Tarentum, crossed the Appian Way and then made a dash across country towards the coastline a few miles south of Gnatia. Sixteen days after we had left Rhegium, I stood on a long sandy beach looking at the gently lapping waves of the Adriatic. The cavalry was five miles inland, setting up camp for the night, and only Nergal and myself had ridden to the shore. The afternoon was giving way to early evening and a light sea breeze blew in our faces. I pointed out to sea.

‘In that direction, many miles away, is Hatra, beautiful, majestic Hatra.’

‘We will see it again, highness.’

‘You really think that?’

‘Of course, highness. Why would Shamash save our lives and give us all the great victories we have won without some purpose.’

I looked at him. Brave and loyal Nergal. He never complained or doubted that we were on the right course. I placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘When we get back to Hatra, I would like you to be an officer my father’s royal bodyguard.’

He flashed a smile. ‘I would be honoured, highness.’

‘No, Nergal, it is I who am honoured to have such an able commander by my side.’

But first we had to kill more Romans.

That night Byrd and his scouts returned from their reconnaissance of Brundisium. They had ridden right into the port and even to its harbour. But then, a group of scruffy individuals on untidy horses and carrying no weapons, dressed in dirty clothes and unshaven, would elicit more pity than concern. Now Byrd drew Brundisium’s layout on the earth using his dagger. I had gathered all the company commanders to attend his briefing, which he gave beside a wagon, as I had given orders that no tents were to be erected this night.

‘Port lies on one side of large bay. But before sea reaches port it goes through a narrow channel where land on either side is close, before widening at Brundisium. This means that Romani cannot send many ships in and out because channel is only wide enough for one ship.’

‘Are there pirate ships in the harbour?’ asked Burebista.

Byrd nodded. ‘Many ships lie out to sea as well.’

‘What about the city’s defences?’ I asked.

Byrd stood up and replaced his dagger in its scabbard. ‘Walls enclose port on all sides except where there is water. Big city, walls are all manned. You will not be able to storm it. But no need, for Romani are unloading troops on beaches north of the city. On way back we saw many ships anchored off beach, with troops camped on sand. No walls there.’

‘Are you sure?’ I said.

‘Of course. Romani think slave army is far away. Why should they worry?’

‘Why indeed?’ I replied.

We rested for three hours, during which time we fed and watered the horses, removed their saddles and checked the straps and fittings, and then groomed them. The veterinaries checked horseshoes and then we examined our weapons. It was dark by the time I once again assembled the company commanders and gave them their orders.

‘We ride in quick, hit them hard and then get out as fast as we can. Use flame arrows on any ships that are close enough to the shore, but don’t let your men wade into the water, tempting though it may be. They will merely make themselves slow-moving targets for any archers or slingers the enemy may have.’

‘What about the port, lord?’ asked one.

‘We leave it. We’re here to kill Roman soldiers, not capture cities.’

The full moon illuminated our route well enough as two and half thousand cavalry trotted in column towards the stretch of sandy beach where the Romans were landing. In many ways it made perfect sense. Why use a port that would quickly get congested when they could also take advantage of long beaches where the sea was shallow for at least a hundred yards out from the shore? Byrd led us, the redoubtable guide who had once been a seller of pots. How strange was fate.

The carts and the remaining five hundred men I had ordered south to just north of a small town called Caelia. Once we had made our assault, the carts would slow us down and I wasn’t sure how many horsemen the Romans had. Byrd and his men had seen no horses being unloaded from the ships, but that did not mean that Brundisium’s garrison did not have any. The landscape we moved through was largely flat, very dry and was punctuated by dry riverbeds, and the whole area was filled with olive groves and vineyards. We scattered flocks of sheep, the animals parting before us like a giant white blanket being torn in two. Fortunately the sheep outnumbered humans by around a thousand to one, for Calabria appeared to have few villages and villas. Aside from the towns, this was a sparsely populated region, and for that I was glad. Gallia rode beside me, her Amazons behind, followed by my dragon, then Nergal’s and finally Burebista’s. We had ridden for two hours when Byrd and one of his scouts galloped up to me and halted. By now our eyes had become accustomed to the moonlight and I could see the terrain around us with ease. I could also smell the salty air of the sea, and Byrd confirmed that we were less than a mile away from the beach.

