The Parthian

Chapter 17

The ride to the rendezvous point was uneventful, and after a brief muster, roll call and rest, we moved southwest from Caelia to skirt Tarentum and then head south to the empty husk of Metapontum. The men’s spirits were high, and they told and retold each other their stories of the battle on the beach until all vestiges of the truth and rationality had departed.

‘We must have slaughtered their whole army,’ proclaimed Burebista, his left arm in a sling where a javelin had sliced into his forearm. ‘I killed so many that after a while my sword arm became a dead weight that I could no longer lift.’

‘We fired so many arrows,’ added Nergal, ‘that they blocked out the sun.

‘Godarz will be most annoyed by our profligacy,’ I reminded them.

But nothing could shake their delight at giving the Romans a bloody nose, the more so because we had surprised them utterly. We caught up with the wagons after two days, which allowed us to replenish our arrows with the supplies. After three more days of marching we made camp thirty miles south of Siris, along a long curved shingle beach in the Gulf of Tarentum. There we tended those horses that had received wounds and patched up soldiers who had been hurt. The surgeons, formerly slaves who had been trained by their masters to treat wounds, went to work with their tourniquets, ligatures and arterial clamps. Unfortunately, those who had abdominal wounds where the intestines had been pierced were beyond help, and they died despite being treated. Nothing could be done for them. I came across one doctor, a wiry individual with dark skin and a shock of thick black hair who was treating a nasty gash to the right leg of one my horseman. He had cleaned the wound and was about to apply the dressing.

‘What is that on the bandage?’ I asked him out of curiosity.

‘A few spiders’ webs, sir.’

I was horrified. ‘You are going to put spiders’ webs onto his wounds?’

The doctor regarded me with amusement. ‘Of course, it will stop the bleeding and bind the flesh together more quickly.’

He applied the dressing, tied off the bandage then smiled at his patient, who limped back to his company.

‘The cure has been known in Greece for hundred of years, before the Romans stole it, like they do with most things.’

‘Will you ever go back to Greece?’

He motioned to another soldier in line to sit on the stool set before him. The man was holding his left arm, which appeared to be out of its socket, and he told the surgeon that it had happened during a fall from his horse. The surgeon examined the man’s shoulder. He then bent the patient’s elbow at a ninety-degree angle and rotated the arm inwards to make a letter ‘L’. He then slowly and steadily rotated the entire arm and shoulder outwards, keeping the upper portion of the arm as stationary as possible. He made a fist with his hand on his patient’s injured arm, and then held on to his wrist and began to push slowly. Just when the bottom of his arm was past ninety degrees from his chest, the shoulder fell back into its joint. The patient’s face was contorted with pain as the doctor was manipulating his arm, but after a few seconds a look of relief and gratitude came over his visage. He thanked the doctor profusely before leaving.

The doctor turned to me. ‘I am from Corinth and that city is now under Roman rule. I have no wish to go back there.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Alcaeus.’

‘Parthia can always find a use for skilled surgeons.’

‘Thank you, sir. If I am still alive I will consider it, though I have to confess that the chances of that are lengthening the longer we stay in Italy.’

‘You think we are doomed?’

He gestured to another man to sit on the stool. This individual had a bloody bandage wrapped around his leg, no doubt the result of a javelin wound.

‘I think that if we get out of Italy we have a chance, otherwise not.’ He began to gently unwrap the bandage.

‘Then why do you stay with the army?’

‘Simple, sir. The air tastes sweeter when you are free. Better to be a free man for a while than a slave forever. And now, sir, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’

We remained in camp for three days before continuing our march south. But on the second day Byrd returned to us, accompanied by a column of horsemen led by Godarz and Gafarn. To say I was surprised was an understatement, and in the pit of my stomach I felt a knot tighten, for I feared that something was wrong. My fears were confirmed when I was informed what had happened. Though Gallia was delighted to see Diana and the deranged Rubi, as were the rest of her Amazons, the faces of Gafarn and Godarz told their own stories. After a brief pause the column continued its journey south, albeit at a leisurely pace as I absorbed what they told me.

‘Afranius’ attack was a disaster,’ said Godarz. ‘He thought that he could wipe out the entire Roman camp, but all he achieved was getting two thousand of his men killed.’

I was stunned. ‘Two thousand?’

‘And many more wounded,’ added Gafarn. ‘Spartacus was furious.’

‘There’s worse,’ said Godarz grimly.

‘The Romans haven’t attacked our army?’ I was becoming alarmed.

Godarz continued to stare fixedly ahead as he spoke. ‘Not yet. But Crassus has built a line of wooden fortifications across the whole peninsula, effectively trapping the army in a giant prison camp.’

‘Impossible,’ snapped Nergal.

Godarz smiled wryly. ‘I assure you that it is very possible and has been done.’

‘It’s true, said Gafarn, ‘and to make things worse that pirate representative…’

‘Patelli?’ I asked.

‘That’s him. Well, he’s gone, absconded in the middle of the night along with his staff and all his ships in the harbour. And to rub salt in the wounds, he took the gold that Spartacus had given him as well.’

‘I knew that slippery bastard was not to be trusted,’ I said, recalling the pirate’s insincere smile, his shifty eyes and easy way with words.

‘Well,’ continued Godarz, ‘he’s gone and with him our only chance of getting to Sicily. The only alternative now is to break through Crassus’ fortifications. If we don’t the army will starve, simple as that.’

‘How long before the food runs out?’ I asked.

‘Three weeks, maybe less. And this weather isn’t helping. Men starve more quickly when it’s cold.’

I had noticed that over the last few days the temperature had dropped markedly, with a cool northerly wind blowing most of the time during the day, and the mountains in the distance on our right flank were no longer grey mounds, but were now covered in snow.

Godarz continued. ‘Spartacus ordered us out before it was too late. You are his best hope now, Pacorus.’

That night we camped a few miles north of Sybaris, a city once mighty when occupied by the ancient Greeks, but now a poor relation of Thurii located further south. We built no palisaded camp, but I had patrols riding out to ten miles in all directions to ensure that we were not attacked. We had brought only eight-man Roman tents for our journey, and I now sat huddled in one of these, wrapped in my cloak, as a single oil lamp sat upon the ground and lit the faces of my companions: Godarz, Nergal, Burebista and Gafarn. It was Godarz who did most of the talking, thoroughly briefed as he had been by Spartacus.

He unrolled a parchment map and laid it out before us, securing each corner with small stones he had collected from outside. The map was old and cracked, but I could make out that it showed southern Italy and Sicily, the island we would now never visit. ‘You will have to march south, then swing west across country towards Caprasia where we can march down the Popilian Way. Crassus has built his line of defences about ten miles north of Rhegium, from one shore, then across country to the Ionian coast, on the opposite shore.’