I dismounted and gave the order for everyone else to do likewise, each man (and woman) conveying the command with a hushed voice. There was no sound and I was worried that the Romans would become aware of our presence, though as the wind was blowing off the sea, at least any noise we made would not be carried towards them. I knelt on the ground, one hand holding Remus’ reins. Byrd knelt opposite me. Nergal and Burebista joined us while Gallia and Praxima stood over us.

‘Romani guards every twenty paces just off the beach,’ said Byrd.

I stood up and looked ahead. I could not see the beach because the ground rose up slightly around four hundred yards in front of me, beyond which it sloped down to the beach. Byrd had told us that the beach itself was about three miles in length and that ships were anchored along its whole length.

‘Many ships anchored both at the shore and in sea. Dozens of ships.’

It was about an hour to dawn. Nothing stirred.

‘Very well,’ I told them. ‘Nergal and Burebista, get your men deployed into line, but keep them on foot for the moment. I will take the centre. Nergal, you will form the right wing and Burebista, you will be our left wing. Once we are in position, we will walk the horses to the top of that small rise ahead, and then we will mount up and attack. Ride straight through any screen of guards and onto the beach. And order everyone to be as quiet as the dead. Surprise must be total.’

It took half an hour, maybe more, for hundreds of men and their horses to move from column into line, and every minute that passed shredded my nerves a little more. I kept looking in the direction of the beach, straining my eyes for any sign of the enemy. My imagination taunted me, and any minute I expected to see the massed ranks of several Roman legions cresting the ground ahead of us. Gallia touched my arm and I jumped. She passed me a waterskin.

‘Are you unwell?’

I drank the lukewarm water. ‘No, just jumpy.’ It was curious how the burden of command bore down on me like a colossal weight just before battle.

Finally we were ready. I glanced left and right to see men holding their horses stretching into the distance. Each dragon was formed into two lines, and as I raised my hand and led Remus forward, twenty-five hundred others did likewise. It took us another fifteen minutes to traverse those four hundred yards to the crest, each rider carefully picking his way through wild grass, tussocks and rabbit holes. Some stumbled and fell, cursing as they did so, their noise increasing the thumping in my chest. I looked up and saw that the sky had changed, the eastern horizon was now turning a dark orange — dawn was breaking. We reached the crest at last and I vaulted onto Remus’ back, behind me my dragon did the same. For a few seconds I stood and looked ahead. I could see the orange sky and the yellow ball of the sun just creeping above the sea. In front of me the beach was littered with groups of Roman soldiers sleeping on the sand, their shields and javelins neatly stacked beside them. The sea, smooth as a mirror, was filled with ships, their sails stashed and their oars at rest. It was an impressive display of Roman might, and they were as vulnerable as a newborn lamb.

I pulled my bow from its case, then strung an arrow in the bowstring and dug my knees into Remus’ flanks. He snorted and raced forward. Ahead I saw a guard, his shield on the ground resting against his leg, staring at us. He was only a couple of hundred feet away. He peered, realised that the wall of horseflesh galloping towards him was not a dream or phantoms, then shouted and grabbed the handle of his shield, just as my arrow hit him in the chest, the rhomboid head piercing his mail shirt and sending him spinning backwards. I rode past him, screaming a war cry as Remus thundered onto the sand.

Each company worked as a team, either riding over men who were still lying on the ground or sweeping around others who had managed to wake themselves and were attempting to form into some sort of unit. The beach itself was approximately three hundred yards wide, and those Roman legionaries who were sleeping the furthest from the water suffered the most. They slept in eight-man tent groups, grouped into centuries — even in slumber the Romans retained their formation — and our first line rode through and over them. Those who hadn’t been trampled, speared or shot were then assaulted in quick succession by our second line, who hacked at bleary eyed individuals with their swords. As I rode Remus to the water’s edge and then wheeled him right, the beach was suddenly engulfed in noise: screams, shouts, curses and whoops. Cavalry horns blasted as company commanders isolated groups of Romans and began reducing them with arrow fire, while Roman trumpets sounded assembly.