‘What sort of defences?’ I asked.

‘Spartacus mounted a raid when it became apparent what the Romans were doing. It was a failure, but he did capture a centurion who gave a detailed description of what they were building. First, the Romans dug a ditch about twenty feet wide with vertical sides. Then, four hundred or so paces back from the ditch, they dug two more ditches, each about fifteen feet wide. Behind these ditches the legionaries built an earth rampart some twelve feet tall, on the top of which they put a parapet and battlements. And to top it all, every hundred feet or so they have constructed a watch tower.’

‘What happened to the centurion?’ I asked.

‘Spartacus had him crucified in front of the Romans as they were erecting their fortifications.’

‘Horses can’t charge through wooden walls,’ I said.

‘The best we can do is to create a diversion and hope to draw off some of the Roman troops, so as to weaken one part of their line,’ suggested Nergal.

Godarz shook his head. ‘No, that won’t do. For one thing the line must be at least twelve miles long. It is no use us attacking at one point and Spartacus attacking at another five miles away. We must attack at the same point as he does, only then will he stand a chance of breaking out.’

‘That’s all very well,’ I said. ‘But each attack must be coordinated to strike the same spot at the same time. That means we, or rather I, have to speak to Spartacus before anything happens.’

‘And there are eight legions between you and him,’ mused Gafarn.

‘The only way in is by boat to Rhegium,’ I said. ‘In the meantime, we must stay hidden until the plans are finalised. Crassus doesn’t realise that we are here, and so we must indulge his ignorance for as long as possible.’

I had nothing else to add and so dismissed them all, leaving me alone to reflect on the nightmare position we were now in. I sought the company of Gallia and found her with her women sharpening their swords and daggers and flighting new arrows.

‘You look troubled.’ Gallia was familiar with my moods and expressions by now, as I was with hers, and as we walked among the horses of her company tethered among linen wind breaks, I could not hide my anxiety. I told her about what had happened at Rhegium.

‘I know, Diana told us.’

‘She should have kept her mouth shut.’

Gallia was stung by my criticism of her friend. ‘Why? Do we not have a right to know what has become of our friends? Some of us have been with Spartacus longer then you.’

I ignored the jibe. ‘It will not be easy to break through those Roman defences. And even if we do, what then? Where will the army go? We will be back where we started all those months ago, and in a far worse position. We should have gone over the Alps when we had the chance.’

‘But we didn’t, so there is no point in wasting words on the matter.’

‘I knew it would end like this,’ I continued. ‘We were so close to freedom, and instead of seizing it we allowed ourselves to become deluded that we could roam through Italy at will. And this is how it turns out.’

‘Why don’t you take out your frustrations on the Romans instead of my ears,’ she said.

‘You think this is a subject for levity? It’s my cavalry that has to shed blood to save the situation.’

‘I thought it was Spartacus’ cavalry. You serve him, do you not?’

‘What? Of course, but I resent having to waste men’s lives on getting the army out of a predicament that it should never have got itself into in the first place. That stupid imbecile Afranius should be held to account for his incompetence.’

‘There is no point in all this, Pacorus.’

‘There is every point,’ I shot back. ‘You don’t understand. I have raised this cavalry and now I have to throw them against fortifications. It’s not right.’

She laughed. ‘Not right? Is that your sense of honour talking again? Would it be right to leave them where they are, to starve or to be killed by the Romans?’

‘Of course not, I was only saying that a night attack against fortifications is unsuitable for horsemen. Skulking around in the dark like a bunch of assassins.’

‘That’s it, isn’t it?’

‘That’s what?’ I asked.

‘You prefer the idea of fighting in daylight when everyone can see your great banner and your men on their horses, cloaks flying behind them as they charge to glory.’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ I retorted.

‘It’s still all a game, isn’t it? One giant exercise in honour and glory. Until now you have been the shining star of the army. Pacorus the bringer of victory, the man known throughout the enemy’s lands as “the Parthian”, perhaps even more famous than Spartacus himself. Except that now your honour demands that you must carry out something that you have no interest in.’

‘Spartacus was a fool for getting himself trapped.’

She walked up to me until our faces were but inches apart. ‘You are a fool, Pacorus. He is a great man whose force of personality has united thousands behind him. He has given you all that you desire. He even said to me that you were a fine man, even though I thought otherwise. Do not make me change my mind about you.’

I was horrified at even the thought of losing her. I looked into her eyes. ‘My words were hasty. Forgive me. Of course I will not abandon Spartacus. The cold has obviously addled my brain.’

Her expression, formerly hard and unyielding, now softened somewhat. ‘I know that you will do the right thing. And do not be angry with Afranius. He does, after all, only want to be like you.’

I laughed. ‘I suspect he dislikes me.’

‘Perhaps, but so he wants to be a victorious general like you, to be known as a great warrior.’

I shrugged. ‘I’m not a great warrior.’

Her head tilted slightly as she regarded me. ‘Spartacus regards you so, and so does Castus and Akmon, and the last one is a particularly hard judge. So I hope you will not prove them wrong.’

I felt elated. ‘They really said that?’

‘Perhaps, for a great warrior, leading horses against wooden walls is not such a difficult task.’

I smiled, for she had out-foxed me. I conceded defeat. ‘Perhaps not.’

Like me she too was wrapped in a cloak, with a felt cap on her head, and her hair tied into a thick blonde plait. ‘It’s cool, isn’t it.’

‘The wind is blowing from the north and it will bring snow soon.’

‘More misery,’ I remarked.

It always amazed me that, however grave the situation, there could always be found someone to undertake the most hazardous of tasks, as long as the price was right. This proved to be the case now, as Godarz found me the means to get to Rhegium. In a dirt-poor fishing village on the Ionian coastline, where the hovels clung to the rocky outcrops that fronted the sea like limpets, he located a boat owner named Cunobarrus who, for a handful of gold pieces, would take me down the coast to Rhegium, as well as bring me back. Godarz had visited the village alone and got chatting to the inhabitants. His passed himself off as a distraught tradesman from Sicily whose terminally ill brother was trapped in Rhegium, his only wish being that his young nephew, myself, should see his father before died. The two score of people who listened to his story were mostly disinterested until he revealed the leather pouch he was carrying and its gold contents. Thus it came about that I sat in a stinking fishing boat as it bobbed among the white-flecked waves whipped up by the cool northerly wind, which filled the dirty grey single sail. Cunobarrus sat at the stern, holding the tiller, while a youth about eighteen years of age, his son I assumed, busied himself bailing seawater out of the boat’s bottom and casting glances at me. Cunobarrus was a filthy, lice-ridden individual who had obviously spent many years on the sea. His hands were calloused and his nails black, he spat frequently and his teeth were rotten. His boat was around fifteen feet in length, five foot at the beam and four feet in depth. It was held together by mortise and tenon joinery and was constructed mainly of cedar planks and oak frames, though by their varying colours I suspected that some of the wood had been used in other, older vessels before this one.

We had set off just after dawn when the sea was calm, but an hour into our voyage the wind had picked up, increasing both our speed and my misery as the boat rose and pitched on the choppy sea. Cunobarrus was delighted.

‘Good wind, this. We’ll have you in Rhegium in no time.’ He brought up phlegm loudly and then spat it over the side. ‘Mind you, don’t know what you’re going to do when we get there. The place has been taken over by a load of slaves.’

‘I know,’ I replied. ‘Perhaps they will let a son who only wants to see his ailing father alone.’

‘Maybe.’ He spat over the side again. ‘If he ain’t dead already. Hosidius, you worthless sewer rat, tighten that sail or it’ll rip. And get us something to eat.’

Hosidius, scampering around the boat like a tame monkey, whipped out a sack bag from under a bench, fished around inside it and brought out a loaf of bread and a jug, which turned out to contain vinegar. The bread was mouldy and the vinegar tasted disgusting, but Cunobarrus tucked into it with gusto. He grinned at me frequently, no doubt seeing me as his route to a better life. For security, Godarz had given him half the price before the journey, the rest to be collected upon my safe delivery back at his village. After two hours I began to feel decidedly nauseous, made worse by the increasing wind that tossed the boat around alarmingly, though Cunobarrus assured me that it was perfectly safe. As I watched Hosidius bale out the boat faster and faster, thoughts of drowning began to enter my mind.

But we didn’t drown, and five hours after setting sail our miserable vessel edged its way into the harbour at Rhegium, the entrance to which was between two breakwaters made of rocks that extended into the sea like the claws of a giant crab. The harbour itself was fairly voluminous and could accommodate perhaps two-dozen large ships, though today only two wide-beamed cargo vessels were moored to the quay. Large warehouses fronted the harbour but their shutters were all closed, and the only activity was a score of soldiers who were patrolling the quay itself. As our boat neared the stone steps of the harbour wall, a burly centurion in the distinctive helmet of his rank appeared at the top of the steps. He was joined by half a dozen legionaries in full war gear. The centurion pointed at Cunobarrus.

‘You, up here quick!’

I recognised the voice. ‘Have you rejoined the Roman Army, Domitus?’

Domitus squinted at the boat and then smiled. ‘Prince Pacorus. Have you lost all your horsemen?’

I left Cunobarrus and Hosidius filling their bellies with warm porridge as I walked with Domitus into the town, which appeared to be deserted. He told me that Spartacus had made him governor of Rhegium, and his first order was to evacuate the inhabitants.

‘We threw them out some time ago, sent them packing towards the north. Then we put our soldiers into the houses. I have the governor’s house, which is quite agreeable.’

‘Is Spartacus in the town?’

He laughed. ‘No, he’s still living in his tent with Claudia. Said he would never sleep under a Roman roof again.’

‘How are things?’

He shrugged. ‘Spartacus is like a boar with a toothache since that pirate deceived him. Then the Romans built their fortifications and we are stuck here like pigs in a pen. I hope you fared better at Brundisium.’

‘We did. They weren’t expecting us, and when we attacked we killed many on the shore, but we have merely slowed them down, not stopped them.’

We walked through the town and then north into the army’s camp. The wind had if anything increased and it was becoming even colder as I drew my cloak around me. When we reached Spartacus’ tent my fingers were numb and I was glad to get inside and warm myself by a brazier. The tent was empty and so Domitus went off to search for Spartacus while feeling returned to my fingers. Moments later he was back with Spartacus at his side. He looked older and more haggard, with dark rings round his eyes. Physically he was still the impressive, muscled figure that I had seen all those months ago at Vesuvius, but he had a haunted look, as though he was weighed down by unbearable responsibilities. His eyes lit up when he saw me, though, and he locked me in an iron embrace.

‘Welcome, my friend. Domitus has told me how you savaged the army at Brundisium. A piece of good news at last, I shall have it spread throughout the army. It is good to see you.’

He released me from his bear-like hold. ‘You too, lord. How is Claudia?

‘Pregnant and tetchy,’ he replied, ‘but well. She is sleeping at the moment.’

As cooks brought us warm wine, hot porridge and freshly made bread, I relayed to Spartacus what had happened at Brundisium. As he listened to how we had slaughtered many enemy soldiers on that Ionian beach, his mood brightened. It increased still more when a bleary eyed Claudia appeared from an adjoining part of the tent. She looked as beautiful and sultry as ever, her belly now heavily swollen with her unborn child. We embraced and she kissed me on the cheek. She asked after Gallia and myself before reclining next to her husband on his couch.

‘You smell of fish,’ she remarked, screwing up her nose.

‘Alas, my mode of transport here left a lot to be desired.’

Half an hour later we were joined by Akmon and Castus, the latter his usual cheerful self and the Thracian as dour as ever.

‘At least we got the rest of your horses away,’ he said, ‘before the Romans penned us in. Where are they now?’

‘Not too far north, all safely away from Roman eyes.’

‘Three thousand cavalry won’t stay unnoticed for long,’ he sniffed.

‘True enough,’ added Spartacus. ‘That is why we must act fast.’

He motioned to Akmon, who walked over to table and spread a map similar to the one possessed by Godarz across its top. We gathered round it to look at southern Italy. I pointed to the map.

‘We are near Scolacium, camped in the hills.’

Akmon nodded approvingly. ‘Good, that means you can go through the valley of the Lametus River to reach the western coast.’

Spartacus traced his finger on the map from Rhegium northwards. ‘You need to get your horse down the Popilian Way to attack Crassus from the north. At the same time we will attack from the south and break through. Then your horse will screen the army as it moves north.’

‘To where?’ I asked.

I saw Castus glance at Akmon. ‘To Rome,’ replied Spartacus.

‘Rome?’ I was staggered.

‘We have no choice, Pacorus,’ said Spartacus. ‘When that pirate took off, our last chance of getting out of Italy went with him. I have a Roman army in front of me, one coming from Brundisium and probably another marching from Spain. But if we can break out of here and strike north, then we may be able to take the city.’

‘It’s a big city, Spartacus,’ I said.

‘I know, but Crassus must have denuded it of troops to raise his army, and that’s the last thing he will be expecting. If we take Rome then we free hundreds of thousands of slaves in the city. If we do that then our blow will reverberate throughout the Roman Empire, and may just deal it a mortal blow.’