All along the beach the battle assumed a predictable pattern, as horse companies sort to isolate and then destroy Roman units. The Roman Army’s strength was its discipline and belief in its formations, the century, cohort and legion. But today, while the sky turned from orange to yellow as the sun rose in the east, that very same strength began to work against the Romans as legionaries rallied into their centuries. However, instead of other centuries and cohorts being to their right and left, groups of fast-moving horsemen were between them, searching for weak points and unleashing a hail of arrow against them. Century after century was shot to pieces in this way. Other centuries, to their credit, managed to form an all-round defence, the front ranks kneeling and forming a shield wall, and the second and third ranks also kneeling and hauling their shields above their heads to form a sloping roof against which our arrows could not penetrate. Occasionally a legionary would lose his nerve, or goaded beyond his limit, would break formation and charge out to attack a horseman, only to be felled by an arrow before he had run ten paces. As so it went on, a myriad of isolated battles all along the beach. Some centuries withdrew to the water and then attempted to wade to the safety of the ships, but my archers merely followed them, keeping out of javelin range, and then shot at them when their cohesion fell to pieces in the water as the Romans tried to reach the boats. Soon the sea was dyed red with the blood of dead Romans.

Now flame arrows were arching into the sky and landing on the anchored ships, whose crews had awoke to discover what was happening on the beach. Captains screamed at their crews to cut anchor ropes and man their oars. But it takes time to move a ship, and in those precious few minutes a torrent of flame arrows was launched against those boats nearest to the shore. We had not come to burn boats, but soon a dozen or more were aflame before the rest had managed to row beyond the range of our bows.

Gallia, her Amazons tight around her, ripped off her helmet when faced by the locked shields of over a hundred legionaries. She tossed her blonde hair back and laughed at them.

‘Soldiers of Rome, are you afraid of a woman, where is your courage?’

Behind her the Amazons, fastened cheekguards hiding their sex, closed in upon the Romans. The front rank of the later, taunted beyond endurance by this woman on a horse in front of them, shouted and charged forward, javelins poised to be thrown. Gallia did nothing as the hiss of arrows flashed past her and struck the legionaries. Then another volley was loosed and yet more Romans fell, and then Gallia dug her knees into Epona and screamed a blood-curdling cry and the Amazons charged into the disorganised and demoralised Romans, riding straight into their midst and destroying any semblance of formation that had existed. I saw Praxima hacking left and right with her sword, Gallia shooting a hapless Roman in the back at a range of about ten feet and the others turning mail-clad soldiers into a mound of offal. It was terrible, exhilarating and glorious at the same time. I gave the order to sound retreat, the horns blasting their shrill sound. I rode over to Gallia, her women reforming around her.

‘Put your helmet back on, we are withdrawing.’

There was fire in her eyes and adrenalin was clearly pumping through her veins.

‘Why? We should stay and kill more Romans.’

Around me horsemen were turning their mounts around and heading off the beach, as more and more horns were sounding withdrawal.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Get your women off the beach. The Romans are recovering and to stay any longer would be to invite death.’

And so it would, for at the far end of the beach, in the direction of Brundisium, a solid wall of red Roman shields was approaching, their right flank anchored on the water’s edge and their left flank protected by slingers. The later were finding their range and were bringing down horses and riders with their deadly lead pellets. If any cavalry tried to charge them they sought sanctuary behind Roman shields, and then emerged again to unleash another deadly accurate volley of pellets.

Nergal rode up with two companies who stayed on the outer edge of the beach as a covering force. I stayed with them. I watched Gallia and her women trot past me in sullen silence, no doubt aggrieved that I had interrupted their glory. Looking at the beach from right to left, I saw the fresh cohort approaching at a steady pace, while before them lay their dead and wounded comrades, most lying in groups where they had been surprised while sleeping. A few ragged clusters of still-living legionaries stood all along the sand, many bare headed and wounded by arrows or sword and lance thrusts. In the water I counted fifteen ships alight, many blazing fiercely as the flames had taken hold of dry timbers and sails. At the water’s edge was a grim flotsam of Roman dead, men who had tried to escape us by wading into the water, but who had only presented their backs to our arrows as they tried to reach the ships lying offshore. We had not destroyed the Romans, but we had given them a bloody nose and would hopefully slow down their preparations to march south to join Crassus. Nergal told me that a preliminary count had revealed that we had lost only two hundred and fifty men and their horses. Before I rode away I looked one last time at the beach. There must have been ten times that number of Romans lying dead upon the sand. It had been a triumphant morning, but in the south disaster had befallen the slave army.