I wondered if he was trying to convince himself or me. I said nothing. So that was it; we would smash through Crassus’ defences, march north and then capture Rome itself. My initial thought was that it was an insane plan, but then Spartacus had thus far never been defeated, and had beaten every army that had been sent against him. Why shouldn’t he be victorious again? With these thoughts swirling in my mind I walked with him, Akmon and Castus to see these Roman fortifications for myself. They were located ten miles north of Rhegium. They were just as Godarz had described, with an earth bank surmounted by a wooden palisade of sharpened logs, with sharpened stakes planted in the earth bank that faced us. And at intervals of a hundred feet were wooden watchtowers, each one about twenty feet higher than the palisade, and each one having three fighting platforms. Two sentries stood on the highest platform of every tower. In front of the ramparts were two parallel ditches and in front of the ditches were two rows of stakes driven the ground. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a solitary cross in front of the Roman lines, on which was nailed the Roman centurion who had been captured. A single crow picked at the corpse. I shuddered and said a silent prayer to Shamash that I would be spared such a death. The wind was still blowing, its icy blast coming from the north and carrying flecks of snow that blew past us as we stood looking at the Roman lines.

‘It will be bloody getting through their defences,’ said Spartacus. ‘Before we get to the stakes their catapults mounted on top of the towers will open fire, and as we cut through the stakes they will be firing arrows at us from the towers and from firing steps on the other side of the palisade. Then we have to get across the ditches, which we will fill with bundles of brushwood. And all the time we will be under their fire. They will also put slingers on the watchtowers, who will exact a fearsome price. Then we will charge their ramparts and try to smash our way through the wooden wall, by which time a hail of javelins will be raining down on us.

‘But you, Pacorus, you hold the key to our success. The Romans will not be expecting an assault from behind, much less one conducted by cavalry. Their eyes will be looking south, and when your horsemen appear in their rear there will be panic, and when fear and uncertainty grips them, we will break through. If we don’t, we die, it’s as simple as that.’

I thought of those who would be in the front ranks of the attackers, who must approach the Roman defences and try to get through stakes and across ditches before they even reached the earth rampart with its palisade on top. They would suffer fearful losses.

‘Who will lead your attack, lord?’

‘I will, of course, and alongside me will be that young idiot Afranius and his Spaniards. After all, it is only right than the person responsible for these defences being built should be the first one to take them down.’

‘Where is our Spanish friend?’ I asked.

‘I sent him to the east coast to make a lot of noise in front of the Roman lines. Make them think that we will be attacking there rather than here, north of Rhegium.’

‘You’ll get yourself killed,’ said Akmon. ‘It will be suicide attacking that lot.’

Spartacus looked into the sky, which was still filled with tiny swirling flecks of snow. ‘Maybe not. We will attack at night and hopefully the weather will aid us.’

‘The weather?’ Akmon laughed grimly. ‘For all you know it will be still and cloudless and the entire area will be flooded by moonlight.’

‘When do we attack, Spartacus?’ asked Castus.

‘In three days. That should give Pacorus time to get his cavalry into position.’

That night I ate with Spartacus and Claudia, after taking a relaxing bath in the governor’s house in the town and ensuring that Cunobarrus was still in port. He was, enjoying the hospitality of a dingy inn near the harbour that had been requisitioned by a group of Thracians. Though Rhegium had been taken over by the army, its discipline was still impeccable and there had been no looting or wanton destruction. It was a testament to Spartacus that, despite its precarious situation, the army’s cohesion remained intact.

‘Every man still knows that his best chance of staying alive is to stay with this army. I was at fault for trusting that pirate, but there was little choice, and now that option has gone our only hope is to take Rome itself.’

Claudia sat in silence, her eyes avoiding mine. Did she think that our whole venture was now doomed? Spartacus caught me looking at her.

‘Claudia thinks I am mad for wanting to march north once again. What do you think, Pacorus? Speak freely.’

‘You have never failed us, lord,’ I said.

‘A diplomat’s answer,’ said Claudia, looking up and smiling at me. ‘But no answer at all.’

I blushed. ‘We have never been defeated yet, so why should the future be any different?’

‘Why indeed?’ she retorted. ‘Except that armies are flooding into Italy and eventually they will trap us and destroy us.’

‘Are you now general of the army, my love?’ said Spartacus irritably. ‘What would you have me do?’

‘What you should have done weeks ago when we were near the Alps.’

‘We’ve discussed that,’ he snapped. I was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. ‘I could not leave the army; they wanted me to stay.’

‘No,’ she corrected him, ‘your vanity, the thing you most despise in the Romans, dangled the prospect of glory in front of your nose, and like a spoilt child bribed with a toy you could not refuse. And now we are holed up like pigs in a pen.’

Spartacus jumped to his feet and threw his cup across the tent. ‘Enough! I will not be spoken to thus. I know what I am doing.’

Claudia, her eyes aflame, remained cool and aloof, but her words were like darts aimed at her husband. ‘That is debatable, but it is plain to see that we are now longer free but are dancing to the Romans’ tune, like a tame bear in the market place.’

Spartacus threw up his hands in despair and sat back down on the couch. ‘Then, I say again, what would you have me do? We cannot sprout wings and fly to Sicily.’

Claudia rose and crossed the floor to sit beside him and took his hand. ‘I know, but your mission from now on must be to get this army out of Italy. The longer we stay the less likely the chances of us seeing our homes again. Forget Rome, for the only members of this army who will see Rome will be condemned men.’

‘First we have to get through those Roman defences,’ said Spartacus.

Claudia looked at me and smiled. ‘I think our salvation sits a few feet from us, my dear, for surely the gods have sent Pacorus for just such a purpose.’

Spartacus laughed and went to retrieve his cup. ‘You know, Pacorus, when you first came to us Crixus said that you were just a boy with long hair who would prove as useful as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking competition.’

‘He was ever the poet,’ I said.

‘I was inclined to agree with him,’ he looked at Claudia, ‘but someone told me that a man on a white horse would come and be our salvation. And so it has proved to be. I am honoured to call you a friend, Pacorus.’

‘And I you, lord.’

Claudia yawned and it was clear that she was tired. I made my excuses and left them alone together, embracing Spartacus and kissing Claudia on the cheek. As I was about to exit the tent, Claudia called after me.

‘You remember your promise to me, Pacorus?’

‘Of course, lady,’ I replied.

As I walked back to the town, past rows of tents and groups of soldiers clustered around braziers, I drew my cloak around me. The wind had abated somewhat and the night sky was clear, though if anything it was colder than when the wind had been blowing. In the distance, overlooking the port, the Roman fortifications and our army, stood the brooding Sila Mountains, great granite mounds covered with vast forests that teemed with game. I stopped and listened intently. Coming from the mountains I thought I heard the howl of a wolf. I hoped it was a good omen.

The trip back to the fishing village was a nightmare — hours of tacking to and fro in a stinking fishing vessel that was being tossed around on a rough sea. There were no snowflakes; rather, icy sleet that the wind threw into our faces and which stung like small needles being driven into my flesh. Cunobarrus spent the entire journey either hurling abuse at Hosidius or taking pleasure at my discomfort. The sea was a cold, ominous grey, occasionally flecked with white when the wind ruffled the top of a wave. Cunobarrus wrapped himself in a disgusting oilskin cape when the sleet increased in intensity. He fished one out from under his bench at the tiller and threw it to me.

‘Better put this on, don’t want you freezing to death, your majesty.’ He grinned to reveal teeth black and infected gums. He was obviously intrigued as to my identity but did not enquire further.

Halfway through the journey the sleet ceased and the wind dropped, and suddenly the boat was pitching and rolling less. My stomach returned to something like normal, and I told Hosidius to serve the food that I had brought with us. Cunobarrus’ eyes lit up as the youth unbuckled the leather bag I had brought aboard, to reveal fresh bread, cheese, fruit, roasted pork and strips of salted beef. Cunobarrus rested his left hand on the tiller as he shoved a piece of pork into his mouth and began gnawing at the meat, stopping occasionally to drink some of the wine that I had also brought aboard.

‘You important, then?’

‘Important?’ I asked.

‘By the way those soldiers treated you back at Rhegium, I’d say you are some sort of leader of theirs.’

‘Idle speculation is such an amusing pastime, is it not?’ I remarked.

He looked at me with narrowed eyes. ‘I reckon the Romans would pay a handsome price for you, your lordship.’

I reached down to check that my dagger was still tucked into my boot. It was. ‘You are getting paid well for being a ferryman.’

‘Reckon I could get more from the Romans and keep the gold I’ve already got.’

‘Don’t get greedy, my fisherman friend, it is not an attractive quality.’

He spat some gristle over the side. ‘When you’re poor it is.’

‘How long have you lived in your village?’ I asked him.

‘All my life.’

‘And you have family there?’

‘A wife and two sprats,’ he beamed, ‘and another on the way. Should be here by the summer.’

The thought that any woman could lie with this odious wretch filled me with horror, but I managed to keep down my food.

‘If I fail to return, my men will burn your village and impale every one of its residents. Have you seen anyone being impaled?’

He shook his head.

‘It’s like crucifixion,’ I said, ‘only it’s done with a sharpened stake driven up your arse.’ I took a swig of wine. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t like your family to die a death like that, would you?’

At that moment Hosidius came at me then with lightening speed. For a scrawny little wretch he was quick, lunging at me with a fishhook in his right hand, but I had seen him grab the weapon out of the corner of my eye, and as he lunged I jumped up and grabbed his right arm, then kicked him in the groin. He collapsed in the bottom of the boat where the seawater collected, spluttering face down in the fish guts and water. I drew my dagger and placed the blade next to his throat, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back with my left hand.

‘Please, please,’ said Cunobarrus. ‘He’s not a bad lad, just a bit simple and protective. I didn’t’ mean anything. It’s just the wine talking. I will get you back, no bother. Please.’

I flicked my right wrist and gave Hosidius a small cut next to his windpipe. Not deep, just enough to draw blood and cause him pain. Then I threw the fishhook overboard and shoved him back down in the filth. I went and sat near the bows. ‘You two sit at the stern where I can see you. And don’t say another word until we have finished our journey.’

Two hours later we pitched up on the beach near to the miserable collection of huts that Cunobarrus called home. There to meet us was Godarz, Burebista and a company of the latter’s horsemen. The cavalry filed onto the beach as I marched towards them.

‘Good trip?’ asked Godarz as he handed me the reins of Remus.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ I replied, accepting my sword from Burebista and buckling it around my waist. Cunobarrus scuttled up to us.

‘My fee, lord,’ he grovelled. Around us the inhabitants of the village began to gather, the men aged beyond their years by their hard toil, the women ugly and in rags and the children naked and covered in grime. I mounted Remus and ordered Godarz to give me his bag of gold for Cunobarrus.

‘Come and receive your payment, fisherman.’

Cunobarrus grinned to an over-sized woman who had a swollen belly, his wife I assumed, and walked over to me. I held out the bag and he took it, and then I reached down and struck him hard across the face, sending him sprawling on the sand. His wife screamed and waddled over to him.

‘That is for trying to betray me.’ I motioned to Burebista. ‘Make sure all the dwellings are empty and then burn them. Then burn the boats as well.’

There were shouts of protests from the inhabitants, but I was in no mood to debate the issue and my horsemen were armed and menacing.

‘This man,’ I shouted at them, pointing at Cunobarrus, ‘tried to betray me. You are paying the price for his attempted treachery. If you have any protests take them up with him. He has enough gold to rebuild your village and purchase new boats. If you have any sense, you will hang him and his assistant from the nearest tree.’

I watched as Burebista’s men fired the homes and then the boats on the shore, while an angry crowd closed around a wildly gesticulating Cunobarrus.

‘You have ill tidings?’ Godarz was sat on his horse next to me.

It was good to be seated once more upon the muscled frame of Remus. I stroked his neck as the flames consumed the village. ‘Spartacus is going to attempt a breakout and we must attack the Roman lines at the moment he does so.’

‘Makes sense. He can’t stay there forever. And after he has broken out?’

The first of the boats was now aflame on the shore. ‘We are to march on Rome, Godarz, to capture the greatest prize in Italy, perhaps the world.’

The vast pine forests of the Sila Mountains provided ample space and security for the cavalry, with each dragon establishing its own camp in a wide arc whose southern flank was anchored on the Helleporus River. Most of the inhabitants of the region had fled before us, the majority north to Croton and a few poor unfortunates south towards the Roman defence lines. No doubt they would inform the Romans of the great number of strange-looking horsemen who had raided their homes and villages for food, and would thus know of our presence. That is why we had to act fast. Byrd and his trusty scouts were patrolling both north and south and reported no enemy activity thus far, but their inactivity would not last long. On the morning of our departure, I assembled all the company commanders to my temporary command post that consisted of a canvas sheet ceiling fastened between two carts with sides of linen sheets for wind breaks. It was still cold but at least the sun was shining and there was no snow. A round, flat shield resting on boxes sufficed for a table, upon which was spread Godarz’s map. Cooks brought warm wine and hot porridge for those who tramped in, all wearing boots, leggings, tunics and cloaks, with most also sporting fur or felt caps. Godarz stood beside me as I gave my briefing, while across from me Gallia stared intently at the map, her lithe figure wrapped in a blue cloak and her hair cascading around her shoulders. Gafarn stood next to her, but I noticed that the others stood a little apart around her, clearly out of respect. Everyone knew that she was my woman, but they also knew that she was an excellent archer and a good fighter. Word had also spread of her unyielding nature; she had earned her right to be here.

I looked at their faces. They were Parthians, Spaniards, Thracians, Dacians, Greeks and Germans, all of them young aside from Godarz, and all of them brimming with confidence. It tore at my guts to think that I now had to hurl them against Roman defences. A part of me, I had to admit, wanted to order them to ride north with me, ride beyond the Alps back to my beloved Hatra. But what would posterity think of such an action, and of the man who ordered it?

‘Listen closely,’ I said. ‘We are going to go through the valley of the Lametus west to the Tyrrhenian coast, then ride south to attack the Romans from behind while our comrades at Rhegium will attack at the same spot from the south. The attack will take place during the hours of darkness to increase our chances of surprise, and hopefully add to the Romans’ confusion. The carts and two companies will remain in the hills of the Lametus until we have freed the army. We will join them once we have escorted the army from Rhegium. Godarz, you will command the force that stays with the carts, and Gafarn, you will keep Godarz company.’

‘I would prefer to ride with you, highness,’ he said.

‘And I would prefer if you obeyed orders, just this once.’

The others laughed.

‘It is twenty miles through the pass,’ I continued, ‘and another forty to the Roman lines. We leave at midday, rest tonight and then ride south to arrive at the Roman lines at midnight. That is when Spartacus will attack. He cannot break through without our aid; so tell your men to ensure their horses are fed and watered, their bowstrings tight and their quivers full.

Burebista, your dragon will assault the Roman camp that Godarz informs me will be in our path.’

‘That’s right, said Godarz, pointing at the map. ‘If Crassus has eight legions and his lines are about thirty miles in length, then each legionary camp will be two miles apart. We will move down the Popilian Way and ride right past the first camp, whose men will be manning the first two-mile section of the palisade, or thereabouts.’

‘So,’ I interrupted, ‘Burebista, your dragon will detach and deploy to our left flank to cover the camp while the rest of us concentrate on killing as many on the watchtowers and ramparts.’

‘How far back from the defences will be the camp?’ asked Burebista.

‘About half a mile,’ replied Godarz.’

‘But remember, Burebista, you and your men are to keep them penned into the camp, nothing more.’

‘Like shepherds.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And take care to keep out of range of any catapults or archers they may have. Don’t give them any easy victories.’

‘It is our victories that are easy, lord,’ said Burebista, and the rest of my officers growled their approval. A few slapped him on the back. They were such good men.

‘Very well, then,’ I said. ‘Go back to your men and make your preparations. We leave in three hours.’

The Lametus River begins its journey high in the Sila massif before winding its way to the Tyrrhenian Sea. The valley through which we travelled bisected the Sila Mountains and made our task easier. Byrd had sent six of his men out before the main column struck camp, and he himself decided to ride with me as hundreds of horsemen, the cavalry of the army of Spartacus, began their journey to save their general. The air turned cooler as we rode up into the high valley, with thick pine forests either side of us, and higher up snow covered the tops and slopes of the mountains. A hundred yards ahead rode a dozen of Burebista’s spearman, while Gallia was beside me and her Amazons behind us. Gafarn, Godarz and Diana rode with us, while Nergal was commanding the rearguard.

‘No Romani in these parts, lord,’ said Byrd, ‘too cold. My men have seen nothing since we arrived.’

His horse was a shaggy brown mare with broad shoulders and a matted mane, the appearance of which never ceased to irritate Godarz.

‘Your horse needs a good groom,’ he said disdainfully. So could Byrd, but I said nothing.

Byrd shrugged. ‘Horse draws no attention to itself when we are sniffing out Romani. She blend into surroundings.’

‘Parthians like to have their horses immaculate,’ I said.

‘I not Parthian, lord,’ he said.

‘Where are you from, Byrd?’ asked Diana.

‘Cappadocia, lady.’

‘Will you go back there?’

‘No, lady. My country is under Romani rule.’

‘Byrd is coming back to Parthia,’ I said to Diana. ‘Aren’t you, Byrd?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘You will be a royal scout?’ asked Gallia.

‘No, lady. I sell pots.’

‘Pots?’

‘I no soldier, but can read terrain well enough, and I have a debt to pay the Romani.’

‘What debt?’ Gallia asked.

Byrd did not answer, but instead kicked the sides of his horse and rode forward.

Gallia was perplexed. ‘What did I say?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘His family was killed by the Romans.’

As we climbed higher into the valley we dismounted and led our horses over ground littered with stones and tufts of grass. The uneven ground slowed the carts and Nergal had to allocate men to push and pull them over obstacles, which slowed the rate of advance. The afternoon sun waned as the sky began to fill with grey clouds, and after two hours snowflakes began to appear all around us, settling on our cloaks and horses. A light breeze began, creating swirling clouds of flakes that blew into our eyes. We were no longer climbing, and after a further hour leading our horses through the snowflakes we came to the cold, fast-flowing waters of the Lametus thundering towards the western sea. The flakes were getting larger as we followed the course of the river and began our descent. I looked behind me to see the first few ranks of the Amazons, and after that nothing save white. It was snowing heavily now, and as I led Remus he frequently tossed his head to clear the flakes from his eyes. Gallia was beside me, leading Epona who was now covered in white.

Two hours later we camped among the trees of the lower Lametus valley, putting the carts under the trees and erecting canvas sheets between the branches to make covers for the horses. Once we had ensured that the beasts had been rubbed down, fed and watered, we put up our tents and ate a sparse meal of biscuit and wine.

‘What do you think about the night before a battle?’

Gallia and her women had camped near to me in a clearing in the woods, which was now deathly quiet as darkness and the cold gripped the land. The snow had stopped falling, but enough had descended from the heavens to blanket the whole valley. She sat on the floor in my small tent with her knees drawn up to her chin, and looked at me with those enticing blue eyes. Even in the freezing conditions she still looked beautiful.

I was combing my hair, a practice that the non-Parthians among us found hilarious, especially the Germans whom I doubted had ever clapped eyes on a comb, never mind use one.

‘How I will conduct myself in combat. Will I be a credit to my family and my city?’

‘Do you worry about your men?’

I thought for a moment. ‘Not really. If I have done my job properly, then they don’t need my thoughts. My old mentor had a phrase, “train hard, fight easy”. I know that my men, and indeed your women, are well trained and know their task on the battlefield. That being the case, I have every confidence in them.’

A sentry pulled back the flap of the tent and handed me a cup of warm wine, then passed one to Gallia.

‘All is well?’ I asked him.

‘Yes, highness, even the owls are sleeping tonight.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Vagharsh, lord.’ It was a Parthian name, and his long black hair and olive skin also revealed his place of origin.

‘What dragon are you in?’

‘Your own, lord.’

‘How long have you been riding horses?’

‘Since just after I could walk, lord.’

‘And using a bow, lance and sword?’

He thought for a moment. ‘I was given my first bow when I turned five.’

‘And what do you think about before you go into battle, Vagharsh?’

He did not have to think about a reply. ‘To acquit myself well, lord, and also that I be granted a good death.’

‘Thank you, Vagharsh.’ I looked at Gallia as he left. ‘You see, I need not concern myself while I have men such as him riding beside me. And what about you, my love, what do you think of.’

‘Killing Romans.’

I laughed. ‘You should never hate your enemies, it clouds your judgment.’

‘Easy for you to say, you enjoyed their hospitality for but a blink of an eye.’

‘I was a slave,’ I said indignantly.

‘But only for a short time. Some in this army were slaves for decades and they would rather die than go back to that existence. That is why they fight so well for Spartacus, because they have no fears about dying to stay free. I myself was sold and then displayed in the slave market like an animal, where fat, ugly men drooled over me. Then they bid for me so I could become their plaything and they could indulge their degenerate fantasies. I loathe them all, and if they all had but one throat I would slit it without hesitation.’

I was clearly not going to win this argument, so I executed a tactical withdrawal.

‘There is something else that I think of before battle,’ I said.

‘What?’ she snapped.

‘You, of course.’

She rolled her eyes and shook her head in despair. ‘Like I said before, Pacorus, you are a hopeless dreamer.’ She pulled out her dagger. ‘I will kill myself before I let another Roman touch me.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Only Parthian blood flows in my veins.’

She laughed, and suddenly the hatred in her eyes disappeared and her beauty was restored. It may be cold outside, but I always had a warm glow inside me when I was with her.

We moved out at midday, leaving the carts and their escorts to make their way to the rendezvous point. As we descended to the coastal plain between the Sila Mountains and the Tyrrhenian Sea, the amount of snow on the ground lessened, until there was none at all as we joined the Popilian Way and headed south. We formed three great columns, Burebista’s dragon on the left wing, mine in the centre and Nergal’s on the right. The road was heavy with traffic, mostly people on foot who scattered on our approach, though also a good number of wagons carrying supplies to Crassus’ army. I did think about sending them north to Godarz, but that would have required detaching riders as escorts, and I knew that we would need every man in the coming clash. So we killed the drivers and any accompanying guards, and burned their contents. After four hours of riding we were within twenty miles of the Roman lines. I sent Byrd ahead with his scouts to ensure that there were no enemy troops coming from the south, and then gave orders for the column to rest.

There was little talk as each man checked his horse, its straps, saddle and bridle, and then his weapons. Everyone carried a spare bowstring and I was no different, mine being carried in the case that housed my bow. I checked the string that was already attached to the bow for taughtness. It was fine. I drew my sword from its scabbard and spent a few moments sharpening both its edges on a stone, then examined my dagger. I checked my quiver to see that it was still full and then replaced its cover in case it snowed again. Nergal rode up.

‘All is ready, highness.’

I put on my helmet and mounted Remus. ‘Very well. No horns, pass the word to move out, and tell everyone to keep their eyes open. We may run straight into a legion.’

He saluted and rode off, and moments later hundreds of men began to gain their saddles. I walked Remus over to where Gallia sat at the head of her Amazons.

‘Keep close,’ I told her.

‘Don’t worry, I will keep you safe.’

I smiled and then took my position at the head of the three columns. I glanced right and left and waited until the lead companies, each in three files, formed up, and then nudged Remus forward south. As we moved the air was once more filling with snowflakes.

Two hours later, having encountered no traffic on the road, it was almost dark, the sky heavy with dark-grey clouds that were spewing snow onto the earth in ever-greater quantities. The road had almost disappeared under a white blanket, and we necessarily slowed to reduce the chances of our horses losing their footing. Ahead I could barely make out the coastal plain, while the mountains to our left were obliterated by the snowfall. Up to now there had been silence save for the snorting of Remus and the muffled thud of his hooves on the ground, but now I heard a new sound, like the wind whistling through a ravine. As we rode on the sound changed to one of thousands of voices cheering, but then ahead I saw the orange glow produced by hundreds of camp fires and realised that the noise was the sound of men dying, for Spartacus’ soldiers were trying to break through the palisade.

They wore Roman mail shirts and helmets, carried Roman shields and were armed with long Roman spears, and as far as the centurions, officers and legionaries who were pouring out of their camp and frantically getting into formation in the dead space between their tents and the palisade, the horsemen galloping past were but reinforcements to prevent the slave army from escaping. As the companies of Burebista trotted past, some of the Romans even cheered their comrades on horseback, cheered until the shrill horns of the horsemen blasted the signal to wheel left, and then sounded the charge. As one the horsemen lowered their spears and galloped into and around the disorganised centuries of startled Romans, spearing the first ranks and then slashing with their swords at necks, arms and torsos of those behind. Those centuries struck first by Burebista’s men stood no chance; they just crumbled like an earthen jug being stamped on. The wild shrieks of the cavalry proclaimed their triumph as they literally cut deep into the Roman ranks. It was the easiest victory my men had tasted.

Nergal’s and my own dragon rode on, forward towards the palisade, which reared up in front of us, framed by patterns of swirling snowflakes and illuminated by braziers that stood on each platform of the watchtowers and torches planted at regular intervals in the ground from the legion’s camp to the palisade. Each watchtower, a hundred feet apart, had three fighting platforms, from which archers and slingers were raining death upon our comrades on the other side of the palisade. I strained my eyes and saw that the occasional javelin was being launched at the two watchtowers immediately in front of me, while all along the palisade itself legionaries were hurling down javelins from a firing step.

‘Clear the firing platforms,’ I screamed at my men behind.

The horsemen behind me swept into line each side of me. They halted and then began shooting ahead. The legionaries standing on the firing step behind the palisade, looking away from us, were easy targets notwithstanding the poor light and swirling snow. In no time they were felled by arrows, most of them being killed before they had time to turn and see their assailants. It was another easy victory, like brushing snow off a window ledge.

I turned to the men behind me. ‘Dismount, we need to get on the towers.’ Gallia was beside me. ‘When we’ve cleared the two towers ahead, get your women to the fence and use your horses to pull it down.’

I led two companies forward to the towers, with each fourth man staying behind to hold the horses. Around us the sounds of battle filled the air as I shouted to one company to take the tower on the left while I led the other towards the right-hand tower. Missiles flew through the air — arrows, slingshots and javelins — and something hissed past my ear as I reached the ladder leading to the first firing platform. Dead Romans lay on the ground, pierced by our arrows, but others were still alive above me and were now firing their projectiles towards the horsemen. I slung my bow over my shoulder and began to climb the ladder, which led to a square space in the centre of the first platform. I hoped my Roman helmet would fool those on the platform into thinking that I was a friend; otherwise a quick-thinking Roman could lop my head off my shoulders as it popped up among them. Behind me my men followed.

I raced up the ladder and through the trapdoor to gain entrance to the platform, which had wicker screens on three sides. Behind these screens archers and legionaries were launching javelins and arrows down upon the army of Spartacus. They were all facing away from me as the others scrambled up the ladder, all that is until one turned to take a javelin from one of the racks that was stacked on the platform. He froze in terror when he saw us, then died as one of my men shot him through the chest with an arrow. Instinctively we strung arrows and loosed them at our targets. Most of the Romans never even knew we were there before we killed them. I pulled a second arrow from my quiver and shouted at those men appearing through the trapdoor.

‘Up, keep going, we have to clear the tower.’

They duly carried on up the second ladder that was just behind where I stood. The last Roman on this platform was killed when one of my men raced up to him and thrust his sword into his groin, and then he grabbed his collapsed form and hurled it through the wicker barrier. I ran to the edge of the platform and stared ahead, transfixed by the sight that greeted my eyes.

In front of the tower, stretching left and right and into the distance as far as I could see in the darkness, were thousands of soldiers, their shields hoisted horizontally above their heads for protection against the deluge of missiles that was being hurled against them. Dotted among their ranks were burning bundles, which were being fired from the top platforms of the towers. I recognised the smell of sulphur and realised that the Romans were firing incendiary projectiles at the attackers from their catapults, no doubt sulphur mixed with tar, rosin and bitumen.

I raced up the ladder to the second platform, which had also been cleared, but looked up to discover that the trapdoor leading to the one above had been shut.

‘Oil, oil,’ I shouted down at those below. ‘Get lots of oil. Move.’

The lamps that lit the platforms were quickly collected and their contents poured over the wicker screens. More lamps were passed up from below, plus anything wooden that could be broken up and used as firewood. This was heaped in the centre of the platform and then also covered in oil. Then we lit the screens and the woodpile and retreated back down the ladders. When we had reached the bottom the second platform had flared into flames, which licked the thick corner supports and then lit the wicker screens of the top platform. Soon, frantic Romans were looking for ways to escape the platform, but the only way was to jump, which meant death. I looked, both fascinated and horrified, as some of the Romans did jump while others waited to be roasted alive.

‘Back, back to the horses,’ I shouted as the flames engulfed the tower and its wooden supports began to fracture and disintegrate. A few minutes later it collapsed with a mighty crash. We hauled our frightened horses forward and secured ropes to the sharpened logs of the palisade, then tied the other end to our saddles, mounted our horses and then screamed our encouragement as they used their strength to pull each log down. I looked across at the watchtower to my right, which was now in the hands of my men — they had succeeded in taking it with surprise. The tower on my left was also intact and no longer firing at Spartacus’ men. I heard a mighty cheer, and suddenly hordes of men were flooding through the breach made in the palisade, a breach that was widening by the second as more of the palisade was torn down. We had done it, we had beaten the Romans once again. Perhaps we would always achieve easy victories; perhaps we were blessed by the gods. As thousands of troops swept through the breach and headed north, cheering my horsemen as they did so, I began to believe that we were invincible.

But even in that moment of triumph disaster was unfolding on our left, for the gods can be cruel as well as kind.

Burebista’s companies had charged with fury into the Romans forming up in front of their camp, and his men had cut deep into their ranks, killing and routing century after century. He and his men had never seen so many Romans flee in terror, and so they rode them down, speared them, hacked them with their swords, and the Romans kept on running. The horsemen swept into the camp and began firing the tents, until it was aflame. And while this was going on, Burebista was leading the charge with wild abandon, taking him further and further away from the coast road. But not every Roman was running; indeed, the second legion’s camp two miles to the west was stirring, having been alerted by the sounds of battle and then the red glow of the fires that signalled that the palisade and first legionary camp were under assault. And in the half-light and with heavy snow falling, fresh cohorts formed up to face Burebista and his horsemen. The Dacian, flushed with victory, instead of withdrawing steadily in the face of a wall of locked shields, led a glorious, insane charge against the Romans. I heard later that he was the first to fall, pierced by a javelin that went through his chest. Amazingly, with the enemy spear still through him, he carried on advancing until both horse and rider were cut down by a hail of javelins. At first the horsemen actually stopped the Romans, but they could make no impression upon the locked shields and saddles began to empty under volleys of javelins. Leaderless and taking heavy losses, the horsemen fell back, leaving scores of dead on the snow-covered ground.

While this tragedy was being played out, I was marshalling my dragon to provide a protective screen to allow the army to escape north. As I sent two companies to the west to find Burebista’s men and keep a watch for the enemy, behind me the cohorts of the army marched into the darkness and safety. First came the Thracians and Spaniards, the men who had traversed the obstacles in front of the rampart and palisade, and who must have taken heavy casualties. I was dismounted, instructing one of my company commanders to man the two watchtowers directly to our front with more archers, with Gallia’s women grouped around me, who had become my sort of personal bodyguard. I heard Gallia shout and then saw her vault from her saddle and race away. I turned and saw her embrace Spartacus.

I bowed my head to him. ‘Still alive, then,’ he grinned.

‘Still alive, lord.’

‘Where is Claudia?’ asked Gallia.

‘She’s with Akmon and the carts. They are in the rear of the column.’

‘How long will it take to get everyone out?’

‘Two hours, maybe longer,’ said Spartacus. ‘Can you cover our retreat?’

I nodded. ‘Good. I am going to fetch my wife. Keep watch for the Romans. They’ll know something’s up by now.’

‘Did you lose many, lord?’

A pained expression suddenly crossed his face. ‘Too many. But at least we’re out of the pig pen. Keep safe, Pacorus.’

Then he disappeared into the darkness.

I moved my dragon further to the left, past the burning Roman camp, each man straining to see what was happening ahead. It was perhaps half an hour before the first rider’s of Burebista’s dragon came into view, half companies and individual horsemen, tired and demoralised, the heads of their horses cast down. Many bore wounds to their bodies. I ordered them to go north with the army. I stopped one rider, a Dacian with no helmet whose mail shirt was torn and with blood running down a gashed cheek.

‘Where is Burebista?’

‘Dead, lord. Killed in the first charge.’

I sent him on his way and sat in silence, remembering the brave Dacian who had shared in my victories for the past two years. Now he was a corpse covered in snow. It was with a heavy heart that I covered the retreat of the army, as the first light of a grey dawn signalled the beginning of a new day.

We had escaped the Roman noose, but for how much longer I did not know.